The Lion & the Deathless Dark — Chapter 24

C HA P T E R T W E NT Y-FO U R

or two weeks, Septimus and I traveled. Our destination, he told me as we rode, was Estrys, a notoriously inaccessible fortress state at theF very edge of the House of Blood’s territory. In recent centuries, the Bloodborn had begun building cities in the uninhabited territory northeast of the mainland. Estrys was on a little spur of land surrounded by mountains. To reach it, we had to travel through the northern sparsely populated territory of Bosqua, a human kingdom.

“I have many friends in Estrys,” Septimus had explained. “The House of Blood is . . . it can be a difficult place to live. Estrys became refuge for Bloodborn who would rather leave the mainland. And because it is so isolated, like the Salt Keep, it’s a good place to hide items of value.”

“Items such as—?”

“Such as weapons that we’ll need to best Kajmar.”

Like the harp in Sylina’s threadwalk.

“Speaking of which,” I said, “how are we supposed to use a harp to kill a god?”

“That will be your problem, Vindica Ultis. I provide the divine weaponry. You figure out how to wield it.” Then he added, drily, “Though so far that hasn’t worked well for you.”

“What exactly did you do to accumulate such a stash?” I asked. {Nothing good,} Zefiah grumbled.

Septimus gave me a smug smirk that said, Nothing good.

I believed it.

That was about all the information he was willing to provide, which was frustrating.

There were no aethergates to take us to Estrys, and besides, Septimus explained that magical travel would be too risky to potentially attract unwanted divine attention. We didn’t want gods coming after us until we were ready for them. So, we had left the aethergate outpost the next day and taken a boat to the far north coast. There, Septimus had secured two very cranky horses for us from an equally cranky handler, and we journeyed inland. I was grateful for the horse. When I’d laid eyes on the skinny, undersized mare and let out an impressed whistle befitting a golden chariot, Septimus had chuckled softly.

The House of Blood bordered human territory by land, albeit only via narrow strips of difficult, mountainous terrain. In the last ten years, the gods had grown far more aggressive about holding physical territory. Even the gods of the White Pantheon were now distrustful of each other. Once, most human kingdoms—though not all—had been largely mixed in their loyalties to White Pantheon gods. Now, the gods all wanted their own kingdoms, their own armies, their own territory to use as a shield or a weapon as they pleased.

This area, in the mountainous northern regions close to the House of Blood, was Kajmar’s. We avoided the most populated areas, but I’d heard plenty of salacious stories about what Kajmar’s kingdoms, monuments entirely constructed to be his pleasure gardens, had become. I remembered a time when the gods ill-suited to warfare—Kajmar, Ix, Vitarus—were content to just serve their purposes in the mortal lands. Make some flowers grow. Inspire some musicians. Birth some babies.

Apparently, that wasn’t enough anymore.

This area was also, conveniently, said to be a region where the boundary between the realm of gods and the realm of mortals was thinnest—though that veil had deteriorated over the years, with gods now paying so much attention to the affairs of mortals.

It all sounded very mysterious, but the reality was mundane. Septimus secured little houses—perhaps owned by the House of Blood, somehow— for us to stay at most nights, though eventually, we would be so far into the mountains that we’d have to camp. I had to begrudgingly admit that Septimus was actually decent company. He was, at least, an entertaining conversationalist. I couldn’t help but be fascinated by him. Even when we were out here, in the middle of nowhere, trudging around on horseback, he remained ceaselessly and flawlessly elegant. So pretty it was almost fucking

offensive. He must have carried a supply of blood with him, though he never drank it while I was watching. He had a seemingly inexhaustible supply of three things: cigarillos, white clothing, and books. There were always some of all three waiting at every house we stopped at, and he’d swap them out so that he had a constantly rotating supply.

One night, when we holed up in a little cottage, I rolled over in my cot to watch him bent over a book, my eyes narrowed.

He said, without looking up, “What have I done to earn that look, Kyrene?”

“What is it that you’re always reading?”

“What do you think I’m reading?”

