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CHAPTER TWELVE

T he next night, the vampires were sluggish and slow to rise. Erekkus looked like a corpse when he dragged himself into my tent not long past nightfall.

I laughed the moment he revealed himself. In response, he shot me an acidic glare, punctuated with a sarcastic sneer.

“I can see that face,” I said. “Don’t you know that by now?”

“Oh, I know, Sister. Just like you can see my shame, too, apparently.”

I made an exaggerated sound of sympathy. “Poor little thing. Overindulged? Is it the blood that makes you look like that, or the wine?”

He grumbled something wordless, then jabbed a finger at me. “You got me in a hell of a lot of trouble with Atrius, you know that? I told you to stay put.”

I shrugged. “Everyone else seemed to be having fun,” I said innocently. “Why can’t I?”

“Because if there’s one thing the Arachessen are known for,” he muttered, dripping with sarcasm, “it’s fun .”

I almost chuckled at that one. He wasn’t wrong. I loved my Sisters, but they could be… a stoic bunch.

“I’m not an Arachessen, remember. Maybe I was just so much fun I got myself kicked out.”

Erekkus, despite his obvious misery, actually made an expression resembling a smile at that.

“I’ll remember that,” he said, “and challenge you to prove it the next time there’s wine around.”

I returned his smile despite myself. “I might be moved to accept it.”

I was a little surprised to see Erekkus that day, actually. Atrius had seemed so unhappy to see me wandering around the night before that I thought he’d fire Erekkus as my bodyguard. But no—apparently Atrius still trusted Erekkus, because he remained my companion, and I had to admit I liked that. In part, because he was talkative enough to get information from. But I found I also just enjoyed the chattiness.

We packed up camp and traveled over the next week, venturing closer to Alka as the crescent moon approached. Then, several hours’ travel from the city, we stopped again, shielded from the city by the rocky cliffs. Because of the steep, mountainous terrain, we were able to get quite close to the city while still remaining hidden—though no doubt Aaves, Alka’s warlord king, had some inkling that Atrius was coming for him.

This was, however, the only advantage offered by Alka’s terrain. The roads from here were narrow and steep, making it difficult to move thousands of soldiers at once and forcing them into a chokepoint that would make them easy to target with snipers—or, more likely, a bunch of drunken maniacs with oil-fueled firebombs. Beyond the mountain passes, the city was broken up into tall, isolated islands, connected by a series of difficult-to-navigate, poorly maintained bridges.

It was challenging. But Atrius, I’d learned, didn’t back down from a challenge.

Here, we stopped and waited. Erekkus was called away from me for the first time since the festival night. No matter where we went, my tent was always beside Atrius’s, separated slightly from the rest of the group. With Erekkus gone, I sat against the cloth wall of my tent, on the side closest to Atrius’s, and reached out for their presences.

I couldn’t make out their words, but I could sense their intentions. Half a dozen people gathered in Atrius’s tent, and as always, Atrius’s presence overwhelmed them all. They were tense and serious. Every so often, the energy would rise—in arguments, I thought—and then would immediately fall back into quiet with a single soft-spoken word from Atrius.

They were strategizing. Determining their approach.

Hours later, Erekkus left the tent and strode back toward mine. Curiously, another presence I didn’t recognize joined him. I moved away from the wall quickly, settling onto my bedroll and looking thoroughly bored by the time he opened the flap.

“You should knock,” I said. “You might’ve seen something you didn’t want to see.”

A reluctant smile pinched his mouth. “Oh, I doubt that,” he said, but his companion gave him a stern glance and he quickly sobered.

I cocked my head at the newcomer—a dour-looking man, older than most others I’d seen in Atrius’s army. His body didn’t betray his age as much as his presence did—worn, tired, beaten down.

“This is Rilo,” Erekkus said. “I’m needed in the offensive, so he’ll be watching over you.”

“Watching over me where?” I said. “Here?”

Erekkus looked at me like I was stupid. I wondered if he’d ever really understand that I knew when he did that. “Yes.”

Oh no. Absolutely not.

I straightened my back and clasped my hands. “I’d like to speak to Atrius.”

Erekkus actually laughed. “Atrius is extremely busy before an imminent attack.”

