C HAP TER TWENTY
he emperor sleeps on his side, facing away from me—a tiny mercy. I would thank the gods, but I’m relatively sure UmbrosT is going to curse me for this.
The hilt of my dagger is slippery in my slick palm. So slippery, I’m forced to switch hands and wipe both the dagger and my hand on my gown. I’m trembling so hard, my teeth almost chatter with it.
Run. My body screams at me. Don’t be a fool! Leave before you die!
I force myself to think of Kassia, killed in the emperor’s arena. I picture the centaur, slaughtered in front of me. Antigrus, asking me for the only kind of mercy I could offer. The emperor’s enemies cut down for entertainment. Leira’s pleading expression as she bowed her head to the emperor, right before Titus ran her through.
And my brothers, waiting for me to find them again.
My heart slows. My vision sharpens. My hand steadies.
Striking fast, I bury my hand in the emperor’s hair, lifting his head to expose a pale throat, gleaming in the dim light.
It’s ironic, really. A man so protected from power can still die in his own bed.
With one slash, I slice my blade across his throat. I angle my own head back as far as I can, but blood sprays over my chest.
The emperor gurgles and chokes, slumping back onto his pillow. Blood pools beneath him, dark as ink in the dim light.
But it’s not enough. A vampire as old and powerful as the emperor can easily heal a slit throat. The sharp, coppery scent of fresh blood assaults my senses, and I suppress a gag, aiming my blade between his ribs, slightly left of the center of his chest.
Distantly, I analyze the cold, practical way I stab between the fourth and fifth ribs, the knife sliding neatly between bone.
Silver directly to the heart. Even the oldest vampire can’t heal that. And yet, I’m still tempted to remove his head, just in case.
With what? Your knife? The maids will arrive while you’re still attempting to saw through bone.
Trembling, I place my fingers at his pulse.
Gone.
I slump to my knees next to the bed, my lungs seizing. A low droning fills my ears as I shiver, suddenly chilled to the bone.
It’s done. It’s over now.
Forcing myself to get to my feet, I stagger back toward the closet. I’m covered in blood, and my hands shake as I search for something to hide my gown. I can’t risk using a lamp—a servant might see the light under the door and attempt to enter—so it takes me longer than I’d like to find a long cloak.
Something about the material itches at the back of my mind, but I don’t have time to examine the thought. I need to be ready for Rorrik’s signal.
I slink toward the window, opening the curtain the barest inch. The sun burns into my eyes and I wince, squinting. Closing the curtain, I slump against the wall, wrapping my arms around my legs.
The world turns dim. Blood roars in my ears. I suddenly feel like I’m floating above my body, watching as I huddle into a ball and rock back and forth with a low whimper.
Slowly, something else begins to push through the dread and fear. Something that feels a lot like elation.
I’ve done it. I’ve completed Bran’s deal. Not only did I survive the Sundering, but I killed the emperor. Which means I can travel to my brothers.
Evren is healed. Together, all three of us can begin a new life. A life in the north, where the constant chill won’t burrow into our bones.
I feel lighter than I have in months. Perhaps … perhaps I can try to convince Leon to come with me. I’ll tell him he doesn’t need to stay with me, but Kassia always wanted him to go north too. Maybe it could be a fresh start for him as well.
I’ve won more than enough money during my challenges. Not only will we have enough to find a nice cottage somewhere near the sea, but I can hire a private tutor.
I can learn about more than the best place to stab someone to ensure they die quickly. I can learn about history and magic and literature.
I could buy some shelves and create a small library.
Maybe … maybe Rorrik won’t become emperor. Maybe the sigilmarked and Vampire Council will contest his right to rule.
I’m practically vibrating with excitement. But I can’t celebrate fully yet. I’m still waiting for Rorrik’s distraction. If he doesn’t come through, I’m worse than dead.
The hours drag on sluggishly. Hope and excitement slowly turn to terror and despair. In my worst moments, I picture my brothers, alone and at Bran’s mercy.
The guards will find me here. As soon as a maid attempts to wake the emperor and begins screaming. Someone will cast
out their power, and I’ll be ripped from this hiding spot and arrested.
The dread curdling in my gut feels all too familiar.
Three years ago, I guarded a man known for refusing to pay his gambling debts. Loyd Gatlin was a liar, a thief, and a con man, and I took the job for three reasons: it was winter, Evren’s lungs get worse in the cold, and we couldn’t afford to fill the aether stones for heat.
At first, it was a job like any other. I would follow Loyd around during the day, several feet behind him, attempting to blend in. But each time someone called in one of his debts, I watched him become more and more desperate.
Loyd spent even more hours gambling. He began drinking with cards in his hand—always a mistake. He lost what few friends he had when it became obvious that he was unable to stop.