I examined him. The cottage was tiny, just one room plus a washroom with no running water, and completely bare. Still, he sat against the wall, long limbs gracefully lounging with all the intentional finesse of a cat, silver glasses perched on his nose and book in his hands. This one had a deep red cover with foiled Obitraen text and nothing else. I could understand and speak Obitraen well enough, but could barely read it.

I said, at last, “Romance novels.”

His brows rose. His gaze flicked to me. He was taken aback, and I relished that. I didn’t know why it amused me so much to surprise Septimus, even in these tiny ways. He was always so still, so smooth, like the surface of a pond. Just made me want to be the rock to crash through it.

“Romance novels,” he repeated.

“Vampires are so carnal. I figure nothing can hold your attention for that long unless there’s blood or sex in it.”

“Kyrene,” he said, peering at me over the rim of his glasses, “we have known each other for only a few weeks, and I already know that’s a terribly

hypocritical accusation.”

“But is it wrong?”

His eyes crinkled, just barely. He looked back to his book, flipping a page.

“If you must know,” he said, “it’s called Care and Feeding of Your Ill- Tempered Human Bounty Hunter. And, it turns out, there is plenty of blood in it.”

I kept my face still, clamping down on the almost-laugh that bubbled up in my chest. I said, utterly seriously, “But is there sex?”

“I suppose we’ll see,” he replied, without missing a beat, and turned another page.

I lost the battle. The chuckle slipped free. And I tried not to notice the way his mouth curled in satisfaction at the sound.

I PULLED my jacket tight around myself and shivered. It was fucking freezing. I’d never come so far north before, and with every icy mile we traveled, I felt more and more validated in that decision.

We rode along a narrow, rocky path. The ground around us had gotten steep, and the horizon ahead was blotted out by sheer, icy cliffs. With another gust of frigid wind, I was spitting curses.

“You’re edgy today,” Septimus remarked. {You are,} Zefiah agreed.

I scowled. “It’s because it’s freezing.” {It is because you have gone longer without a drink than you have in ten

years.}

It is not.

“Humans,” Septimus said. “So soft.” {Indeed,} Zefiah muttered.

Gods help me. What is this, the two of you coming at me at once? This is the one thing you can agree with him on?

“If you’d like to go kill Kajmar yourself, then by all means. I can go home.”

Go home. It was only as the words left my lips that I realized I had no

home. No people to return to.

I pushed that thought away.

“Speaking of which,” I said. “How exactly are we going to do that? Kill Kajmar?”

“Judging by what I’ve seen so far, I assume you’ll stumble into his territory, wave your arms around until he looks your way, and stick him with the pointy end of whatever’s on hand. Seems to be your style.” {It does,} Zefiah said, unhelpfully.

What did I ever do to either of you?

“Actually,” I said, “I think it would be wise to do something with a little more finesse.”

Septimus shot me a look, and my eyes narrowed at the abject disbelief

on his face.

“What?”

“Nothing. You and finesse are just not two terms I typically associate with each other.”

“You hired me because I’m very good at what I do, Seppy.”

He looked physically pained. “I’m a prince. Please, never call me that.”

I filed away this delightful reaction for the next time I wanted to see that expression.

“Here’s what I think we should do,” I said. “I think that we should get close to Kajmar before he’s aware of our intent to murder him. The problem with Srana was that she was aggressive as soon as she appeared.”

“Are you admitting a mistake in your strategy?”

“I’m admitting . . . room for improvement.”

“How open-minded of you. Perhaps someone involved in that fight might have been attempting a different strategy, now that I think of it.

Maybe that person was . . . what’s the word . . .”

Again, a knowing glance, eyes sparkling. They looked more brightly silver than usual today, the amber deep like burnished gold around his

pupils.

“Correct?” he finished.

“Don’t push it,” I snapped. “If we were to do something differently this time, I think that we should get into Kajmar’s home. Get him in a position where he’s completely unguarded. Ideally in private.”

“Sounds promising. And how would you do that?”

“Do you really have to ask? Kajmar is the biggest whore in the White Pantheon.”

