“That’snotwhy he was called—” I cut my words off, pinching the bridge of my nose. I’m too tired for this and my heart is tooheavy. I can’t bring up Antones without my voice cracking and falling dangerously close to tears.
Someoneneeds to peel him off that damned wall, and it isn’t going to be me. There are many things I will do, but not that. It needs to be someone who hardly knew him.
At least when I look over to Palacia and Rirth, finding them lip-locked and very close to getting it on right in front of us, I’m filled with something like hope, something related to happiness. A distant cousin to happiness, maybe.
Because if a human who hates vampires and a vampire who doesn’t remember what it’s like to be human can fall for each other like this . . . then perhaps we actually have a chance of saving these damned cities we all call home.
Eight hours later, after much-needed rest across the board in the Firehold, we hold a twin burial ceremony for Antones and Cyprilis. They are symbols of the partnership between the Grimsons and Chained Sisters, even though they couldn’t have been more disparate people.
Perhaps that’s the point. The Grimsons and Chained Sisters themselves couldn’t have been more different and diverse. Underground gladiators fighting as entertainment for nobleblood vampires; sickly girls of various sects and denominations chained together under the unifying front of liberty.
In the end, everyone here wants their freedom. It doesn’t matter what they call themselves, what name they go by, or even if they regard themselves as human, dhampir, or vampire.
I feel the end of something special coming soon. The end of our revolution, perhaps, which came on hot like a shooting star and is ready to crest through the sky and vanish into theheavens. The feeling is in my bones, an ominous sensation I can’t quite articulate to my people. Aramastun Wyvox wants to meet me, and I know nothing good can come from that. Not if we let the Night Judge make the judgment.
The burial lasts hours, filled with food and drink in the eating room. All two-hundred-plus rebels in attendance celebrate the lives of our leader and our crazed little sister.
There are so many things I can say about Antones, but I leave that to the others. And say what you will about Sister Cy, but she fought to her death to try and protect Iron Sister Keffa and my mother. That says all I need to know about the vampiress’ loyalties. She knew what it was like to lose children, even if she could never feel that same motherly instinct as she had when she was a human.
She didn’t want that same fate to befall Jinneth. I like to think she died protecting her forme, though I’m not so selfish to truly consider that idea.
I can’t stop thinking about my mother, and what we might have to do to get her back. What we might have to give up. Looking around the room, I’m hit with a sinking feeling. It’s a forlorn, melancholic sensation that creeps through my body and swells in my belly.
It’s family. Everyone here, every fight we’ve gone through, has unified us and made us something closer than I ever thought possible.
For a girl who began her life as an orphan without a family, who bobbed and weaved into numerous ill-fitting forms of family all through my formative years, I could have never expected the Firehold would be the place that holds those closest to my heart.
Late in the evening, I rise from my bench, slightly wobbly from too many mugs of ale, and make my way to where Skartovius and Lukain are speaking nearby.
I tap Skar on the shoulder. “Got your beauty sleep, nobleblood?”
He quirks a single brow at me, smirking.
Then his smirk crumples on his face, both brows rising, as he looks over my shoulder at the southern entrance to the eating room. “Graybird.”
I spin—dizzying from the drink.
Garroway stands triumphantly at the entrance. People cheer when they see him. The flamboyant jester that he is, Garro breaks into a sweeping bow. “I have one better!” he exclaims, lifting a finger.
With his other hand, he yanks a rope—
Out stumbles Father Cullard from the hallway, trussed around the neck like a trapped fucking pig.
The cheers climb higher, and I join in, punching the sky. “Yes!”
“Down with the True! Down with the True! Down with the True!” The chants start immediately, even as Garroway parades Cullard through the Firehold, letting everyone spit on him and kick him as he passes.
The flabby man is scared half to death. His eyes are saucers in his head and he keeps whining, trying to speak and plead his case before people interrupt him with more spittle in the maw.
When Garroway brings Cullard to stand in front of me, I cross my arms over my chest. “Welcome back, my love.”
“Apologies for taking so long, little honey badger.” Garro breaks into another bow. “Had to return thechildrenthis manstoleback to their rightful homes in Nuhav.”
“Understood.” My lips firm into a thin line as I stare into Father Cullard’s sagging old face.
“P-Please . . . Sephanie, isn’t it? Have mercy for an old man. Have mercy for a priest of the True faith and—”
I spit in his face before he can finish. It’s a thick glob, landing on his nose, slowly trickling in twin rivers down his cheeks. He looks at me appalled, jaw agape.