Page 12

Hector

A rrogance. Inexperience. Misjudgment. The list of reasons that had gotten me into this predicament went on and on, and it all came down to one thing: I was not ready for this. My whole life had been shadow and plot and unseen devices, but I’d never been a part of that darkness. I had only been a creature trapped within it.

Something beneath the stones of our civility was breaking—the Celestines not coming, the Valkhars arriving late, Camilla openly threatening me, and Espen twisting a year-old conversation into some kind of clandestine arrangement between us were all signs of a disturbance beyond my control. And the worst thing of all was that I had dragged Thea into it too.

What was I thinking letting her stay here? Had I honestly believed that this was going to be just another one of my mother’s tasteful soirees, as if her death hadn’t changed everything?

The heart in my chest pounded like a war drum, my fingers around Thea’s wrist tightening as I hauled her up the stairs. Even as I held her, I felt her slipping further and further away from me like a vessel on water.

“Hector,” she panted. “Where are we—”

Quickly, I shoved her inside my study, shutting the door behind us. “You need to leave.”

She whirled, catching my eyes with hers. I used to treasure these moments when I was young. The moments when the path of our gaze would connect and the world around me would explode into color. These were the only times I felt anything at all. Drop of my stomach. Stutter of my breath. Liquid heat coursing through my veins.

Now it tore at my very heart.

“If I leave,” she asked breathlessly, “what are you going to tell them?”

My thoughts raced, jumping from one possible scenario to another. “You were feeling sick, and you went to see a physician in Lumia,” I suggested.

Something shifted in her gaze, a furtive knowing that made me think that perhaps her panic and mine were not products of the same terror.

“What is it?” I pressed.

“I had a vision,” she revealed. “You and Kaladin were fighting about something. He looked…” Her expression grew haunted, remote, as if the vision was stealing over her eyesight anew. “He looked enraged with you. He looked like he wanted to kill you.”

This didn’t surprise me much. Kaladin was easy to offend, as most vampires of his age and status were, and a violent dispute with him could unravel over any number of insignificant reasons. Still, I could not risk Thea getting caught in the middle of it.

Not many things scared me in this life, but the mere thought of something happening to her paralyzed me. A terrible coldness dropped over me, pinpricks of ice stabbing up my spine. My voice came out shattered. “I’m so sorry, Thea.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“This is all my fault. I should have never let you stay.”

Part incredulity and part accusation braced the gently drawn lines of her face. That was Thea’s greatest strength. She looked as soft and delicate as a rosebud, but her mind was as sharp and resilient as the thorns beneath. Sometimes, looking at her was like confronting myself in the mirror. “Why did you then?” she asked with a flare of defiance. “Because of Dahlia?”

“I’m not using you to get out of an unwanted engagement if that’s what you’re implying. You asked to stay. You asked me not to turn you away,” I reminded her, steadier than I felt.

“You could have refused.”

How easy it was for her to look at me with those eyes and tell me I had a choice. I never had a choice, not with her. Every time she asked for something, I yielded. Every time she cried, I crumbled like a castle made of sand. “Tell me one thing I’ve refused you,” I demanded. “Tell me of one time I didn’t give you exactly what you wanted.”

She averted her gaze, her face heating. I could not understand why this embarrassed her so. But, perhaps, the words weren’t to blame. Perhaps it was the way I stood so close to her she had no choice but to lean against the wall. I tried taking a step back. I begged my body to do so. It did not want to listen.

“I was there, you know,” she murmured, after that heart-skipping pause. “In the vision. I was watching you.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not going to leave.”

The word was physical. It left me with a forward surge: “No.”

Before I knew it, I was caging her in, bracing my hands on either side of her face. My thoughts scattered, my skin warmed. We were so close, all I could smell was the almond oil she used on her hair. The rose undertone of her perfume. The very scent of her skin, which was something like honey. Sweet, woody, intoxicating if you got greedy with it.

She lifted her chin, and the back of her head fell against the wall, next to my hand. A stray curl brushed over my index finger. Its satin softness sent a bolt of need through me. Only the gods knew how much I wanted to bury my hands in her hair.

“Hector,” she sighed. “What if I leave and something bad happens?”

“What if you stay and something worse happens?”

“I’ve never defied a vision before,” she argued, a stubborn crease between her brows. “Destiny is not something to disregard so easily.”

I did not believe in destiny. I did not fear unseen gods and invisible threads. The only thing that scared me was her agony.

A sudden knock on the door made Thea jump forward, seeking cover in my arms. Part of me ached seeing her so frightened. Part of me was relieved that her first instinct was to curl her fingers into my shirt and hide her face in my chest.

This was the root of my conflict. This was why I kept wavering between bringing her closer and letting her go. My endless, physical longing for her had made me believe that there was no safer place in the world for Thea than in my arms. No harm or misery could ever find her so long as she was with me. But, in truth, the very entanglement of our worlds was putting her in harm’s way.

It had been different for my parents. Eron was the husband of Esperida, and I was not Esperida. Far from it, if today had proven anything.

Slowly, Thea untwined her body from mine, mouthing a flustered, Sorry.