“I’ll be quick.”

“No. He’s not taking uninvited visitors.”

“I’ve had another vision. It’s very important. It affects the attack.”

Erekkus looked annoyed. “Bullshit. You’re lying.”

“Does Atrius trust you to decide that that’s true? I think he’ll be unhappy if he marches without this information, just because you made a unilateral decision you weren’t supposed to make.”

Erekkus was silent for a long moment, then cursed, turned around, and ripped the flap open.

“Stay there,” he commanded. Then, over his shoulder, he added, “I’ll ask, but I’m telling you, he’s not going to see you. He’s got better things to do.”

Atrius saw me.

He wasn’t happy about it, of course. I could sense his irritation even beneath that constant, powerful calm—though I suspected that was only because he was allowing me to.

“You take up a disproportionate amount of my time, seer,” he said, “considering that I have a thousand other people reporting to me.”

“Call me Sylina.”

I smiled. Atrius did not. It was difficult to charm him. Then again, I’d never been a very charming person.

“I would like to march with you,” I said. “Let me fight with you in Alka.”

Atrius didn’t even look up from his desk—if the makeshift stack of crates could be called that. “No.”

“I’m your seer. I’d be useful out there.”

“I’ve never seen anyone seer on a battlefield, and if they did, I think it’d cause much more trouble than it’s worth.”

He had a point there.

“I’m a trained warrior,” I said. “You yourself said the Arachessen are a force to be reckoned with.”

He lifted a lazy hand—gesturing to the camp beyond his tent. “I have a thousand warriors, and all of them are good. I have only one seer.”

It made it hard to argue with him when he was so thoroughly correct in his reasoning. I would make the same decision in his place. Any rational leader would.

I didn’t have to argue with him. I could sit like an obedient little prisoner in my tent, guarded by whatever-his-name-was, and then piece together the battle afterwards.

But I was here to gather information, and fast. What information was more valuable than seeing how they fought? I’d witnessed it once—it had been like a wall of water crashing over the shore, inevitable and inescapable. I had been distracted, though. This time, I needed to dissect their tactics. To do that, I had to be there. I could only learn so much after the battle ended, piecing the story together secondhand. Hyperbole and myths took hold fast.

I wanted the truth.

The challenge would be coming up with a good enough reason to be there.

I let out a long, noticeably shaky breath, clasping my hands together tight. For a long moment, I didn’t speak.

It was an uncomfortably lengthy stretch before Atrius’s gaze flicked up.

“What’s wrong with you?”

So blunt. It was almost charming.

I ducked my head, as if embarrassed by myself.

“I—I didn’t lie to Erekkus,” I said, “about having another vision. But I confess I lied about the nature of it.”

“I’m shocked,” Atrius said blandly.

“I saw a vision about… myself. That the Arachessen would come for me the night of the attack.” I lifted my head, straightened my back, clenched my jaw—as if trying oh-so-very-hard to collect myself. “They don’t give clean deaths, commander.”

“So I’ve heard.”

I waited, shrouding my building annoyance. Given all this talk about how important a seer was to his mission, I expected the news of my impending death to be met with a little more urgency.

“So?” I said, after a long silence passed. “I can march with you?”

He set down his pen. Raised his gaze.

People tended to assume that Arachessen, given our condition, didn’t care about eye contact, but that’s false. Yes, I could sense a presence without ever turning my head toward them, but I sensed plenty more with a gaze meeting mine. It’s amazing what I could see when one extended a thread of their own. Most revealed more than intended.

Atrius’s stare was an exception. It felt like having your chin tipped up with the point of a dagger. Not an overt threat, but never losing the potential to become one with the most minute movement.

“I’m—” I let my voice waver. “I’m ashamed to say that I’m afraid , commander. That’s the truth of it.”

“I’m not sure that I believe that,” he said.

I couldn’t help it—I was a little indignant. “You don’t believe that I’m afraid of the Arachessen? That’s just common sense, isn’t it?”

“I don’t believe that .” He jabbed his pen at me. “ That little chin wobbling thing. Enough of the theatrics.”

My brows lurched a little.

This man. Full of surprises.

