12
TAL
SAERIS
“WHO WAS YOUR friend?”
Taladaius slammed the door to his office closed behind us, growling with frustration. “None of your business.”
I hadn’t expected him to tell me, but I’d still figured it was worth asking. “I didn’t have you pegged as a tavern owner, Taladaius. There’s an awful lot of fucking and feeding going on out there, y’know.”
I went to pick up the obsidian crow’s head paperweight from the vampire’s extraordinarily tidy desk, but he slapped my hand away from it, growling irritably. “Oh really? I hadn’t noticed. Where is your mate?”
I did a three-sixty, taking in the artwork on the walls and his shelves and shelves of books. He had quite the collection. It smelled good in here—like dry paper and earth, warm vanilla and chocolate. Comforting. “Oh, I don’t know,” I said in a singsong voice. “Nowhere in this realm that I could really pinpoint
right now.”
Taladaius stared at me blankly.
“Do you not need to blink? I need to, but maybe that’s my half-Fae side.”
Very slowly, he closed his eyes and left them that way. “Tell me he hasn’t gone through the quicksilver again.”
I sat down in the chair on the other side of his desk, studying him quietly for
a moment. Again, I went to pick up the crow’s head, but when I reached for it, a rope of fire lashed up my arm. I was wearing my gloves—the God Bindings were still best hidden from prying eyes for the time being—but light spilled out of the bottom of the leather cuff, washing up my arm.
Ow.
My hand shook violently. I shoved it into my armpit, pinning it against my side, screwing my eyes shut as I waited for the pain to pass.
“Saeris? What’s wrong?”
I dropped my hand into my lap. The light seeping out of my glove was no longer visible, but the pain was still breathtaking. “Nothing. I’m fine.” Wow, I needed to find a Sanasrothian actors’ troupe and start auditioning for parts; I really sounded like I was telling the truth.
Despite my plausible performance, I could tell that Taladaius wasn’t convinced. Not that he contradicted me. “If Kingfisher isn’t in Yvelia right now, I need to know.”
I slumped back into the chair. “You do?”
“Yes! The entire Blood Court knows what Fisher is capable of. He reminded them when he scythed Ereth down like he was a stalk of brittle wheat in the Hall of Tears. Which, by the way, is causing all kinds of headaches for me.
There can’t be four Lords of Midnight, Saeris. There have to be five, which means that a vote now has to be organized . . .” He stopped himself, huffing.
“Never mind that. Look, people are too scared to act against you while Fisher’s around. They’ll be willing to try their luck if they think you’re weak or unprotected. We need to post extra guards at your rooms.”
“Do not post extra guards.” Pain shot up my arm like liquid lightning, pooling in my shoulder. I tried not to flinch. “If you don’t want me to look weak, you should remove the guard detail that’s already assigned to my rooms.
My edict prevents them from stepping out of line, anyway.”
Boom.
Boom.
Boom.
I wanted to scream.
My runes were burning through my skin again, all the way down to the bone.
“Mm,” Taladaius said, drumming his fingers along the edge of his desk.
“Maybe you’re right. Let’s think about it a moment. In the meantime, why are you hiding your hand down there?”
“I’m not hiding my hand.” But I was. I had it tucked between my knees under his desk, and I was pressing it between my thighs in the vain hope that that might make the pain go away.
“Saeris. I’m going to let you off because you’re new to all of this, but a vampire can’t lie to its maker. A blue aura comes off you when you try. The stronger the aura, the bigger the lie, and right now, you’re lighting up my office like a torch. But even if you weren’t, I can feel that you’re in pain. A lot of pain.
Tell me what’s going on.”
Every now and then, I had gotten sick in the Third. After my mother was killed, there had been no one to tend to me while I was ill. Hayden was too young and irresponsible to rely on, and anyway, it was my job to look after him, not the other way around. It hadn’t felt right, asking Elroy for help. He had already given me work and offered what protection he could from Madra’s guardians, so asking for anything else had felt like too much. So I had been alone. I had shivered my way through fevers without an arm around my shoulder or any words to comfort me. I had told myself I didn’t need the help, because I couldn’t have it, and what was the point of craving something that would never come? I had convinced myself so thoroughly of this—that I was strong, that I was all I needed, that I didn’t want anyone else’s concern—that now it made me feel like crawling out of my own skin when anyone showed the slightest bit of care for me.
But apparently it was impossible to lie to Taladaius, so I didn’t have much choice but to tell him the truth.
“My marks,” I said. “They keep flaring.” It was the only way to describe it. “I
can feel this pressure building inside of me. All the time. And sometimes, it . . . it swells. It feels like it wants to burst out of my skin. And then it just . . . goes away.”
My maker looked down at my hands. “Take off the gloves. Show me.”
