Page 91 of Brimstone

A tightness formed at the corners of Fisher’s eyes upon hearing that. He ran a hand over Onyx’s head, absently scratching him behind his ears.

“The sign of a shunned vampire,” he explained. “The court rips out their fangs if they won’t swear allegiance to the crown. It’s a dark judgment, being consigned to a slow and miserable death. Without fangs, a high blood can’t feed. At first, they starve. And then they go mad. Then, they wither away to husks. Malcolm told me he’d ripped Foley’s fangs out personally. He liked to find me in the maze and tell me how he was keeping him alive just to torture him. I hadn’t believed him but . . .” He sighed. “Most shunned vampires end up out on the dead fields, trapped between the Ammontraíeth and the Darn. If a high blood comes across a vampire with missing teeth, they’re encouraged to execute them on sight.”

It must have been excruciating, having his teeth ripped out like that. And not to be able to feed? That really would be a slow death. But Foley had been at Ammontraíeth for centuries. There was no way he was still starving to death. He looked fit. Healthy enough. Which begged the question, “If they shunned him and Malcolm removed his teeth, then how is he still alive?”

Fisher set aside his stew, his appetite gone. “I’m assuming Tal has kept him fed. He wouldn’t have let them banish him to the dead fields.”

“So, Malcolm let Tal save him?”

“Malcolm let Talkeephim as a pet, more like. Foley disrespected the crown when he wouldn’t kneel, but Taladaius was always Malcolm’s primary project. He probably let Tal keep Foley as a way to mess with him. Or to use as a bargaining chip in exchange for Tal’s obedience. There are a million ways he could have used Foley’s presence at Ammontraíeth to his own purposes.”

Malcolm had forced Tal to do unspeakable things. He had held him close, his cruel eye fixed upon him, but for more than a thousand years, the vampire hadn’t broken. He’d found subtle ways of rebelling against his master. He’d been a force for good wherever he could. He had saved Foley’s life, and mine. And yet . . . “Why does Ren hate him so much? Tal?” I asked. “Anytime anyone mentions his name, Ren gets up and leaves the room.” I’d seen it happen more than once.

Fisher sighed. “It’s complicated. But the short version of it is this: Everlayne was in love with Taladaius once. They were betrothed. And the night before they were due to be married, Tal fled the Winter Palace, against his father’s wishes and his king’s command, and he knelt at the feet of Sanasroth’s throne.”

“Willingly?”

Kingfisher nodded.

“But why? If he hated Malcolm and all he stood for, thenwhywould he have done such a thing?”

“Why does any male act recklessly, Saeris? He did it because he was in love with someone else. He did it for Zovena.”

21

DAIANTHUS

KINGFISHER

ONCE, THERE HADbeen a pirate named Jackin Pröst.

The male had resembled a wind-blown tree. His gnarled hands had been made of knots, the veins snaking up and down his arms proud and twisted like thick roots in search of good soil. I had punched him once, when I’d caught him cheating at a game of cards. This was before Gillethrye, of course. Before many things, back when I still knew what laughter was, and all my friends were still alive. But that was beside the point. The pointwasthat I had punched him and shattered my hand in the process. The broken bones had taken a full week to heal, and even then, a dull ache had persisted in my tendons for almost a month thanks to that cheating bastard’s thick skull.

When I awoke from my sleep, I braced myself, waiting for the familiar starburst of pain to flare through my right hand. But no pain came.

It was . . . raining?

The soft, rushing noise I could hear outside sounded like rain, but . . . no. I was in Zilvaren. The sound wasn’t rain at all; it was sandtinging against the window and makingshushhhhing sounds as it slid off the slate roof overhead.

I listened to the sand, slowly remembering what had happened in my dreams.

The valley at the edge of Cahlish’s borders.

The huntsman’s cottage.

I had just been there with Saeris.

I’d stripped her out of her clothes and fucked her raw, and she’d fed me so that I would heal.

When I pulled up my pant leg, there was the tip of the dagger tattoo she’d given me. And my hand? I held it up in front of my face, turning it this way and that. Light spilled in through the window, washing my skin gold as I searched for some sign of injury.

There was no way . . .

“No. Fucking. Way!” Carrion didnotsound impressed.

I splayed my fingers and peered through them to find him standing in the doorway, shirtless, rubbing a dry cloth at the raised welts that dotted his chest and his sides. “You look like you have the pox,” I told him.

“What? Whatkindof pox?”