Godial reaches out and cups one of the younger vampires under the chin, pinching his cheeks in an affectionate way that has the rest of my group glancing at each other.
Kinky indeed.
Footsteps sound on the winding staircase at the head of the dining room. All eyes turn to find Helget descending the steps, dressed in a form-hugging gown that leaves little to the imagination.
I recall the shadowgala where Helget was chosen as broodstock by Godial and Ferar. They pulled her between them, disrobed in a matter of minutes. Helg loved the attention, as she clearly loves the attention now, smiling at the group of nine awaiting her arrival with rapt attention.
Before her eyes land on me, they fall on Godial as she reaches the base of the steps. “Quite a bigger turnout than I expected, my sweet.”
Godial gestures across the table at me. “Look who has just arrived, my bleakness. A friend of yours.”
Helget smiles demurely, though it’s tight and not the friendly smile I remember from when she was a human.
Unlike Aelin, who succumbed to her place as a breeding mare for wicked vampires, Helget has managed to assert herself and transcend the “broodstock” title. Given the finery on her shoulders, the elegant gown, the smoldering way she speaks with her mates, it is clear who runs Manor Sirenchis.
In some diabolical way, I’m proud of her. Helget reminds me of me—multiple mates, powerful stature and command over them—though she has done things more efficiently. I imagine her life isn’t half as chaotic as mine, living out here in the wilderness under the curve of a valley with her devilishly handsome men.
Once Helget seats herself, it isn’t long before mute servants—much like the white-robes from Marquin—arrive to bringgoblets filled with blood and trays of appetizers. Cheese, bread, thingsIcan eat. For vampires, these fine human foods do little in the way of sustenance, but they’re another way to show power to a room.
My group makes pleasant chatter with Helget’s, only delving into our predicament once we’re asked. I let Skartovius do the explaining, and notice Helg’s eyes are locked on the man seated next to him.
“Master Lukain,” Helg says at last. “I hardly recognized you at first.”
Lukain bows his head and scratches at his rugged, curly mop of dark hair. I have to wonder how he feels being in Helget’s mansion, as a guest, after lording over her—and me—for so many years when we were younger girls.
The tables have turned. I can’t deny sick glee at seeing Noblewife Helget come into her own. She has a lower voice now, a slower timbre, and she sounds nothing like she did when we were girls. She’s refined and elegant, transforming into her role as a noblewoman with aplomb.
“Last I heard,” she says to Lukain, “you were dead. Killed by the man sitting next to you, in fact. Our lovely liege.” Her chin dips toward Skartovius.
“Don’t believe everything you hear, Mistress Helget,” Lukain says in a clipped tone, trying for civility. “I suppose it’s a miracle of the Truehearts that I’m still here.”
Helget flares her nostrils. “You would blaspheme the Damned in my own home?”
Lukain goes rigid, sitting upright and lifting his elbows from the table. The room falls silent. Floundering at first, he says, “Erm, no, of course not. Apologies, Mistress Helget. I only meant to mention a faith you and Sephania might recognize. I did not mean any harm—”
“I’m only jesting, Master Lukain,” Helget interjects with a smirk curling the corner of her lips.There it is again: “Master” Lukain. Same mistake I made at first when he returned. Old habits die hard.“You are free to believe any such nonsense you wish in this house. We are not the Faith Ward or Overlady Valenthia Yurlyth with her demanding zealousness for the Damned.”
“I, uh, we thank you for that,” Lukain says with a small dip of his head.
Helget looks to me, then Skar. “If Aramastun Wyvox is after you, Lord Ashfen, then you are free to stay with us until you feel safe to leave. I very much doubt the Night Judge would swing his regiments this far north in search of you.” She drinks from her golden goblet, smacks her lips, and twirls her wrist. “You said you have a few soldierly allies among poor Tymon Aldion’s remaining troop?”
Skar nods his head low. I can tell it vexes him to be calling on favors because he’s a proud man.We all need help once in a while, and if there was ever a time to ask for it . . .“We are grateful for any assistance you can provide, Noblewife Helget,” Skartovius says formally.
The dining room falls into hushed slurping, soft chewing, and pleasant conversation once more. I can’t help but feel it’s a shiny veneer for a diabolical place.
This drafty, oversized castle in the valley, housing a madwoman vampiress and her three mates. Iwantto trust Helget like I did when we were younglings in the Firehold. But I see the tension here, the shift in power. And there’s something she said that stands out to me.
“You are free to stay with us until you feel safe to leave.”
As I ponder her words over my fine meal, I have to wonder . . . when will weeverfeel safe again?
Chapter 7
Sephania
The guest rooms we’re given that evening are set in a row on the second story of the castle. It was nice of Helget and Godial to provide the chambers, though I suppose it was a formality since they still call themselves allies of Skartovius Ashfen’s court.
I have to wonder what sort of scheming will get underway once word of Skar’s dethroning gets out among the Olhavians. Who can we trust? Who will try to claim Manor Marquin for their own, with a lack of leadership there? Will Aramastun Wyvox claimallthe countryside manors as his own and rule the mountains with an iron fist? I imagine the other two Ministers, Overliege Liolen Sesk and Overlady Valenthia Yurlyth, of the Commerce and Faith Wards, respectively, would have something to say about that.