Absolutely no part of me wanted to do that. But I did it. I was too tired.
Tired of putting up the front. Tired of telling myself I had to deal with everything by myself, when, for the first time since my mother died, I had people again. I wasn’t alone anymore.
I showed him my hands. Taladaius didn’t react when he saw the blackened skin around my runes. Nor did he comment about the fact that they were still glowing, or that they had nearly corroded their way through my skin and hit bone. He twisted his ring of office around his index finger, spinning it so that the warm citrine-colored stone at its center caught the light while he inspected my runes, and his calm confidence and lack of panic eased my own.
I told him about the visit with Everlayne that had unexpectedly turned into a visit with Edina. I described what had happened with my runes then and told him what Edina had said about my Alchemist’s runes being unsealed. I even told him about Edina’s warning that I needed to find her book in the libraries at Cahlish. After all, she’d told me not to breathe a word of it to Fisher, but she hadn’t said anything about enlisting the help of a vampire lord. When I was done, Taladaius mulled the information I had given him over, his storm-gray eyes distant. Eventually, he said, “And she spoke to you? Edina? She had an actual conversation with you?”
I nodded. “I mean, it was stilted. She seemed like she was struggling to speak, but yes.”
“She wasn’t repeating phrases? It didn’t seem like she was talking to someone who wasn’t there?”
“No. It wasn’t like that. She was definitely talking to me. She called me by name.”
Taladaius rocked back, balancing his chair on two legs. He whistled. “Well,
that’s troubling.”
“The whole thing was troubling, Taladaius.”
“Yes. Yes, of course. But I mean . . . there are plenty of shades in this realm.
They’re echoes. Trapped memories a person leaves behind when they die. It often signifies a horrific death, but at least the person’s soul moves on. Shades aren’t capable of thought, though. They can’t have conversations with people.”
“Okay?”
“So that means that the entity that puppeted Everlayne’s body wasn’t an echo of Fisher’s mother. It was Fisher’s mother.”
“No, that can’t be the case. That would mean that her soul has been here ever since she died. Trapped.”
“Right. But not trapped. As far as I know, Edina never gave away a piece of her soul like Fisher did when he saved that idiot out there,” he said, jerking his chin back toward the bar. “She wouldn’t have been tethered to anyone on this side of the veil, which means that she stayed by sheer force of will alone. And that . . .” He slowly shook his head. “I don’t know what that would have done to a person’s soul, but it wouldn’t have been good. It would have been torture.”
Fisher had been very careful not to let his emotions show when I’d told him that I’d spoken to Edina. His face had remained blank, but he’d known all of this. He’d chosen not to say anything about it, and I knew why. I’d been so worried about my unsealed runes . . .
Which, once again, were completely fine now. The pain had started to diminish while I was explaining everything to Taladaius. My hands didn’t hurt at all, and my skin wasn’t peeling or burnt anymore, either. My maker noted as much when he looked down and saw them. “That’s a neat trick, Alchemist.”
“You think so? I’m a little less impressed by it than you are, I think.”
“Perhaps you’re just looking at it the wrong way.”
“Enlighten me. How should I be looking at burning runes and excruciating pain?” From where I was sitting, I had yet to find a silver lining to the situation.
“Well. The way your runes smoldered would indicate that you have access
to elemental fire magic. Once harnessed, that will be incredibly useful, no? And the fact that your hands are healed now, after the damage I just witnessed, implies that you also have regenerative magic. Physical magic. Power over the body. At some point, you might be able to heal others with your abilities. Yet another thread that connects you to your Alchemist heritage. These things that are happening to your body can all be seen as signs of positive things to come.”
“Signs won’t do me much good if I can’t access the magic, Taladaius. They won’t do much good if these powers keep pouring into me and I explode and kill everybody in a forty-mile radius.”
My maker snorted. “If that did happen, the blast zone would be more than forty miles. You’d probably destroy half of Yvelia. In fact, that much magic being unmade by itself would probably trigger a chain reaction that would unmake all magic. Everywhere. The whole realm would probably be—”
“You’re. Not. Helping.”
He had the decency to look contrite. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I do want to help. I think I might be able to as well. But first, there was something I wanted to talk to you about, Saeris. Something important.”
I let my head thump against the back of my chair. “Let’s hear it.”
He didn’t seem overly pleased by my lack of enthusiasm. “I’m not sure if you’re aware of this, but you’re only the second person I’ve sired.” He waited, watching me. Expecting me to react somehow?
“Okay.”
“I saved the life of another, a very long time ago. I’m glad I saved him, and I’m glad I saved you, too. But . . .”
“But you never wanted children,” I offered. “Is that even an appropriate term for what I am to you?” The term felt weird.