Eventually, I followed him into Runes and Ruin. The underground market once went by a different name, but like the Thorn, the new name better represented the goods on offer.
And so I watched as he whispered to merchants, gazing avidly at elemental bursts, aether pulses, and void bombs.
I quit that same day.
Three weeks later, Loyd was cornered by his enemies in another market as I shopped. I watched from just a few hundred feet away as he dropped an aether grenade. The explosion killed himself and eight others.
This situation feels eerily similar to the feeling of doom that crept over me when I watched Loyd stare avidly at aether bombs. It’s a prickling down my spine. A knowledge that I’ve done something I can never take back.
Pulling the hood of the cloak over my head, I shiver. When I tuck my hands into the wide pockets, my fingers brush something cool and I pull it out, squinting in the dim light.
The bracelet spills over my palm, a delicate chain of interwoven gold links. I lift it closer, examining the raised emblem and the small, intricate mark carved into gold. The design is subtle, but something about it tugs at my memory. I’ve seen this mark before, but I can’t seem to place it.
It itches at the edges of my mind, a thick sense of unease settling over me, and I shove the bracelet into the pocket of my gown to examine later.
Shouts cut through the silence. For a moment, I’m sure I’m imagining them.
More shouts.
And then the bells begin to ring.
Even from here, I can hear the thud of boots on wood as guards sprint outside the emperor’s room, calling to one another.
I’m across the room within seconds. It takes everything in me to crack the door open, to trust that the guards are gone.
But I do it.
The hall is empty. I don’t hesitate. I sprint, the door at the end looming. Slamming it open, I clutch the banister, taking the stairs down one floor, and then another.
I follow Rorrik’s directions through the back of the palace. Twice, I’m forced to hit the ground, barely avoiding discovery, until I finally burst through one of the servants’ doors, the cool air caressing my face.
The gates loom in the distance, tall and inviting.
Ducking my head, I take off, following the set path. I’m sprinting faster than I ever have, my feet barely touching down with each step. Someone calls out, but I’m already halfway across the gardens, whipping around a corner toward the gates. My breath saws out of my lungs, the cool air lighting a fire down my throat as I pant desperately.
A shadow moves. I hit the ground, rolling toward the darkness behind a group of shrubs. In the distance, one of the guards saunters toward the gate, returning to his post. I tremble in the undergrowth like a rabbit.
Voices to my left. The guard turns, and I duck my head.
Boots on gravel, but the sound is fading.
I won’t die here. Please don’t let me die here.
Pulling myself to my feet, I take off like a bolt from a crossbow, head down, shoulders hunched. Behind me someone lets out a shout. At any moment, one of those bolts could slam into my unprotected back.
Launching to the right, I zigzag toward the gate. Someone calls out again, and a statue explodes, just feet from me. I jump, trip, and fall to my knees, narrowly escaping the next burst of power aimed at my back.
I choke on a sob. But I’m out of the gates. I risk a single glance behind me. At least ten guards are sprinting my way, sigils
glowing.
I brace for impending agony.
Strong hands scoop me up and I thrash, kicking and slamming my head back into a hard chest.
“Stop,” a voice commands, and I freeze.
“Leon?”
He doesn’t answer. The world spins, and I’m suddenly sitting on a horse. With a kick from Leon, it takes off at a gallop.
Leon rides like he was born on a horse, and he gallops down side streets and alleys, keeping the ludus in the distance even as we circle around behind it.
“The guards?”
“Gone. Whoever you’re working with created some kind of a distraction.”
“Who owns this horse?”
“A friend who owed me a favor. Quiet. Let me concentrate.”
I didn’t know Leon had friends outside of the Thorn. Honestly, after the way he has shut himself in his house for the past six years, I’m surprised he has any friends left at all.
When he’s sure we’ve lost anyone who might be following, he leaves the horse at a public stable near the ludus, but not before stroking her neck and murmuring sweet words in her ear.
As soon as we’re inside the ludus, he jerks his head, gesturing for me to follow him toward the guardant quarters. Their common room is similar to the imperius’s although much smaller, but Leon keeps walking into a tiny bedroom.
“No one can hear us here.” He gives me a hard stare. “What happened?”
I don’t know how to answer that. “How did you know I needed help?”
“Tiernon said you disappeared, and Maeva asked me where you’d gone when we all returned here. I knew you were doing something stupid.”
And he came. Even though he hates me. He came.
“Now tell me what it was.”
I slump into his chair in the corner of the room. “I need to get out of here, Leon. As soon as I have a chance, I have to get to the city gates.”
“You can’t. They’ve locked down the city.”
I let out a shaky breath. I expected this. “I’ll wait them out.”
“What did you do?”
Despite Leon’s assurances about the room, I lower my voice to a whisper. “I killed the emperor.”