The fullness of her body lingered upon my limbs. I had to clear the desire from my throat before I turned toward the door. “Come in.”

Roan’s face came into view, wrapped up in an expression of wary curiosity. “Are you two alright?”

“Thea isn’t feeling very well,” I announced steadily. I was good at lying. I was good at being whoever and whatever I needed to be depending on my company. I would say it was a vampire’s skill, as deception and illusion often accompanied the other darker attributes of my kind, but I had yet to meet a creature—vampire or otherwise—who didn’t lie, even if it were only to themselves. “She’s thinking of going to Lumia to see a physician.”

As Roan turned to face her, I wasn’t sure if the flicker in his eyes was one of disbelief or genuine worry. I just knew I didn’t like it. “Well, my husband, Tieran, happens to be an excellent physician. Unless, of course, your ailment is of a feminine nature, I assure you he’s more than capable of providing you with the care you require.”

“No, it’s fine, really,” Thea croaked, touching a tremulous hand at the base of her throat. “I was just feeling a bit lightheaded. I didn’t drink enough water today.”

It took everything in my power to conceal my indignation. She was too stubborn for her own good, too fearful of her own magic. It shouldn’t surprise me that she’d rather face a group of bloodthirsty vampires than roam beyond the limitations of her power. Her whole life she had dreaded living outside the lines of destiny. But the cursed creature in me couldn’t help but wonder what the point of free will was if not to challenge these gods-made constructs.

“Are you sure?” Roan persisted.

“I’m feeling much better already,” Thea claimed.

Roan offered her a polite, if not a bit dismissive, smile. “In that case, can I have a private word with Hector? I promise not to monopolize him for too long.”

“Of course,” said Thea courteously, walking backwards toward the exit.

I went to open the door for her, my hand sliding down her arm to close around her wrist. Her pulse beneath my fingertips quickened, her round lips parting in a silent question.

I leaned down and whispered in her ear, “Don’t go far from me.”

Was it eight, nine years ago that I’d spoken these words for the first time? The Castle was visiting Thaloria, and Thea and I were scavenging the Dragonfly Forest for a pixie nest. Lumia, a magicless kingdom as it were, was diligently avoided by the fairy folk, and in the newness of boyhood, I was burning with curiosity, for the only magical thing in our woods was the Castle. So we searched by nixie-infested brooks and mushroom-littered willows until we got separated on the path close to Fairyland—a dreadful place for a little human to be near indeed.

Once I found Thea, after the longest and arguably the most agonizing fifteen minutes of my life, I closed her in my arms and implored her, “Don’t go far from me again.”

We ended up saying this a lot growing up, every time one of us left or sometimes even as a greeting. Part of us, I thought, had always known a greater separation was coming.

Now, her gaze trapped mine in its unbeatable confidence, and I felt the uncertainty of our situation washing away from my body like dirty water. “Never again,” she promised.

I watched her go, but even after her lithe figure disappeared in the candlelit shadows of the corridor, I could still feel the warmth of her skin buzzing over my fingers. I flexed them at my side, hoping to ease the tension. I didn’t know what kind of magic that was. I just wished for it to stop.

Roan made an impatient sound deep in his throat.

I veered, forcing myself into a more companionable mood. “I’m listening.”

“I want to apologize to you,” he said.

I cocked a brow. “Shouldn’t Camilla be the one apologizing to me?”

“Oh, please,” snorted Roan. “Camilla hasn’t apologized for anything in her entire life. You know how she can be. She just likes the drama. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

“Are you sure about that?”

“We all want stability, Hector.”

“Even if stability means having a dhampir as your sovereign?”

“You heard about the cult the Valkhars are dealing with. This is because Esperida isn’t here. This is because people think we’re about to use her loss as an opportunity to violate our treaties. Now more than ever we need a dhampir sovereign. And even Camilla knows that.” He paused to give me a meaningful look under his brows. “You don’t have to send your pretty wife away. She’s safe with us. The Ravenors will stand by you and your human bride.”

Although Roan was not as formidable as Camilla or as dexterous as Alexandria, he was their best diplomat and therefore always inclined to describe a situation in the most amicable of terms. What he was actually trying to say with his raised brows and knowing expression was that if I sent Thea away now, it would make me look weak. It would make me look like I couldn’t protect my wife in my own home, giving Camilla further proof of my powerlessness and therefore more reason to challenge me.

Roan, though he would never admit it aloud and certainly not to me, despised Camilla. After all, she was the one who had turned the only man he’d ever loved. This tampered with the gravity of his benevolent declarations, but it also rendered him a far more incentivized ally. Someone who could help me ensure Thea’s safe stay in the Castle.

“You’re certainly eager to declare your loyalty to me,” I prodded.

He merely shrugged. “Camilla breaks things, I fix them. That’s what I do. I give you my word—”

“Your word means nothing to me. There is only one thing that can make me trust you,” I said, and now I was the one with a subtly pointed look on my face.

I expected indecision, a moment of suspense. But as it seemed, Roan had come prepared and did not hesitate to raise his hand to his mouth and use his fangs to carve an incision along his wrist. Blood gushed—dark, potent, as mystical as life itself. The kind of blood you’d have in your veins if you were feeding on your own species.