Septimus choked back a laugh. “That’s flattering, Kyrene, but I don’t think even Kajmar would be seduced by a vampire—”

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

“Not you,” I said. “Me. I’m talking about me.”

The look on his face had me scowling before he opened his mouth.

“He is quite literally the god of beauty,” he said. {He has a fair point,} Zefiah said, ever the traitor.

“What does that have to do with anything?” I demanded.

“Nothing. I merely admire your confidence.”

“You haven’t been seeing me at my best. I never have a problem

warming my bed, thank you.”

“But humans will fuck anything.”

“Humans will fuck anything? Vampires will stick their dicks in corpses.”

“Firstly, that’s an offensive stereotype. Secondly, I am highly discerning about what I put my dick in.”

I scoffed. Septimus cocked one eyebrow in a way that said, What?

“I just doubt that’s true,” I said.

“What makes you say that?”

“Monsters recognize monsters. Whores recognize whores.”

A smirk now tugged at the corner of his lips. “Hmm. Is that so, lyri?”

Lyri. The pet name sent a strange shock up my spine. He was toying with me, and this brought me an unwanted but undeniable thrill. He had been, from the very beginning, an entertaining playmate. {Careful, Kyrene,} Zefiah warned, sensing that little, shameful delight.

I ignored her. We rounded a corner in the path. A temple, garishly painted with cerulean blue and decorated at every peak with swirls of gold, loomed ahead of us, now visible between the mountains. It wasn’t even one of Kajmar’s main cities, just an outpost, and yet it reeked of him.

A pleasure house. A temple, yes, but when it came to the god of beauty and art and—to be frank—mortal indulgence, that meant it was also some combination of an inn, a pub, a theater, and a bordello.

It was a little embarrassing, actually, just how much my body reacted to the sight of it. Like a starving man before a feast.

Maybe Zefiah was right. I hadn’t had a drink in weeks now, and I was missing it. {And you claim you are not a drunkard,} Zefiah said.

Oh, shut up.

Septimus motioned to the temple.

“How convenient,” he said. “We’ll stop there for the evening.”

I let out a short laugh, which earned another pointed glance.

“What is so funny about that?”

“Oh, gods. You’re serious.”

“I never joke about a bath and a bed, Vindica Ultis. Do I look like a man who enjoys sleeping on the ground?”

No, he did not. He’d managed to find us places to stay for most of our journey, and when we were at last forced to camp, Septimus laid out a neatly folded sheet without hiding his disgust.

“No one is forcing you to dress exclusively in white,” I said.

“We all need standards, Kyrene. And don’t come at me with your hypocrisy. Just because you hide to fuss with your appearance every day doesn’t mean I don’t see it.”

I blinked. I really didn’t think he had been paying that kind of attention.

But he was right—I did sneak off whenever I woke up to comb my hair, fix my face, reapply the kohl around my eyes. Just because the world had shitty standards for itself didn’t mean that I had to, too.

“I like mortal pleasures just as much as the next woman,” I said, “but in case you’ve already forgotten, we were just talking about the need for stealth, and you are a vampire.”

“I don’t see how those two statements relate to each other.”

“A vampire is likely not welcome in a temple of the White Pantheon.”

“Only if they know.”

I gave him a deadpan stare, and he chuckled.

“It really seems that unreasonable?”

“Have you ever looked at yourself, Septimus? And if so, did you ever think, ‘Now, that right there is a completely unassuming human man’?”

“Half the people there will be so high that Nyaxia herself could stroll right in and they’d be none the wiser. Have you met followers of Kajmar?

They’re hardly even living on this mortal plane. And everything in there will be drenched in illusionism anyway.” He winked at me. “If you’re worried, maybe we’ll put you in a priestess’s habit. Seeing as you’re so attuned to the life of the pleasure-seeking acolyte.”

I scowled at him, unamused by the joke. But I had to admit, he was right on every point. And I did desperately want a drink. {You cannot possibly be considering this.} I was indeed considering it. {It is a foolish risk,} Zefiah went on. {If he is discovered, you will have the entire temple after you and gods know how many more hunters on your trail. And all for a drink and your pride.} Oh, hush.

