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Rirth and Culiar. “He was protecting their escape.”

“How selfless,” he answered, words dripping with sarcasm.

“Then why was he not with you ? If he knew the Diplomats and this Dimmon character wanted you dead?” The vampire stood, towering over me.

“Here is the truth you won’t like to hear, little temptress.

The lowborn scum I turned into ‘living fire,’ as you said, was named Baringsten. ”

“The four-fingered vampire.”

A nod. “He was a captain in my court. And a spy. His connection was Lukain Mortis. They weren’t even particularly sly about it.”

The puzzle made more sense after that, and he was correct: I didn’t want to hear it, but I knew he was telling the truth. I played along with his explanation because I saw no use in continuing to belabor the point. “Who were they working for?”

“You tell me, Sephania.”

I blinked. “What?”

He took a step closer. I didn’t shrink back.

“You said you’ve heard the name Mistress Mortis in the past. When?”

Anxiety ran through me. I looked away. The guilt on my face must have been clear as the moon on a cloudless night. “. . . When I spied Lukain meeting in a dark alley with your man Baringsten.”

I expected him to lash out. Instead, he offered a quaint smile. “There we are. So, you see? It all fits neatly together.”

“It does?” I was confused. It still didn’t explain the other vampires I saw fighting each other in the courtyard. I knew Lukain did not command them.

Garroway stepped in, taking over while Skartovius sat on the bed and reclined with his hands behind his head.

“There were three units at the shadowgala, lass, outside of Skar’s court and purview.

That’s what my master is saying. Lukain Mortis, who was using the Grimsons as an excuse to get close to Skar so he could assassinate him when the time struck.

The Diplomats, whose motives we still don’t know.

And the other vampires . . .” As he trailed off, he inclined his chin at me.

“. . . Who were there for me,” I croaked. “For the Loreblood you claim is in my veins.”

From the bed, Skartovius clapped. “Quite good.”

I wanted to run over and throttle the asinine fucker. Glancing at the dead Diplomat on the ground, I decided against it. “You believe Lukain and Baringsten were working for this Mistress Mortis? Who is she?”

Skartovius sat up. “We can discuss that later. I’m sure your head is positively swimming with information. You need sustenance yourself.” He craned his neck and looked at his thrall. “Garro, what is it humans eat these days? Chickens? Do we have any mice?”

I wrinkled my nose.

The nobleblood smiled and stood from the bed. He had a tendency to show his assumed power by staring down his nose at me, and it was starting to piss me off.

I glanced behind me to the door. It was so close . . .

“Ask your last question of the morning, Sephania,” Skartovius urged.

He could read my mind as well as anyone, despite knowing nothing about me.

“Fine,” I began, standing my ground and bunching my hands into fists. “You have me as your prisoner. You have the Loreblood and can hold it over everyone else. What is it you want from me? I’m sure you expect to use me as a weapon.” My anger flared when I finished, before he could even respond.

“I don’t expect anything from you,” Skartovius answered.

I wasn’t sure I heard him correctly due to the pulsing of blood in my ears. My fury fluttered like a snuffed candle. “What?”

“You heard me.”

I tried to play it off, even if I didn’t believe him. “Good,” I eked out, clearing my throat. “Because I’m finished simply giving myself over to the schemes of men—human or vampire. That ends with Lukain’s death.”

“Very well.” Skartovius advanced on me. When I craned my neck, he stepped into my space with a hint of a smile, examining every pore on my face and twitch of my muscles.

“One thing I can promise, Sephania Lock: We will never jeopardize your agency. You can leave this dwelling right now, though I wouldn’t recommend a human waltzing through Olhav unaccompanied.

But you may . . . if that’s what you want. ”

My eyes wouldn’t tear away from his beautiful, serene face, no matter how much I believed him to be a lie dressed in elegant clothes—a demon with the face of an angel. I was at a loss for words.

“We only seek to protect you,” he added, his voice lowering more, until it seemed I was his entire world and he would drown me in the chasm of his gaze.

“We will keep you out of the hands of our enemies, of which there are many. They will use you, hurt you, spit you out, as you know. I only wish to learn more about you. What you do with yourself, your body, your power . . .” Skartovius trailed off and lifted his hand.

Before I knew what was happening, he had my chin tilted and clasped between his thumb and forefinger, entrancing me with his touch and softly spoken words.

“. . . Is entirely up to you. I will not harm you. And if they touch you”—his free hand tapped the thin blade on his hip. “They. Will. Burn.”