Page 65 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)

ARTHIE

Arthie tracked the passage of time by the way Laith dozed in and out of sleep in his chair.

He barely seemed to notice her, or the black-clad man sitting in the chair and watching them with a stake in hand, slipping into a state of delirium every time he jolted awake before nodding off again.

Arthie pretended the same, letting her head loll and hang until the man eventually grunted, drew out his pocket watch, and left, the lock turning behind him.

Laith stirred when the door slammed.

“Casimir,” he wheezed.

Arthie toyed with the key in her sleeve. What would she do? Run to him and finish the job? Try to help him? She didn’t know what would happen if she touched him.

“You’re alive,” she whispered, her chains rattling.

He started to laugh but broke into a series of wretched coughs instead. “Don’t act so surprised. If you wanted me dead, you would have ensured it.”

Matteo had said as much himself. At the time, Arthie had wanted to refute him, but it was true, wasn’t it?

There was no telling when the guard might return, so Arthie wasted no time. She finagled her stolen key into the lock, turning until it clicked and the cuffs fell away, dropping her arms. The chain remained locked to the iron ring on the wall, scraping back and forth in her wake.

Laith looked up with a weary chuckle. “There’s the Arthie Casimir I know.”

She pulled out her pocket watch—it was just pushing dawn. She’d been locked to the wall for hours now. Had Jin met with the Council? Was Flick forging a mask? Had she sent out the false invites to her list of people at odds with Lady Linden?

“I know you hated your king, but I didn’t know that extended to the point where you’d sell your kingdom,” Arthie snarled to Laith. “Whatever happened to the Ram having too much power?”

“Sell my kingdom? Do I look as though I’ve gained anything?” he asked. He sounded tired. Empty. There was grime on his fair face, a streak of blood dripping down his brow. “I said nothing, not even when they threatened to desecrate my sister’s grave.”

“And yet, she walked out of here with Calibore and a plan.”

Laith remained quiet, shuffling his hands with a mangled breath.

Arthie scoffed. “Liar. You even told her I was a vampire.”

She should have finished the job that night, but some part of her couldn’t aim for his heart.

He had betrayed her, used her, tried to manipulate her, and yet, there was something more between them.

Something that hinted at change, something that had whispered against her skin when he’d touched her oh so tenderly, when he spoke of their shared pasts and sufferings.

Laith lifted his chin and looked into her eyes. For a moment, they were clear of pain. For a moment, they were back on top of the Old Roaring Tower again.

“I had foolishly saved my sister’s missives from the king because I couldn’t bear to part with them. The Ram found them, ruined them, and then she started interrogating me. By threatening you.”

Arthie refused to accept the honesty burning in his gaze.

“You believe me to be lying,” he said in defeat.

She laughed without mirth. He was foolish for thinking otherwise. “Forgive me for being unable to trust a word you say.”

He looked ashamed. If regret had a portrait beside it in the dictionary, Laith would be the perfect candidate.

But forgiveness, for Arthie, was not an easy thing.

“I know,” he ceded. “But I gain nothing from telling you.”

She supposed he was right.

“The Ram suspected you were in Ceylan. I told her you’d confided in me otherwise. It didn’t take her long to learn I was lying.”

“Were you hoping for a thank-you?” she asked. “For me to pull you into my arms for watching over me?”

Laith recoiled as if she’d slapped him.

She walked over to him, staring down her nose to where he was dripping blood, his cuffed hands scraping the back of the chair with his labored breathing.

The sound of his exhales, the sight of his skin, those twin flecks above his brow—everything sent her off-kilter.

The press massacre felt far away, another time, another her.

She blinked, certain this was some strange hallucination.

“Is my cat alive?” he asked.

“And well,” Arthie replied. “Her name is Opal now.”

Laith laughed. “Flick. She always was concerned that I didn’t name her.”

But Arthie didn’t want small talk. She didn’t want his laughter. She didn’t want to stand in this room any longer.

“Threatened me how?” she asked suddenly. Laith tilted his head in question. “You said you spoke because the Ram threatened me. How?”

“She was going to turn you into some other type of vampire. I forget the name.”

Arthie pinched her lips tight. “Ripper.”

Now that the Ram knew Rippers were a result of a mutation and not a serum she had yet to hold in her hands, would she attempt to create them herself?

Arthie wondered if that was even a concern she needed to have.

The tribute was soon. The Ram had far more to contend with than navigating the difficulties of uncontrollable, insatiable Ripper vampires.

Arthie glanced at the door. She had no lockpick, no Calibore, and there was every likelihood a guard stood on the other side.

“Give me a chance, Arthie,” Laith whispered. “Let me prove my worth to you again. I’ll help you get Calibore back.”

“Why?” she asked, her voice a harsh whisper. She had betrayed him as he had her. Why was he so quick to trust her ? She had nothing left to steal, and she supposed he didn’t either.

“And—and then we’ll be done. Even,” he said, not answering her question.

Just like when she’d saved his life and he’d saved hers.

Just like when she’d betrayed him to the Athereum and left him for dead, and he’d done the same to her after she’d bared herself to him and feasted on his blood.

Returning to the Athereum hall after she’d sent him away was the final tally that remained.

It had resulted in Penn’s death. It had resulted in hers.

“Because you need help escaping?” she asked.

He croaked a laugh, panting as he struggled with something behind him. He rapped it on the back of the chair and gestured for Arthie to look. It was a key, and not a small one meant for shackles. “Do I? I took it from the guard who twisted my ear.”

There was the Laith Sayaad she knew.

Arthie uncuffed him, ignoring the deep lines the iron had carved into his wrists. His skin was pale. He struggled to his feet, and Arthie heard that wheeze in his breathing that hadn’t been there before, likely from the bullet she’d fired into his chest.

She felt sorry for him, though she couldn’t summon remorse. He had stared into her eyes, spoken of love, and pulled the trigger on her gun. And yet, she could not hate him either. He had been on the path that he was because of his sister. Arthie would have done the same for Jin ten times over.

So why was Laith helping her now?

Arthie didn’t know, but she would take every ally in this moment.