Page 26

Sylvanna shakes her head.

“Please don’t worry—the Thornheart Grimoire won’t hurt you. It contains my most powerful spells and I have one I believe will help.” She looks down at the leather-bound book and says, “I must pursue a soul to the borders of the Shadowlands and bring it back. Show me what I need.”

I hear a whispered sigh that seems to form the words,

“Yes, Mistress.”

And then the pages of the book begin to turn themselves. They stop eventually near the end of the book and I see a spell written in what looks like dried blood. I don’t get a chance to read much of it though, because Sylvanna is already chanting.

“A soul is lost and wanders far

Let’s bring it back to where we are

The price is high but pay I must

Or leave this world and turn to dust.”

When she speaks the last word of the spell, her eyes roll back in her head so that I can only see the whites. This is alarming enough, but then I see her reaching out, her fingers splayed like a blind woman groping in the dark.

“Jacobin,” she calls and her voice sounds like it’s coming from far away, even though she’s right beside me. “Jacobin, come back—it’s not time for you to go yet. Your parents need you—they love you!”

I don’t know how long she searches for the boy’s soul.

I have a bad feeling—a coldness that spreads from the base of my skull all the way down my spine, like an icy finger skating along the groove in my flesh.

I fear what Sylvanna is doing—it isn’t right to cheat death!

I want to take her and shake her but I’m afraid of what that might do.

What if the magic takes her to the other side—to the “Shadowlands” as she called them?

What if I lose her?

And then the boy’s lashes flutter and he takes a deep, gasping breath. His mother, who is kneeling across from Sylvanna, gives a cry.

“Jacobin!” she exclaims and gathers him to her for a hug.

“Easy now, Hannah—let the boy breathe!” the peasant father, who’s been watching from the door, cautions her.

The mother loosens her grip though she still holds the boy in her arms.

“What happened, my boy? What did you see?” his father asks him.

The boy blinks, still looking stunned as though nearly dying is akin to a blow to the head.

“I was lost in a dark land but I saw a light…a lady all made of white light,” he says slowly. “She was calling to me—calling my name and telling me to come home.” His gaze lands on Sylvanna and his eyes widen. “Her! I saw her!” He points at my Mistress.

Sylvanna, for her part, has not yet come out of the magical trance she went into to bring the boy back. Her eyes are still rolled up, and is it my imagination or is her breathing more shallow and rapid?

“Mistress?” I can’t stop myself anymore, I take her by the shoulders and shake her. “Mistress—Sylvanna—come back to me!”

She gives a choked gasp and her eyes are suddenly back to normal…though not quite. They look sunken in their sockets and she sags, falling forward like a marionette with its strings cut.

“Mistress!” I pull her into my lap. “What do you need? Come back to me! Wake up!” I demand.

To my surprise, the peasant who came to get us steps forward.

“Begging your pardon, Sir Knight, but what she needs is blood,” he says to me. “All the High Borns of the Night Court need it.”

I look down at Sylvanna, lying in the crook of my arm, and see that her fangs do look much longer and sharper than usual. It makes me wonder why she’s never taken a drink from me. She calls me her “Blood-servant” yet she’s never had a single drop of my blood.

“Sylvanna—Mistress!” I pat her cheek with my free hand. “Are you thirsty? Do you need blood?”

“Thirsty,” she whispers faintly and she feels so frail in my arms. I hold out my wrist without hesitation and the peasant who came for us does the same.

“Drain me dry if you wish, my Lady,” he says. “You can have every drop with my thanks.”

“Don’t bother—I’ll serve her needs,” I tell him. I bring my wrist to her mouth, offering the blue bracelet of veins just beneath my skin.

But to my surprise, Sylvanna pushes my wrist away and reaches for the peasant instead. She sinks her long fangs into his arm and begins to drink, sucking and swallowing.

He grimaces in pain but doesn’t try to get away—clearly he’s ready to trade his life for his son’s, just as he said when he first came to the tower.

But Sylvanna doesn’t drain him. In fact, she only takes a few mouthfuls of blood before color starts to return to her cheeks.

She licks his wrist—perhaps to seal the wound—and pushes his hand gently but firmly away.

“Thank you, that’s enough,” she says. Then she looks up at me. “Come, Paladin—we must go.”

Slowly I gather her things, putting the heavy book, which has closed itself again, into the satchel.

I’m fucking relieved she’s all right but I’m also stunned by her actions…

stunned and angry. She pushed me aside and took blood from another male instead!

Why would she do such a thing? Why drink from another right in front of me?

I didn’t know I could feel so betrayed—so enraged. I feel the Holy Fire building and tamp it down grimly. I guess it’s her choice who to drink from—but the blood that saved her life belonged to a stranger. Why would she drink from him when I was there to serve her?

I don’t know and I’m too angry to ask.