Page 39

“You stole your own silver,” I said an hour into our return trek to the safehouse.

No one had said a word as we swiftly traversed the uphill mountain pass. I felt foolish for speaking the words aloud, not because I feared Vallan’s wrath but because the obviousness of my statement made me wince.

“Can’t own what isn’t yours,” Garroway pointed out unhelpfully.

Right. The North Mine is the property of the Commerce Ministry. “He still stole the silver from the place he was meant to look after.”

Vallan said nothing. He kept trudging, not even looking over his shoulder at me. The sack of silver wobbled on his broad back.

I imagined Vallan’s silence was a typical response when bringing up something he didn’t want to talk about. Garroway was chatty, Skartovius was refined and egotistical, and Vallan was quiet and stoic.

These three vampires—half of one if you included Garroway—were quite different from one another, which interested me. The stories and legends of the Olhavians from the Floorboards had always painted a stark, uniform version of the bloodsuckers: twisted, evil, bloodthirsty.

While I surmised those qualities were true about these three, they also had personalities . Recognizing that made me see them in a new light. I wasn’t yet sure if the light was a welcome one or a lie.

“She had a blood illness,” Vallan said in his gruff tone.

I blinked and gave Garroway a sidelong glance. He pouted in response, shrugging.

“Come again?” I said.

“Ethera. She did not sacrifice herself for no reason or to simply further our cause. She had an ulterior motive, just like everyone does.”

My brow furrowed and I quickened my pace to get alongside him. “What do you mean a blood ill—”

“She had months to live. Cordea singled her out and chose her for that express reason. Struck a bargain with her, which Ethera agreed to, knowing her lover would benefit.”

“. . . By being turned into a vampire.”

He looked down at me, eyes narrowed dangerously on his flat, handsome face. “To many, it is not the curse you make it sound like. To many, it is a blessing. A gift.”

“True,” Garroway muttered from behind us.

“Does Zefyra know that? Believe that?”

“Suppose we’ll find out.”

I scoffed, shaking my head. With my forearm, I wiped sweat from my brow. The uphill journey back was starting to make my thighs ache and burn.

Vallan’s explanation was another surprise. He owed me nothing. So why say all that? I reeled at the next logical thought. Does he feel remorse? Can vampires feel remorse? Or did he only tell me this hoping I wouldn’t hate him as much?

Flaring my nostrils, I said, “Do you expect that to absolve you of Ethera’s murder? For me to thank or forgive you, Vallan?”

His stride slowed and then stopped completely.

The hulking vampire rounded on me, fangs gleaming in the moonlight as he bared them with an angry visage.

“I expect nothing of you, silverblood. I simply see how it bruises your conscience. Understand, woman, I don’t have one of those.

” He drew closer, ridiculously tall and imposing, forcing me back a step on the road.

“Garroway might enjoy your presence and banter, Skartovius may find you a novelty, but I feel you are a burden to our cause. You will only get in the way.”

My mouth opened to retort. I had nothing. Vallan turned again and continued walking on. I gaped after him. Guess that answers my question about a bloodsucker feeling anything “human” like guilt or remorse.

Vallan’s spiel did not offend me, though I knew that was its intent. I gleaned some important information from it. Their “cause.” I must know what it is. The big brute won’t tell me. My gaze swept over to Garroway. Maybe he will once I have him alone.

“I didn’t ask to be here,” I said defiantly, hurrying to keep up with Vallan as he reached the top of the pass.

“You haven’t left, either, though the choice has been given to you.”

“Do you want me to leave, Vallan? Given what you know about me and my, uh, Loreblood?” It was another foolish question. I wanted to get a better read on this violent man.

“Skar wants you to stay. I will not go against my brethren. We might still find use for you. So far, all you’ve proven is that you like to talk.”

Frustration swelled inside me. I bunched my hands into fists, ready to push him again as my fingernails made divots in my palms. My nails had grown since leaving the Grimsons—I had no reason to keep them short for shadowgalas now.

“Find use for me?” I echoed. “Lord Ashfen said he will not jeopardize my agency.”

Vallan paused with a huff of annoyance. This time, his expression was placid, emotionless, which was arguably more frightening. “Skar says he will not use you. I’ve said no such thing. I will use you if you’re worth using.”

He stalked off, leaving me holding my breath with my heart hammering.

We were reaching the outskirts of the northern section of Olhav, dipping down into the crater on the summit where the golden city sat.

I mulled over Vallan’s threat for the rest of the journey to the safehouse, and I came to a conclusion: Nuhav had only ever brought me grief and heartache. It was dead to me and I had no one there with Lukain’s death.

This is my life now. My place. My newest shiny prison. Perhaps it’s where I need to be in order to exact actual change, if my blood is really as special as Skartovius says it is.