He extended the wound to me, gleaming droplets trickling down his hand to stain the floor red. “Just don’t bite me,” he said, stable as a corpse’s pulse. “I don’t want Tieran to think I went behind his back.”

I had no intention of biting him anyway. Unlike Camilla, who delighted in challenging the conventions of our kind, I respected them deeply. A lot of vampiric behaviors, such as biting, were attributed to feelings of love or hunger and were not to be greedily implemented. I did find this correlation between love and hunger a bit ironic—after all, to love was to be consumed too—but I would never be so arrogant as to bite the man who offered me his loyalty just to prove myself superior.

I only guided his wrist to my lips and ran my tongue over the gushing incision. A spurt of blood flooded the roof of my mouth. It was sweet and powerful like a burst of treacle.

When I had my fill, I released his hand but held his gaze as I slid a fang along my own wrist. I extended my bleeding flesh to him, watching a beam of incredulity flare wide in his honey-speckled eyes. “You gave me your loyalty and protection. In return, I give you my gratitude and friendship.”

His dark brows met above the aristocratic arch of his nose. “Are you sure about this?”

“You’ve always treated me like I was less than you,” I said and found no shame in his face, only a shadow of admission. “Let this make us equals now.”

He drank from me, his mouth as strong as his blood had tasted. After he was done, he wiped his lips on the translucent linen of his handkerchief and threw it in the fireplace.

I did the same with my own, watching the wound on my wrist knitting itself as if my skin were made of thread. Then I looked at him, grim as death. “No matter what happens here, you must stand by Thea’s side, protect her like your own.”

Roan nodded solemnly. “I promise.”

Someone knocked on the door. I rushed to it, expecting Thea, only to be met with Dahlia’s huge, perpetually startled eyes.

“Oh,” she gasped as if she hadn’t been expecting me either, contradicting her subsequent statement: “Good, I thought you’d be here.”

“You’re very popular tonight,” drawled Roan, slipping past me to flick his little sister’s nose.

Before he left, he gave me one final firm look, acknowledging the gravity of what had passed between us, and when the outline of his shoulders disappeared around the corner, Dahlia took the liberty of inviting herself into the study.

Gods, I groaned inwardly, this is going to be a long, long night.

“Your wife is lovely,” she remarked the second I shut the door behind me, her voice an unmade decision between unbothered and intrigued.

I fumbled for patience.

It wasn’t that I didn’t like Dahlia, but we’d always regarded each other with a certain level of coldness—even disdain on her part—and whatever conversation she wished to have with me now, I knew would be at the very least unpleasant.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I said. “It wasn’t my intention to put you on the spot.” When she didn’t say anything, I added a bit more sharply, “But I know you’re not disappointed.”

“No, I’m not,” she admitted. “Actually, I’m relieved you got married. Is that terrible of me?”

“Since when do you care about my opinion, Dahlia?”

Once again, she said nothing.

I sighed resignedly. “You should tell your father.”

Her throat bobbed. “Tell him what?”

“About Dain.”

Blood flooded her pale face. “Father won’t give me to a Valkhar. He thinks they’re brutes.”

They were brutes. In fact, Dain, Kaladin’s only heir, was also a despicable bully, but I thought it was probably wiser not to remark on this now that I was hoping to strengthen my relationship with the Ravenors.

And at any rate, we all knew the real reason Espen didn’t want to unite the two families was Camilla’s history with Kaladin. The two of them had been lovers once, a pair as fearsome as passionate, until he betrayed her by marrying Sybella. His unfaithfulness didn’t come as a surprise to anyone, though. Back then, Sybella had been my mother’s closest friend, and in our world, having the favor of Esperida Aventine was like having the favor of a god. People did a lot of terrible things for proximity to power, and marriage, evidently, was one of them.

“Espen is a reasonable man,” I admonished Dahlia. “He doesn’t oppose your union just to hurt you. He thinks Dain has lured you in with false promises. It’s within your power to make him see the truth.”

Dahlia’s timid expression turned to stone as she snapped her coal-smoke eyes on mine. She looked so much more like Collette now. An eerie combination of light and darkness, white pearls, and the black depths of the sea.

“This is all Camilla’s fault, you know,” she seethed, her anger quiet but impatient. “She has filled my father’s head with all kinds of lies about the Valkhars. Dain is a good man.”

“I’m sure he’s good to you,” I said.

Her gaze took on an edge of unreality, as if her thoughts had reached the shores of another world. “I wish we could elope like you did,” she whispered. “But Thea is so much stronger than me.”

The irony was a blade. It twisted inside me. It bled me dry.

If only I had been able to see and understand the gravity of Thea’s dilemma the way I could see and understand Dahlia’s now, perhaps everything would have turned out differently. But ego loved to take hold of reason when you needed it the most, and now…

Now, it was too late. Wasn’t it?

I hated that there was still a question in my head, a secret hope in my heart.

Whenever I thought I was past my feelings for Thea, she always found a way to rekindle the spark of my longing. She was my autumn. My season of comfort, season of change. And every time she returned to me, unfailingly, inevitably, I fell.