“Fine,” I said. “No smiles, though.”

The corner of his lips curled as he pressed his hand to his chest.

“Charming smirks only. My promise.” {Of course,} Zefiah sneered. {What a sacrifice for him.}

MY LOGICAL BRAIN told me right up until we walked into the temple that this was a mistake, but it was a little embarrassing just how easy it was to shut that voice up.

Here’s the thing about Kajmar’s territories: They’re just so gods- damned pleasant in a world in which almost nothing was pleasant anymore.

And yes, it was an unsettling sort of pleasantness—the air just a little too hot and a little too wet, the alcohol just a little too strong and a little too sweet, the decorations a bit too garish, dust-coated fake flowers hanging from the ceiling that I was old enough to know looked nothing like the real blossoms they imitated. The air thick with smoke from any number of pipes stuffed with any number of drugs, and yet, one inhale and I could feel the tension leaving my body.

The people here believed in the lie they told themselves. But I didn’t have to believe it to enjoy it for a little while, and I’d forgotten how good a little denial could taste.

The place was more crowded than I expected way out here. Perhaps it was a draw for people from the surrounding cities, looking for a little escape. There wasn’t much pleasure left in the world. I could understand why some devoted their entire lives to chasing it.

The first floor was set up to be a gaudy mimicry of a garden, albeit a very poor one, low tables and worn pillows on the floor scattered amongst dying trees in cracked pots and “flowers” of faded silk that looked to have not been dusted in years. The scent of food—sickly sweet, no doubt slop disguised by pleasurable illusion spells—wafted through the air, mingling with the stench of smoke and strong alcohol. Warm light from a single roaring flame at the center of the room danced over bodies indulging in all manner of pleasures—the food, the drink, the drugs, the patrons.

Septimus gave it all a satisfied once-over when we walked in and said, simply, “Good enough,” before getting us some rooms and promptly disappearing into his. And if I had any lingering worries that the risk was not worth the reward, they dissolved into the steaming bathwater.

“I never should’ve doubted him,” I muttered with a borderline indecent moan as I sank back into the tub. “This was the best idea that man has ever had.” {That is still to be seen. You have only just arrived. Plenty of time for trouble.} I eyed Zefiah, who leaned against the wall with my discarded travel clothes.

I regret not leaving you in the other room. {If that is your biggest regret by the end of the night, then I have done my job. Sadly, I do not have that kind of faith in you.} You do know how to make a woman feel admired, Zef.

I got out of the tub and wrapped myself in a towel. It was threadbare, and stained in a way I didn’t want to think too much about, but it felt good to be clean. The bed loomed before me, neat and inviting. The room was comfortable enough. And I was tired.

But every time I slept, I dreamed of corpses in a temple. Every time I was left in a room this quiet, my thoughts clawed at the walls of my mind. I realized all at once that I actually hadn’t been in a room alone for quite some time. I found myself remembering standing at the edge of the balcony of the Salt Keep, staring into the churning, rocky sea.

I jumped as a knock rang out at the door. I opened it to see a pimple- faced teenaged boy holding a large, flat box.

“Your companion told me to give this to you,” he said, then passed the box to me and waited expectantly.

I gave him a few copper pieces that he clearly was disappointed with and closed the door behind him, then laid the box on the bed and opened it.

I stared down at its contents and laughed softly to myself.

That fucking bastard. {What cursed gift did the fallen one give you?} Zefiah asked from the other room, curious.

I lifted the fabric from the box. It was a dress, made of red silk that probably once had been fine, though was now a little worse for wear. It was an outfit traditionally worn by followers of Kajmar, brightly colored, with

three pieces—a long skirt, a blouse, and a cape adorned with gaudy mirrored beads that were partly falling off.

A priestess habit.

He was taunting me. {Fallen ones,} Zefiah sniffed. {How they lack subtlety.} But despite myself, I was smiling. A distraction had presented itself to me. A game, triggered by one roll of the dice from my playmate. {Kyrene . . . } Zefiah warned.

What’s life without a few regrets? I said, and she let out a weary sigh.