Taladaius smiled. “Hmm. Yes and no. The relationship between maker and made could be compared to that of parent and offspring, I suppose. So, yes,” he said, observing me with steady eyes. “To use your analogy, I’ve never wanted children. It isn’t my path. So, while I am happy to have prevented your true
death, I find myself conflicted. I made you. Most high bloods don’t care about the ramifications of that act, but to me, it is a grave responsibility . . .” He trailed off, smiling softly. “Pardon the pun. You are in this position, in part, of because of me. It’s my duty to make sure that you understand what it is to be a member of this court. It’s incumbent on me to make sure you’re equipped to survive this place, too.
“For most people, the adjustment from their old existence to the new is more than they can handle. Without guidance, it’s easy to make poor choices here. There are many roads to take in Ammontraíeth, and nearly all of them lead to hell. But things are different for you, Saeris. You aren’t a full-blooded vampire. Your thirst doesn’t rage the way it does with the newly turned. You don’t need blood. And while you might not know the rules and restrictions of our court, you find yourself in the unique position of not being bound by any of them.” He shrugged a shoulder. “Perks of being queen. With all that said, I wanted to speak with you about . . . well, about Fisher. Your bond with him is unique. My own relationship with him is . . .”
“Complicated?”
He nodded. “I’ve found myself in a position where I’ve held power over him of late. In Gillethrye . . .” His eyes took on a distant, glazed look. “Let’s just say, Gillethrye was no fun for me, either. I would never have stepped foot into that maze if I’d had my way, but . . . I suppose it was better that Malcolm did send me there in some ways.” Taladaius stared down at his hands for a moment, still lost in his thoughts. “Anyway. You’re God-Bound with Fisher. And right now, you’re bound to me, too. I don’t want to hurt Fisher by having any sort of power over his mate. And I definitely don’t want your rule over this court undermined by continual accusations from the other Lords of Midnight, claiming that you’re my puppet. So, my question to you, Saeris, is this: Would it offend you very badly”—he winced—“if I publicly disavowed you and severed our bond?”
I let out the breath I’d been holding. “Gods alive, Taladaius!”
His eyes went wide. “What?”
“I thought you were trying to break some horrific news to me. I thought someone was dead.”
“So, you don’t mind, then? About being disavowed?”
“No, of course I don’t mind. I agree with you on all fronts. And I’ve got to be honest, being able to sense you sometimes is pretty confusing. It doesn’t seem right that I have a front row seat to your emotions. But!” I cut him off before he could speak. “If you want this thing of me, I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask for something in return.”
A wary tightness formed at the corners of his storm-gray eyes. “Which is?”
“Presiding over this place is beyond me. I have no experience of ruling over a court and no desire to learn, either. I need someone to cover for me and act on my behalf when I’m in Cahlish. In general, really. I need that to be you.”
Taladaius was already shaking his head. “The optics—”
“I don’t give a fuck about optics. You were Malcolm’s second in command.
He trusted you with the position, so the court can hardly criticize me for doing the same.”
He couldn’t really argue with that. No one could, which was specifically why I’d made the decision. Taladaius groped for something to say but then gave up, shaking his head. “Are you sure that’s what you want?”
“Yes.”
“All right, then. So be it. I’ll go ahead and make the arrangements on both counts, then. As far as the disavowment goes, it’s a simple rite, but we should make a spectacle out of it. I’m sorry,” he said. “I know you’re not one for grand scenes. Believe me, I’m not, either. But we have to sell it to make the high bloods believe it, and that will unfortunately require some . . . theatrics.”
Great. Just what I needed. Even so, I said, “If you think it’s important, then I trust you.” And I realized that I did. There were long years of history between the vampire sitting opposite me and the members of the Lupo Proelia. The air was thick with tension whenever anyone even mentioned his name back at
Cahlish. There was so much I didn’t know when it came to their relationship with Taladaius, but at the end of the day, I could only go by my own experiences
with him.
I knew that he had saved my life.
I knew that he was sad.
I knew that I believed him when he said this disavowment was for the best, and honestly, I had hated the idea of sharing such an intimate connection with anyone other than my mate since the second I had woken up. What Taladaius was offering me was a kindness.
I stood up and held out my hand to him. “All right, then. Disavowed it is.
No more maker and made bullshit for us.”
The tide of Taladaius’s sadness broke for a moment, and I felt his relief rushing in. He accepted my hand and shook it. “No more maker and made bullshit,” he agreed. “But how about . . . friends?”
I grinned, because the vampire who had saved me, who was at least fifteen hundred years older than me and had half of Ammontraíeth pissing in their pants whenever he walked lest he turn their blood to smoke, actually seemed nervous. “I think I’d like that.”
At that, he returned my grin. “In that case, you’d better call me Tal.”