Unless Liolen transitionedafterturning into a vampire?I tap my chin at the thought, because there’s not much to do here other than wait.
We’ve been in the shadow of the Tanmount for nearly an hour. If we’re not careful, dawn will sneak up on us. It’s taken a handful of hours to get from Helget’s castle to where we are now. A trek that usually would have taken a third of the time.
Our caution and hesitance finally pays off when a figure emerges from around a side door of the Tanmount.
The figure is hooded as they cross the street toward us. I can tell from their lank frame and gait, the way their hips swing, that it’s a woman.
She beelines toward us like she knows we’re there, which I find eerie. Her hood flies back once she’s safely hidden away beside us.
My shock is immediate, eyes bulging.
“Zefyra?”
Chapter 10
Sephania
Sister Zefyra’s pale face breaks into a grin. The vampiress’ alabaster skin is smudged with dirt and grime, looking like she hasn’t bathed in months. There’s a new scar across her right cheek, a deep one that runs from the tip of her brow to her chin. It doesn’t detract from the beauty I see in her red eyes and determined grin.
Before I know what I’m doing, I throw my arms around her. “We thought you were dead. You’ve been gone more than a year.”
“Good thing about me, Sister Sephania,” Zefyra rasps against my neck, “I’m good at being invisible.”
I pull her to arm’s length and run a soft hand across her cheek, feeling the coldness of her lifeless skin and the deep groove from the scar. “What did they do to you?”
“And who isthey?” Skar voices.
Zefyra peers out of the shadows toward the Tanmount where she emerged from. “I think this conversation is best taken elsewhere.”
We nod our agreement and she quietly leads us through an alley, to the back door of a building.
As her hand hovers over the doorknob, from the back of the group Vallan grunts out, “Hold.”
He nudges his beard toward Zefyra’s cloak, and I slowly glance over her shoulder to see it’s dark and studded . . . andthere’s a strange lump beneath it, between the cloak and her leather armor.
My heart lurches. Gasping, I peel the cloak back without asking—
To reveal a broad-brimmed hat I’ve seen too many fucking times tonight. “No,” I croak.
Hands go to weapons. Vallan’s gloved fingers close on the handle of the war-axe over his shoulder. He’s seconds away from showing Zefyra the same act he showed Zefyra’s lover, Ethera.
Difference is, Ethera’s death was one of mercy because of her blood illness, and to frame her for stealing silver from the North Mines and thus divert attention away from Skartovius’ revolution.
Zefyra’s death will not be one of mercy.
I take a step back. “W-Wait.”
Zefyra glances at the weapons lodged against her, hand closing on the doorknob. Her brow arches dangerously. “It’s not what it looks like. I can explain.”
“You’re a judgeman,” Skartovius says simply. He’s drawn his sword quicker than anyone. “One of Aramastun Wyvox’s handpicked soldiers.”
Her head shakes sternly. There’s no fear on her face—only scrutinizing what her odds are against us—and my heart hurts to see it.
I steel myself. I’ve grown tired of being back-stabbed left and right. “You’d better start talking, Zef.”
“Don’t you dare open that door,” Garroway growls, daggers spinning in his palms. He’s closest to the vampiress and I know he’ll have one against her throat in the blink of an eye. “If a swarm of judgemen are waiting for us in there, you’re finished.”
Zefyra says, “They’re not. I swear.”