Page 173 of Loreblood

His monologue built my confidence and had me nodding along. Even Garroway lifted his head and smiled. “You’re right, Master. As always.”

“Besides,” Vallan said, eyeing me warily, “we have discussed whatever ailment curses my mind from drinking yourLoreblood. My foresight, visions, whatever they are, will aid us more than anything else.”

I stood from the edge of the bed, folding my arms. “The discoveries of my blood have made you powerful tools. Garroway’s beast-scrying, Skar’s shadow manipulation, which seems to be growing by the night, and your divination, Vallan. But we don’t understand them fully. We can’t rely on them completely.”

“Which is why we need to obtain the Relic,” Skar pointed out. “If Iron Sister Keffa is to be believed, it is the key to the questions we face regarding the Loreblood in your veins, temptress.”

“Yes.” I nodded deeply, feeling three pairs of eyes bearing on my soul. It was clear I was meant to make this decision. They hadn’t even wanted me to attend the raid because it would be too dangerous. I laughed that suggestion off.

I had plans of my own. The letter from Antones still weighed heavily in my mind, and they all knew about it by now.

“The wheels are already in motion,” I said after letting out a deep breath. “If this cause is to move forward, we can’t wilt now. I understand that.” My eyes flicked up to Vallan’s sturdy face. “Just know, Vall, your foresight is not a foregone conclusion. We can’t stop the danger from coming to our doorstep.”

“Nay, girl, we can’t. Which is why we burst downtheirdoor first.”

Chapter 54

I was crouched on the rooftop of a three-story building across the street from the Tanmount tower in the area of the Commerce Ward called Berrigen Square.

In Berrigen Square, the surrounding buildings worked to keep the Tanmount operating and employed—a small garrison, residential hovels for the overseers of the bank, and slaughterhouses to keep the workers fed with the blood they required.

I stared over the lip of the rooftop railing, gazing at the glittering construct of the Tanmount, which pierced into the sky, up to the clouds. It was an ominous building of varying colors—one minute a dark green, the next bluish-gray, shifting to red and purple. The change of hues was courtesy of the magic lamplights hanging from every window of the sheer glass-and-stone tower. The Gilded Liege, Overliege Liolen Sesk, evidently had a flair for the flamboyant.

The tower was shaped like a spear, completely vertical and circular at its base. Other than the lights, it had few frills and fewer entrances. No balconies we could climb up, no footholds in the smooth surface we could use to sneak our way in. We had to go through the front door.

Four guards stood at the entrance—vampires one and all—with blackened cuirasses of iron that were bulky and sturdy. As part of Barnabac Wyvox’s Military Ward, they wore cross-guarded helmets denoting their position and allegiance. Yellow patches, Barnabac’s crest, were stamped onto the shoulders of their armor.

Other guards walked the circular block around the Tanmount in shifts. There were two per team, making leisurely strolls to give the façade of a well-guarded building.

Garro and Skar crouched to my right and left. They wore hooded cloaks, black paint streaked across their faces to shorn any glint from the moonlight above.

The wind whistled through my hair. I pulled my cloak tight around my body, sinking into it as we waited for another three hours.

As the third set of guards perusing the perimeter of the Tanmount marched past the front-door guards and turned the corner, disappearing to continue their route, a massive figure stepped out of the shadows below us on the street.

The four guards went rigid, drawing wicked halberds as tall as Vallan. “Halt,” said one of the guards, his voice carrying up to our perch on the wind. “Turn around and walk away, fullblood. This area is prohibited.”

Vallan put up his hands in a sign of peace, his broad shoulders shrugging his black cloak. “I have an appointment with Overliege Liolen, sir.”

The guards glanced at each other, bemused. One of them opened his mouth to push back—

As the massive fifteen-foot door behind them wheeled open, and the guard quieted. The grated portcullis—an added measure of protection in front of the door—started to lift in unison.

Two new guards popped out from the darkness of the entryway as the portcullis rose. The two rearmost guards switched places with the new ones, heading inside the building, shuffling the guard shift.

With Vallan’s diversion, the portcullis rasping up, the door opening, and the changing of the guard, none of the watchmen noticed the gray rat crawl down from the back of Vallan’s leg and scamper into the building.

I glanced over at Garroway, who was seated. His eyes were closed, roaming beneath his lids.

“He’s in,” Skartovius whispered, using their waning telepathic bond to communicate. “Making his way past the second corridor as instructed. Hard to see through those damned rodent eyes so close to the ground.”

I chuckled.

“What’s this about an appointment?” one of the original guards asked Vallan, suspicion coloring his voice. “The Overliege does not hold appointments here, fool.”

Vallan scratched the back of his neck. “Hm. Perhaps I am mistaken.”

“You surely are.” The watchman leveled his halberd at Vallan, keeping the tall vampire at a distance with his polearm. “Do as I command and vacate this premise, or there will be trouble.”