We can decide the mode of initiation later. Right now, we need to make sure the fucking thing works.
Jinneth’s eyes haven’t moved from Garro’s face.
“What is it, Mother?” I chirp.
A sly grin builds. “There’s one person I can think of we could test it on to make sure.”
My brow threads. I look to Garro, back to Jinneth. “Wait.” My eyes flip to Garroway.
He recognizes it at the same time.
Jinneth shrugs. “You just mentioned your bloodbond with Skartovius Ashfen, baldy. You’re a dhampir who has been thralled to a fullblood—the most powerful bond of all. The solution seems simple.”
A sheen of worry crowds Garro’s face. He takes a step back, eyeing Jinneth and then me, like we’re strangers or mad scientists eager to pick at his bones.
My heart hurts for him, seeing the war of wills playing across his flitting eyes, his flexing jaw. Garro’s connection with Skar is already tenuous at best from drinking my Loreblood straight from the tap. We’ve seen its power. Now my mother wants to convince him to sever that bond to Skarfully, while also not becoming thralled to me because the blood isn’t directly from my veins. In theory, he would lose any connection with anyone.
It’s a hard sell. I know that. I hate that my mother has put it on my mate’s shoulders.
“. . . No . . .” Garroway croaks, shaking his head wildly while backing up another step down the slope. “I’m n-not ready for that.” He clears his throat loudly. “Not yet. I’m—I’m sorry, little honey badger. You can’t ask me to lose myself to Master Skar completely.”
My eyebrows arch with sadness. I stumble down the slope and rest a hand on his arm before he can run away. Then I cup his cheek and press a small kiss to his lips. Into the shell of his ear, I whisper, “I would never ask you to do something like that, my love. Not if it goes against your wishes and needs.”
Chapter 32
Sephania
We’ve used Lyroan to test the Silverblood, ostensibly with Vallan as a control group. I should feel awful about it.
Yet I don’t.
It’s only when someone close to me is suggested as the next guinea pig—my lovely cub—that I grow defensive at the prospect. I try to tell myself,It’s for the cause, the revolution,but I feel like I’m lying to myself.
I won’t try to convince Garro this is in our best interest. I saw the fear skitter across his face, the notion of losing both Skartovius and me in his head, bound to him.
We offer Garroway grounding in this tumultuous world, which I can only imagine is even more haphazard as a grayskin. Humans hate him for being part-vampire, vampires hate him for being part-human. After seeing his reaction to Jinneth’s suggestion, I finally see for the first time how misplaced he must feel. How outcast and apart from the inhabitants of the sister cities, similar to Palacia and the interfolk.
Of course, as a dhampir, he is given more natural leverage than the interfolk people who have transitioned from their born state. Garroway and Lukain have supernatural strength and speed. They’re highly intelligent, cunning, beautiful specimens. There is no shortage of suitable mates, partners, or paramours for the grayskins who straddle the world between the mountains.
When we are alone that early morning, I tell my mother to find someone else to test the Silverblood on. “If no one is willing, that tells us all we need about the elixir. We can’t use it on the broader populace if no one will take itwillinglyin its current state.”
A shadow of shock crosses her features, as if she hadn’t considered we might not even use the thing she’d been so obsessed in creating. “That’s foolish, dear daughter. This is our weapon, we both know it. We can’t suspect bloodthralls will wish to drink the concoction on their own. Not without some coaxing. Subterfuge must be used.”
My brow furrows. “Subterfuge how? What are you suggesting, Mother?”
“Rally the servants of the noble houses in Olhav. Slip it into their masters’ bloody chalices. Into soup bowls for the turned humans. Pour some into mugs of ale at the taverns.”
My head reels. “You’re talking about drugging and poisoning our enemies.”
She scrutinizes me deeply, huffing a laugh. “And? Did you think this would be tidy, Sephania? That our enemies would gladly take this elixir to ‘fix’ themselves? No, they will fight us fang and nail.”
Vexed at the ease with which she’s suggesting all this, I gesture to her missing left hand. “You make us sound like the woman who cut your fucking hand off. Like Alacine with her poisons and web of lies. Like assassins.”
Jinneth sighs and stands. She pats me on the shoulder on her way out of the small dwelling. “You’re too virtuous for your own good, sweetheart. You’ll learn though. We have to use any means necessary to defeat this plague.”
Vampirism as a plague? Yes, she has always thought that, hasn’t she? After reading Skar’s journal and learning of the history of Olhav and Nuhav—the way the vampires rose upfrom the dark in the silver mines—I suppose they are a plague. An infestation.
So why have I fallen in love with four of them?