“My people know me asCaptain,not lord. I lord over no one.”
When did you become so snooty, old friend?I ignore him and move onto the next man at the table. “Silversmith Vanison, you can provide the tools we’ll need to defeat the Olhavians, can’t you?”
“My wares are drying up,” he grumbles, “but we can make something happen if my export lines are safe. Can’t do much with the fuckin’ tin-men and brass-bastards fighting each other on the streets. Hanging fuckers by broad daylight.”
Before anyone can get offended, I move onto Ant. “Master Antones has the voice of the forgotten, the outcasts. He can get the underground gangs working together to do some good.” Then I face the old man I hate the most. “Father—Archpriest Cullard, I’ve heard your pulpit speeches in the town squares. You are working toward bringing the people into the fold of the Truehearts.”
“And the Silverknights—the True’s destined fighters.” He nods diligently, like it’s been rehearsed and he doesn’t believe himself. “All are welcome in my flock.” He makes the sign of the True over his heart and forehead.
I don’t care if he believes himself or not. I don’t need to agree or like anything about the man. I just need to use him to suit my purposes.
“That means you can help us pass out the greatest weapon we have. And now with the gates separating Nuhav and Olhav lowered, we canusethe damned thing much easier. We haveleverage on Aramastun Wyvox—not important who that is right now—and can fool him when he thinks he’s fooled us.”
“What is this weapon?” Rirth asks. “What’s the ‘damned thing’ you’re talking about?”
I reach into my tunic and presents four vials of Silverblood, setting each one down on the table in front of the men. They stare at the cloudy red substance with confusion.
“We call it Silverblood,” I say proudly, sitting up. “It’s been mixed and tested over months, and we finally have a working formula.”
“Working . . . to do what?” Vanison drawls, picking up the tincture, tapping the glass with a finger, and rolling it around over his head to look at it from every angle.
I lean forward conspiratorially, my hands a steeple on the peeling table. “When someone who is bloodbonded to a vampire—a thrall, a human, a dhampir, even another vampire—imbibes this concoction, the bond they share, that connection, will be severed.” I slice my hand through the air.
Everyone stares blankly at me. I think I’ve forgotten that I knowmuchmore about vampires than the rest of the people here, given who I’ve been dallying with.
I let out a frustrated sigh, trying to think of easier terms they can understand. Turning to Cullard, I say, “It’s an elixir the True themselves would be proud of, Archpriest. It brings humanitybackinto the decayed, blackened hearts of vampires. It destroys vampirism.Thisis how we bring Nuhav to its former glory, before the infestation of vampires ever corrupted our mountains.”
Cullard’s eyes get wide as saucers, like he’s seeing a holy spirit right before his eyes. He looks down at the vial with new reverence.
Rirth isn’t sold. The captain grunts, tossing his chin past me. “Have you tried it on your own bloodsuckers, woman?”
I sit up straight, nodding primly. “I have.”
“And?”
Garroway speaks for the group. “Can practically feel the tender blush of humanity on my cheeks even as we speak, lad.” His voice is muted, even sardonic, but these men don’t need to know what Garro’s personality is like. His words are enough to make Rirth let out a hum and stare down at the vial with a bit more curiosity.
Vanison says, “What about the fuckingsilver? We need weapons against the Buvers when this shit goes sideways and doesn’t work.”
“Itdoeswork,” I assure.
“Still.” Rirth clears his throat. “The silversmith isn’t wrong. Even as my military swells in numbers, our weapon stocks diminish. We don’t have enough silver blades to go around. We still need to protect ourselves, Sephania, even with your magicked little elixir here.”
“I can help you there, too,” I quip.
“How?” Rirth tilts his head, crossing his arms, leaning back. Like he’s entering negotiation mode.
“Leave that to me. I can get you great chunks of the fucking stuff.”
He blinks. It’s a sign of the cogs turning in his head. Then he speaks formally, putting his hand out halfway across the table. “Show me you can get the Silverknights a good bundle of ore, and I’ll go along with your little scheme here.”
I reach out and shake his hand. “Deal.” My head turns. “The rest of you?”
Cullard says, “How do we administer this liquid?”
“Rub it onto blades,” I say, recalling my mother’s words, which at the time I found vile. I jut my chin toward the Silverknights standing guard behind Rirth. “Make each wound hurt far worse against our bloody enemies. Pour it into salvesand drinking mugs.” At this suggestion I glance to Antones—who knows many of the barkeeps in town—and Vanison. “Get the servants of the wicked to betray their masters,” I tell Cullard, “and do our job for us. Before long, Olhav will be a ship without a sail, with the vampires turning against each other. Slave against master. A story as old as time.”
Father Cullard smiles at me. It turns into something cruel just for a second. A sign of the true man behind the True cloth. Then his eyes flicker left, brow creasing—