Leon scowls at me. “No, you didn’t.”
“I did.” My tone is belligerent. I didn’t expect him to be pleased, but the least he can do is believe me. “I saw his face, Leon. I watched him die.”
“The emperor is alive. I know, because one of my contacts just left a room where Vallius was sitting with the Primus on one side of him, and Rorrik on the other.”
My stomach twists into tight coils. I don’t understand. I saw the emperor’s face, even in the dim light.
Leon gives me a pitying look. “We’re surrounded by vampires, Arvelle.”
Realization flickers through me. Vampires. Vampires who can manipulate our thoughts. Vampires who can wipe our memories. Vampires who can make us see things that aren’t there.
The reminder is so shocking, so violating, I want to vomit.
“Then who did I kill?” My voice is shaky, my mind filling with a thick fog. I might have murdered an innocent person. Who did I take from their family? From their friends?
“I don’t know. But why don’t you tell me why you’re trying to kill the most powerful man on this continent.”
I won’t implicate him in this. I’ve already told him too much. “Look. You never wanted to come here. But you did. And I survived the Sundering. Now you need to leave.”
His jaw clenches. “You don’t tell me what to do.”
“Why would you want to stay here?”
“I’m doing good work, Arvelle. Nyrant has offered me a position similar to Albion’s, helping those who don’t have a guardant to train for the Sundering again in a few months.”
“I don’t understand. You hate the emperor. If not for him, Kassia …” I trail off.
Leon is silent for so long, I wonder if he’s going to reply. And then he turns away, staring blankly at the wall. “Kassia’s mother once told me something.” His voice catches, his shoulders tensing.
I know little about Rosella. It was the biggest issue between Kassia and Leon. He would tell her stories about Rosella, but he never talked about how they met, or her death.
“She said that when you can’t battle evil on a grand scale, you have to chip away at it piece by piece. You have to hold the line, to protect others. And that duty belongs to everyone. You don’t get to hide from it when the stakes are this high. For six years, I ignored the reality of this empire. I hid. And Rosella …” Leon shakes his head, and his expression tightens.
Frustration drills into my temple, and I massage it in an attempt to relieve the ache. All this time, I wanted Leon to take an interest in living again. Now he has. And it could kill him.
Leon studies my face, likely seeing too much. Dark eyebrows slam together and he leans close. “Why don’t you tell me what is happening?”
Fine. He’ll have no choice but to leave when he understands the risks.
“Bran didn’t just want me to make it through the Sundering. The Sundering itself was a ruse. A way to integrate myself into this place and make sure I stayed alive until the consilium last night. Maybe he’s working with Rorrik, and Rorrik used the
opportunity to make me kill one of his enemies instead … I don’t know.”
Something in my chest twinges at the idea that Rorrik could be behind everything Bran has done to me. He betrayed me tonight. I killed someone—maybe someone innocent—because Rorrik manipulated me. It was so easy for him.
I meet Leon’s eyes. “Bran sent me here to kill the emperor, Leon. And when I do—because I will—they’ll begin an investigation. My guardant will be the first person they torture.”
Leon slumps against the wall. “How could you be so stupid?”
“Evren was suffocating in front of me,” I snap. “Turning blue, foaming at the mouth. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the
same thing.”
His mouth twists. “Who else knows?”
“Bran. Our bond prevents me from telling Tiernon. Or the emperor himself.” I don’t mention Rorrik. I can’t look Leon in the eye and admit just how much the emperor’s son knows.
“Tiernon was looking for you at the ball tonight,” Leon says. “We had … words.”
I wince. I can only imagine what they said to each other. Leon gives me a stiff nod. “He knows Bran manipulated you into
the Sundering. I told him.”
“Leon—”
“Despite your history, Tiernon wants you safe.”
“This is too dangerous. For both of you.”
With a shake of his head, Leon sighs, hauling himself away from the wall. “I’m not going anywhere.”
“Did you miss the part where you’ll die?”
“I won’t. Because I’m going to help you.”
I blink.
Leon raises an eyebrow. “You look like a fish with your mouth hanging open like that. I’m staying. We’ll figure it out
together.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to. Tiernon also didn’t know if killing Bran would harm you, and he’s going to look into it. But we know one way to finish this. And since you so thoroughly failed at killing the emperor tonight, you’ll still be training with the guard as a novice, which means you still need my help.”
Shaking my head, I snap my mouth closed. Nothing will change Leon’s mind once he’s made a decision. And he has so many reasons to want Vallius Corvus dead.
“So what do you suggest?”
“The imperiums have plenty of opportunity to kill the emperor. You know they pick one gladian to join them each
Sundering. That could be you.”
“It’ll never happen.”
“You’re already training with them.”
“And they loathe me.”
