I laugh. Bury my face against him again.
No matter what Vall says, no matter how surly and stoic he seems, this man will always be my giant bear. His overbearing protectiveness is so absolute that he would rather jump on a bomb—literally—than let his friends get hurt.
I approach Skar’s room last, tentatively shuffling in and watching him sleep. Two medics work on him with bags of blood seeping into his veins to replace all the loss of it from the fight. Even days later, the nobleblood’s recovery is slower than I’d hoped.
“Don’t pity me, little temptress,” he mutters. His eyes are closed, yet somehow he felt my presence.
I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised about that anymore. All my men are capable of incredible things. “I don’t. I simply worry for you, Skar.”
He lets out a low hum from deep in his chest, then grunts from the pain of doing anything related to his chest right now. “Aramastun Wyvox is dead. So are the other Ministers. This is cause for great celebration.”
“Yes.”
“And your little interfolk vampirex is the savior of us all. Quite good.”
I’m surprised he’s not a little miffed about that, like Garroway jokingly seems to be. “From what I’ve heard, Pala and Rirth have already begun the celebrations in earnest. They’ve been locked away for days, even though Palacia doesn’t have the excuse of needing medical attention.” I scoff a shocked laugh. “She was the only one not demolished during the fight.”
“And now she’s demolishing her new Silverknight captain. I would like to do the same to you, if I could fucking breathe right.”
My body heats at his suggestion. “Give it time, love. Soon you’ll be right and raring to go.”
He seems to ignore that, still thinking. “. . . Or do you think it’s Rirth doing the demolishing? Hmm. They both seem to be commanding presences in their own right.”
“Commanding presences in different situations, too,” I add, snickering.
“Inquisitive minds would love to know.”
We smile at each other. I kiss him like I kissed the others, thanking the Truehearts—out of habit, since I don’t believe in them any longer—that they’re all alive.
“And your mother?” he asks once our lips separate.
“She’s with Keffa again. Nursing their wounds. They’ll be all right, those tough old bitches.”
Skar chuckles.
My face crinkles. “You saved Jinneth, Skar. Again. I can never thank you enough.” I inhale a sniffle, trying to stay strong. “I never would have suspected the woman who left me an orphan for twenty years would become so important to me, and such an integral part of my life.”
“Aye, love, but you didn’t know her story at the time. The trialsshewent through to try and win you back. We can’t know what we don’t know.”
There’s a simplicity to his phrasing, and I have to agree. Skartovius Ashfen has a tendency to speak in absolutes rather than opinion, because all noblebloods are like that. But I find myself agreeing with him more often than not, and I simply smile and kiss him again.
The following days are difficult yet exciting. There’s energy in the air of the Firehold and on Nuhav’s surface that speaks of one thing: a fresh start.
Down in the hold, Antones is dead. The Grimsons and Chained Sisters no longer need to hide from the human lawmen aboveground or the vampires trying to snatch them up. The outcast class is ready to expand to citizenship, and I am ready to push the issue to a vote among the people.
Because that seems to be my role in all this. People turn to me for advise and questions on how to lead the twin cities now that there’s no central leadership ineitherplace.
Rirth looks to me for guidance, which I find surprising since he leads the largest contingent of military the humans have with the Silverknights. He believes the Silverknight reputation has been tarnished somewhat by its association with the Truehearts, whom Archpriest Cullard severely brought down to the gutter.
The gangs, the merchants, the citizens—they all looked to me during the past months, so it’s no surprise they continue to do so now that relative peace is among us. The Silverblood tincture became the lever that pushed the wheel, but it was I who drove the carriage, and they aren’t quick to forget that.
Like Vallan said, there’s still a lot of work to do, and much of that lies in Olhav. After the toppling of the Five Ministries, rampant civil war breaks out among the vampires.
The Military Ward’s soldiers haven’t had a leader in many long months, and they’re restless. They never truly considered Aramastun Wyvox their lord after Barnabac Craxon croaked. Barnabac’s famed Red Spawn—his legion of thirty-something children—go through the process of killing each other and backstabbing one another to try and get to the top.
Commerce flounders without Liolen Sesk. Trade stops while things pan out, collapsing the Olhavian economy. Intelligence has been nonexistent since Alacine’s death, and no information floods in or out of the vampiric city. The Damned go back to their holes and caves, hiding from the world, many of them even more crazed and gods-touched than when Valenthia Yurlyth was alive.
In every corner of Olhav, there’s chaos.