And if I’m going to survive among the vampires in Olhav, I have to prove I’m an asset rather than a liability.

Vallan did not bring us to the same safehouse as before. Evidently, they had numerous hovels staked out in different parts of the city.

As Garroway explained when we walked past the fence of the new dwelling, “We like to move around. Keeps us nimble.” He offered me one of his dashing smiles before stepping inside.

This place was much the same as the other: two stories, sparse, with a few chests and accoutrements the other lacked. I quickly understood Vallan had chosen this location because it housed supplies he needed.

After entering the house, he tossed the heavy sack of silver into a corner of the room, grabbed some things from a chest, and sat down at the table on the first floor.

I had no idea what he was doing with his gloved hands. Curiosity got the better of me and I glanced over his shoulder to see what he was working on.

He had set out a few vials with some dark powder in them, a strip of leather that looked perfect for choking someone with, some strings of fabric, and some other bits and bobs I didn’t recognize.

While Vallan tinkered, I rested on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. “How will Skar know where to find us?” I asked aloud to anyone who might answer.

Glancing sideways, I noticed a smirk on Garroway’s face. His expression made me realize I had inadvertently shortened Skartovius Ashfen’s name like these two did.

My face flamed red.

“He knows,” Garroway replied.

I rolled my eyes. More mysteries. Of course.

Vallan toiled at his work station for over an hour in silence. He sat hunched over, looking comical with his massive form stooped over in the little chair. The only illumination he had was moonlight seeping through the window above the table.

He was clearly in a surly mood—or perhaps that was his usual demeanor—so I stayed quiet and didn’t ask anymore questions. What’s the point, when I know he won’t answer?

Finally, he let out one of his customary grunts and turned, sliding his creation across the table to Garroway. “Here. They’re ready.”

I sat up, feeling oddly excited. The thing Vallan built looked foreign to me: A ball wrapped in string, with a tail at the end. There were five of them.

Garroway hesitated at the edge of the table, glancing down at the balls. “They won’t ex—”

“Grab pots,” Vallan cut in, pointing to a dresser in a corner of the room.

After Garroway retrieved five small clay pots, Vallan very carefully stuffed the creations into them. “There. Keep the fuse outside the pots. Don’t want them getting tangled with the bulb.”

Fuse? “What are those?” I was unable to hold my curiosity at bay any longer.

“Firebombs,” he answered simply.

I reeled. “ Bombs ?”

“Things that go boom, silverblood.”

“Yes, I know what a bomb is. Um, why ?” Before he could give me another dead-eyed stare, I held my hand up. “Wait, let me guess. The cause .”

A hint of a smile curled the corner of his lip behind his beard. “Cute.”

I stood, walked over to the table, and put my hands on my hips. “Silver thief. Explosive-maker. What other interesting things do you do, Vallan Stellos?”

“Stay long enough and you might find out.”

Vallan stood, stretching and cracking his shoulders and back with loud snaps. He seemed in a better mood now that he’d gotten the bomb-making out of the way without killing all of us. Or perhaps he was mollified by getting his thoughts about me off his chest.

“You are a burden to our cause. You will only get in the way.”

“Our resident barbarian is a man of many talents, little honey badger,” Garroway said with lifted eyebrows.

“Many talents and few words,” I muttered.

“Isn’t it lovely?” he shot back, smiling sharply.

Vallan grunted. “You’ve gotten more words out of me this evening than I’ve spoken in years, woman.”

I hid a smile. “How do you make a firebomb?”

“Ah, a potential student!” Garroway exclaimed.

I gave him a healthy dose of side-eye.

Vallan said, “Simple. Saltpeter. Charcoal. Sulfur. And then make sure you don’t fuck up.”

“Oh. Right. Simple .” I snorted and went to sit on the edge of the bed. “What’s next?”

“Bored, silverblood?”

Okay, now he’s the one pushing my buttons. I get it, Vallan.

“I’ll deliver the silver to the Sisters,” he told Garroway. “You will take the pots to our friends in Nuhav.”

“You have friends ?” I blurted.

He scowled. “Shut up, woman.”

I snickered, bowing my head—but then it shot up, all the levity gone from my face. “Wait, did you say Nuhav?”

Vallan eyed me for a long time. “Take the girl with you, Garro.” The shadow of a smile returned to his bearded face, lathered in wickedness. “Tempt her with visions of home.”

“I have no home,” I announced firmly, standing.

“Let’s see if you still believe that once you’re there.” Vallan turned away and hoisted the sack of silver over his shoulder. “Skar will return before daybreak if all things go well at the manor. We will reconvene then and see what’s on his mind for our next course of action.”