My smile falters. And why do my eyes burn?
Grinning, he adds, “She was once a recruit herself, in case you’ve forgotten. Now she’s teaching the whelps how to swing a fucking sword.”
I bark a laugh, punching a fist on the wooden table, and it rattles. “It truly does come back full circle, doesn’t it, Ant?”
“Aye, Master. It truly does.”
We continue our conversation deep into the night. It’s a sentimental, heartfelt moment to have alone with my secondhand-man of so many years. He’s come into his own as the leader of this place, and I won’t let anyone take that from him.
“After your death and disappearing act, it all fell to shit rather fast,” he says at one point. “Rirth felt the best swordsman should lead the Grimsons. It was hard to fault his logic. And you know he’s always been a more skilled fighter than I.”
I grunt, growing vexed on Antones’ behalf about Rirth and how he’s ended up. He was once the best of us. Now it seems the power of leadership over the Silverknights has gotten to his head.
“How could I disagree or fight him on it?” Ant asks. “Besides, after the shadowgalas, the constant fighting . . . the Grimsons were tired, Lukain. Rirth’s claim split the group into factions. Many fled in the night, over days and months. People who wanted nothing to do with either of us, like Tajeri or the letter-writer Imis, who saw what happened to broodstock. Some of the boys who were frightened of the shadowgalas, like Genth and Faidy. Others joined Rirth’s silver band of merry murderers.” He twirls a hand as he finishes his complaint. I can see how much it stings to lose some of his people.
“Well, my friend, all I can say is . . . wasn’t that the original goal here?”
He tilts his head, bushy brow furrowing. “What do you mean?”
“Freedom, Antones. Or the dream of it, anyway. Imis and Tajeri getting away, lads joining the Silverknights for a fight theybelieve in.Thatis liberty, away from the earthen stink of the Firehold.”
Antones purses his lips. Slowly, he blows them out. “Never thought of it that way, I suppose.” He breaks out into a surprised chuckle, his eyes glinting as he peers at me. “Who would have thought, Master, that all these years apart and you’re still teaching me?”
Chapter 24
Skartovius
I have a moment to myself, which is a blessing. Being around Lukain Pierken for so many days, while holding onto my weighty secret, has frayed my patience and threshold for tolerance.
It’s my own fault. I had ample opportunity to spill my lies to him while we were on our mission to convene with Liolen Sesk. I could have told my half-brother I killed his father in cold blood two decades ago, rather than what he believes, which is that Heskel Angul was planning on killing Lukain and our mother, Alacine, the vile vampiress he claimed to love.
He did love her. He wasn’t planning an assassination attempt. I killed him anyway, because my rage at being dismissed by my mother and thrown to the wolves—having to live years in secrecy as an outcast—was too great to ignore. So I hit her where I knew it would hurt.
I still haven’t told Lukain the truth. He believes the lie I wrote to him.
I walk the dim corridors of the Firehold slowly, feeling naked without my cloak. I used it as a defense mechanism against Aramastun’s assassins aboveground, but getting rid of the red cape with the gold trim served a higher purpose.
Now I’m an outcast again, cast aside by nobleblood society, I have no need for the regal finery. No need to paint a larger target on my back to Aramastun Wyvox than the one I’m already sporting. It had to go, and the fact it went in an impressive flurry that ended a foul-blood’s life only makes it better.
People stare at me as I walk the gloomy halls. They look at me with wide-eyed terror, or curiosity, always giving me a wide berth because I’m imposing and I’m a fucking vampire. They don’t know me, but they know what I am.
There’s a constant pinging of water droplets trickling from overhead through the porous stone ceiling. It drives me mad. I can’t believe Sephania could live in a place like this, and for so long!
I suppose she had little choice.This is where the slave-fighters for my illustrious shadowgalas came from, for the most part,I muse, licking my lips.No wonder they fought so ferociously for their freedom. The Damned can have me before I get caught living my life down here.
Past the narrow halls, in the wider eating areas and workshops, I catch smatterings of conversation as I pass an open archway. It seems Lukain’s appearance is causing quite the kerfuffle.
“Can you believe he’s returned? That’s your old master, isn’t it?” a small shaggy-headed boy asks. “Is he a ghost?”
“No, you idiot,” replies a taller girl.
“Is he . . . deader than he already was?”
“I hardly know the bastard. He was on his way out when I got here. How should I know?”
The boy ponders. “Well, I mean, does a half-vampire who dies and comes back become a full vampire?”
“It doesn’t work that way, Besho. Will you stop bothering me?”