I gave him a small, conspiratorial smile, like I was letting him in on a secret joke.

“I’m sorry. A woman alone in this world sometimes needs to perform to make men take her seriously.”

Only a little true. Perform, or suppress. Rarely anything in the middle.

“It’s not helping me take you seriously.” He set down his pen and stood, crossing the room to stand before me. Once again, I felt like I was being examined—like any minute he might start critiquing my posture.

I straightened my back, as if to lift myself up to his height. A losing game, of course—I wasn’t short by any means, but he was very tall.

“But I promise you,” I said, more seriously—making sure to inject a little of that shame, that fear, into my voice, “that my fear is real. I can be an asset to you on that battlefield, commander. But I certainly can’t do anything for you if the Arachessen kills me first.”

He took me in, considering.

“You’ll have no bodyguards,” he said. “Every man and woman with me will be focused on their task and their own survival. I won’t ask any of them to put your protection over that.”

“I understand that.”

“I’m not sure that you do.”

I laughed. “You have no idea the things I’ve seen. The things I’ve done. I’m a killer too, Atrius. Don’t underestimate me.”

His eyes narrowed. Then he turned around and rummaged through a pile of packs in the corner. When he returned, my heart leapt—he was bearing my sword, which had been taken the night Erekkus had brought me from the inn.

He said nothing as he handed it to me, nor as I cradled it for a long moment.

And then, just as I was about to open my mouth to thank him, he drew his sword and swung it.

The strike was perfectly executed—so sudden and swift and glass-smooth it barely rippled the air, and it was aimed right at my throat.

He was good. Fast. But I was faster. I sensed the movement before he could execute it.

I drew my own weapon, letting the scabbard fall to the ground as I met his swing.

The clash of our weapons, steel against steel, reverberated through the tent. My weapon—sleeker than his, a rapier compared to his saber—strained under the weight of his strike.

But he didn’t rely on his strength alone. He didn’t let the contest hold for more than a few seconds before he pulled back and came at me again.

I couldn’t let him draw blood. I knew he, like his men, surely wielded blood magic. One nick of my skin and I was done.

No, I wouldn’t let him get that far.

I matched his speed, anticipating his movements. It was harder than I was used to. Most minds hinted at their next move before their muscles did, but not Atrius’s. It was as if he fought completely in the moment, not thinking ahead but wholly reacting, relying on instinct.

Our steel met again, again, again. We circled around the room, dancing through the small space, the close quarters making each strike focused and efficient.

I didn’t mind fighting. Didn’t mind letting him toy with me. Actually, I relished the opportunity to observe him—even if every new piece of information seemed to only hint at a new mystery.

I stumbled as a particularly strong blow nearly flung me through the tent wall.

A smile twisted his lips—just a hint of satisfaction, there and gone again.

That little smile changed everything. Enough playing. It was time to end this.

I let my breath steady, let the threads of my magic reach across the room.

I drew one from myself to the other side of the tent, just behind Atrius.

Pulled it tight. Tight. Tight.

Stepped into it.

The world collapsed, shifted, rearranged in less than a second, and then I was standing behind him.

Atrius was tall, but not so tall I couldn’t position my blade against his throat, my other arm wrapped around his body.

“I win,” I said.

I tried not to sound smug.

Tried.

His body was pressed against mine. I felt his muscles tense with surprise, even if no part of his presence betrayed it. Felt the exhale as he realized what I’d just done.

He raised his hands.

“Impressed?” I asked, unable to help myself.

“Mm.”

The sound was more of a grunt.

So he was a sore loser. Noted.

I lowered and sheathed my blade, and he did the same.

“I’ve heard the Arachessen knew how to do that kind of thing,” he said. “Never witnessed it.”

“We can do much more than that,” I said, and immediately cursed myself.

We. I hoped he’d dismiss that as a holdover habit from my years of service. But if he noticed my slip, he didn’t show it. Instead, he turned and regarded me stonily.

“So?” I said. “Are you convinced now of my competence?”

He looked me up and down. A muscle in his jaw twitched, like whatever he was about to say physically pained him.

“Good enough,” he muttered at last, turning back to his desk. “Fine. You can come. Now get out of my tent. I have actual work to do.”