Skar puts a hand on my arm, in the gentlest motion I’ve seen from him in weeks. It makes me jolt, and I look over at him with surprise. “It’s time to move on and let Palacia live her own death, little temptress.”
My nose wrinkles.Easier said than done.
We start down the mountain pass. On this side, descending north, it’s dead out. We pass no one. On the south side of the peaks, it’s like a new tavern opened up at the summit of the mountain, and they’re doing a grand opening.
“I . . . might have given her a vial of Silverblood,” I murmur. Minutes have passed since anyone said anything.
Lukain’s and Skar’s necks snap. “Youwhat?!” they hiss in unison, in an eerie sameness that proves they’re related, if I didn’t already know.
I bare my teeth in a grimace, ducking my head like a coward. “I, uh. Just jesting!” Then I point to the horizon in a random direction, again like a pirate captain. “To the North Mines!”
Vallan, above the fray: “Will everyoneshut the fuck up?”
Surprisingly, our matter at the North Mines goes without incident. Somehow, they’ve been given word ahead of time we’d be arriving, as if Liolen has a secret colorful dandy bird they send off with messages.
How else could they have gotten word this far down the mountain before we got here, when we just struck the deal? Must be a dandy bird messenger.
No one is happy I gave my Loreblood to Liolen in exchange for silver deposits, though they’re saving that argument for later. We can’t think about that now—or what kind of madness said Loreblood might awaken in a monster like the Gilded Liege—because all I can think about is all this glittering fucking silver and how much it will help the Chained Sisters develop better, stronger Silverblood, faster.
The weight of silver we’re given by the interfolk miners is substantial. It comes in two potato sacks, like the kind Vallanthrew over his shoulder years ago when we first came here and he killed someone and then walked off with silver.
Things seem easier now, surely. No killing required for this batch of shiny metal.
Cordea, forewoman of the North Mines with Vallan out of the job after killing his former master, is a sight for sore eyes. The lithe vampiress is undeniably fetching with her lean face, lean build, and full, seductive lips always pressed in a disapproving pout. And after my time with Palacia, well . . . I have to wonder whatshewould be like.Doesn’t have the same equipment Pala does, from what I can tell. But it’s no matter.
In fact, ever since me and Palacia did the deed, I seem to be cheerier, thinking amusing thoughts and making amusing gestures. Certainly less stressed. Funny how an insanely satisfying orgasm or five will do that.
I think it could also have something to do with having all four mates together again and, most importantly,talkingto each other. If my plan to right the ship using Pala as a satisfying means to that end actually worked, I’ll be the luckiest woman in NuhavandOlhav.
We’re standing five-strong at the central command tent in the sprawl of the North Mines. Off against the mountain, angled, are the deep caverns with constant picking and clanking as their silver seams are mined. A giant hole in the earth sits a hundred feet to our right, yawning like a portal to the afterworld, also filled with glittering veins.
A group of interfolk miners on their break watches us from the flaps of their tents. Others are working tirelessly, heaving and hauling wheelbarrows of mud, working through the muck at this late hour.
“I wondered why the overliege called off the guards tonight,” Cordea muses as her subordinates pass us the bulging sacks of silver. “Then I got the letter.”
“Via dandy bird?” I quip.
“What?”
“Never mind.”
Vallan says, “Thank you for not fighting us on this, Cordea.” He has deep respect for the woman, and it’s shown in his tone and how he bows his head toward her after tossing one of the sacks over his shoulder.
“Oh, I would have fought you,” Cordea answers flatly, eyeing each of us in turn. “But I’m not going to try my luck against five of you.”
I hide a smirk, and see the others are trying to also.
Except Vallan, who remains frowning. “So it’s true then. You’re Aramastun’s woman now.”
She throws her head back with a guffaw. “The Night Judge’swoman, Vall?” She strikes a pose, pumping her hip out and crossing her arms under her breasts. The tight black leathers hugging her form is incredibly distracting. “If anything, I’m hisman.”
My brow launches.More like Pala than I thought?I muse stupidly.
“I run the mines because I’m loyal to my kind.” Her eyes narrow, her fangs slip out on her bottom lip. She glares at Vall in a way that tells me she doesn’t think he’s loyal to his kind like she is. I guess she’d be right, given what we’re trying to do and all this silver we’re stealing. “Besides,” she tuts, “we both know I’m not the kind of woman Aramastun Wyvox prefers.”
I can’t help myself. “What kind of woman does he prefer?”
“Weak ones,” she shoots back.