There’s a circular table in the center of the room, on top of warped and rotted floorboards. Behind the table at every corner are silver-cloaked knights, standing with their hands on their swords.
The Silverknight guards belong to Rirth, who sits around the table. I assume he’s representing the voice of the secondary army of Nuhav—the one fighting the primary law force, the Bronzes.
The other participants of this meeting are Vanison Shirin the silversmith, who sits across from Rirth. He must represent the merchants and outlaws who live under the surface, benefiting from his trade of the forbidden metal. The handsome man’s long hair looks greasy, his chest hair is poking through the top of his tunic, and his eyes are sunken. He’s certainly looked handsomer, and has a bit of a squirrelly dart to his eyes as we enter.
There are two open seats next to him, which are for me and Antones, I assume.
But it’s the man sitting next to Rirth, the one who first spoke and made my blood crawl, that brings me to a stop before I sit.
“Father Cullard,” I croak, and then clear my throat angrily and slash a hand toward the man, averting my gaze to Rirth. “What the fuck ishedoing here?”
Rirth tilts his head, surprised at my sudden outburst. “He represents the parishioners of Nuhav, Seph. Surely you know he’s allied throngs of people with the only valiant fighting force of Nuhav. My Silversaints.”
“Yes, I know that. But what is he doinghere.” Maybe my emphasis on the latter word will help him understand.
Father Cullard clears his throat, his sagging jowls tightening as the disgusting man scrutinizes me for the first time with his half-lidded eyes. “It’s Archpriest Cullard, young lady. Who are you?” His eyes narrow dangerously, leaning forward in his seat. “Wait, I recognize you . . .”
“It’s not important,” I interject curtly as he trails off. I take my seat, pull out the chair next to me, and gesture for Antones to sit. “Let’s get on with it.”
It’s always like that, isn’t it? I’ve spent my entire life darkly reminiscing Father Cullard’s wicked ways, the man who reared me like some doting parent. The man who watched as the Trueheart vowagers whipped the skin off my back when Baylen Sallow stole a pretty hairbow for me.
Yet he doesn’t even remember my face. I suppose, given his old age and mind, it makes sense. That was two decades ago.He surely remembers his hands diddling and grabbing at younglings,I think crudely.He can’t have forgotten why I hate him.
The beginning moments of the meeting are hard for me to focus because I’m thrust into the past. My blood sings, my mates are on high alert from the sensation of our bond warning them. They know I’m seconds from erupting.
I take a deep breath through my nose and out through my mouth. Then another one. All eyes turn to me.
Can’t let the mission go astray because of this. Regroup, girl.
“You called us here, Seph,” Rirth says, leaning forward in a bored stance with his tilted chin on his knuckles and his elbow on the table. He doesn’t look particularly pleased to see either me or Antones. Then his eyes widen as he glances past us and sees Lukain, his former master. He coughs, looking like he’s seen a ghost. “So the rumors are true. You really are alive, Master.”
Lukain nods. “Good to see you again, Rirth.”
Rirth clamps his jaw. He ignores the welcome and nods his chin toward Ant, speaking to me. “You ask why the priest is here, I could ask the same thing. Why’d you bring the old man?”
Antones clears his throat. He doesn’t look angry at the ex-Grimson. Hells below, they fought vampires together. There’sno reason they should hate each other. Then again, I was gone for many years while they had to work together. I’ve heard from numerous sources that a schism developed between them and their leadership styles.
“I am only here as an officiant and peacekeeper, Rirth. Nothing more. Pretend I’m not even here.”
“Shouldn’t be hard,” Rirth quips. The man looks hardened and unhappy since last I saw him. Perhaps the ceaseless battles between his men and the Bronzes is starting to wear on him and show him how difficult an uprising can be to execute.
That could be my in.
Rirth spreads his arms wide. “We’re here. So talk, Sephania.”
Father Cullard snaps his fingers and sits upright with a wide smile, pointing at me. “That’s it!Sephania! I remember you now, young sister. A Trueheart full and true, weren’t you?” His jolly change in personality only makes me hate him more, and the chameleon that he is. His smile suffers, lips pinching. “I was distraught when I heard the names Hellwhore and Bitch-Queen thrown around these parts. I remember thinking, ‘Surely they can’t meanmySephania.’”
I clench my jaw and face him. Through gritted teeth, I spit out , “I was never yours, Cullard.” Then I disregard him and his falling face, so wounded from my dismissal. It gives me a small burst of satisfaction.
“Why are we here, woman?” Vanison grumbles. “I’ve put myself at great risk—”
“I’ve called you here so we can work together.”Even the motherfucker with the robes and fake smile, until I have no more need for him.“We need to put aside our petty differences and focus on the true enemy. The vampires.”
Behind me, my mates stiffen. I probably should have prepared them for my monologue. But they had to know I would say something along these lines, right?
“The working folk and outcasts, the Truehearts, the Grimsons, the Silverknights . . . we’re plagued by disunity.” I gesture at each representative of the classes in turn: Vanison, Cullard, Antones, Rirth.
“Lord Rirth, you can quell the fighting on the Floorboards between your Silverknights and the Bronzes.”