The corner of his mouth kicks up. “If there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s making people like you despite your best efforts to push them away. All you need is one shot. One moment where you’re trusted with the emperor’s safety. Or we kill Bran.”
“And how, exactly, do I convince them to pick me? If they choose anyone, it’s going to be someone like Brenin.”
“I’ll find a way. Leave it to me.”
“Fine.” Doubt is heavy in my voice, but I know that expression on Leon’s face. He’ll throw everything he has into making this happen.
“Give me that cloak,” he says. “It’s too fine for a novice to be wearing it without suspicion.”
I scoop the bracelet from the cloak pocket and hand the cloak over, my skin prickling in the sudden cold.
Leon stares at the blood soaked into my dress. I can feel it, sticky against my skin.
“You walk out of here like that, and you’ll attract every vampire in this ludus. We’re lucky no one sensed it when we came in.” Striding to his closet, he hands me a pair of wide-legged pants and a tunic, jerking his head toward his bathing room.
I strip, using a damp cloth to remove the blood from my skin. The blood from someone who could be entirely innocent.
“Arvelle.”
I startle. I’m not sure how long I’ve been staring at the bloody cloth. “Almost done.” My voice is hoarse.
When I step into Leon’s room, he takes the gown from me, exchanging it for one of his cloaks. “I’ll handle this. It’s late.
We’ll talk about the plan tomorrow.”
I leave him standing in his bedroom, a dark scowl on his face.
I’m so sorry, Kassia.
A cold sweat breaks out on my neck as I walk toward the gladians’ quarters. All I can hear are the choking sounds of the man I killed, the wet gush of blood. Who was he?
The question claws at my thoughts, rolling through my mind over and over again.
A jarring stillness seizes me. My entire body freezes, my instincts shrieking a warning. I spin, pressing my back to the cold stone wall. Shallow breaths explode from my lungs, and I scan the corridor.
It stretches out, empty before me, shadows swallowing the weak light from the aether lamps. No footsteps. No voices. Just a hollow, oppressive silence.
But the sensation crawls over my skin. It’s a creeping, invasive awareness. A dull, suffocating certainty that someone is
watching me.
“Jorah?” My voice is a cracked whisper.
Nothing. I bite the inside of my cheek, forcing myself to focus. Jorah wouldn’t do this. He wouldn’t try to scare me.
I’m just tired, that’s all. Tired, and frightened, and on edge.
My skin prickles, as if icy tendrils are trailing across my skin. My breath hitches, but I force myself to continue my walk to the barracks … even as I continually peer over my shoulder.
“Arvelle.”
My hand flies to my dagger as my heart leaps into my throat. Tiernon leans against the wall outside the gladian quarters.
“Where have you been?” His gaze drifts to Leon’s cloak. But no, there are no specks or droplets of blood. Tiernon is wondering if I’ve been out with another man. The thought is almost laughable.
“Did you enjoy dancing with Rorrik?”
I stare at him. After the night I’ve just had, his question is absurd.
But maybe it isn’t.
Memory after memory slams into me. Rorrik and Tiernon, staring at each other with malice. Their strange standoffs, their barely concealed disdain, their sharp jabs with tension-filled undertones.
Rorrik giving me that look, the familiarity I felt in his presence tonight. The way his loathing for me has felt strangely personal.
“You’re his brother.” The words come out hoarse, blood pounding like a drum in my ears. “Which means you’re the emperor’s other son.”
A muscle jumps in Tiernon’s jaw, but he doesn’t deny it.
“I don’t understand.” Flashes of the past leap into my mind. Tiernon, refusing to talk about his father. Tiernon, lost and sad and lonely. Tiernon, disappearing with no warning. A lump has formed in my throat, and it leaks bitterness across my tongue. “I thought his other son was at the front.”
“I was. My father ordered me to return.”
His father. The emperor. “Why does no one talk about it?”
With a sigh, he leans against the wall. “I ordered everyone who knows to use my title as Primus. Most believe the emperor’s unruly younger son is still at the front, terrorizing any who chose not to bow to his father.”
My mouth is so dry it takes me a moment to reply. “And your father?”
“He’s the one who insisted I become Primus. He sees my refusal to use my true title as a younger son’s misplaced rebellion.”
I turn and pace, putting the pieces together. Of course he never wanted to talk about his family when he was younger. If anyone in the Thorn learned who he was, they would have handed him over to rebels as a hostage.
It also explains why Rorrik has taken an interest in me. Because his brother did first.
My gaze drifts back to Tiernon, who is watching me with narrowed eyes, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.
I don’t want to hear his excuses. I no longer want to hear any more of his lies.
“I can’t trust you at all.”
His eyes glitter. “You know that’s not true.”
“Then why?”
He stalks closer, until my back is pressed up against the stone wall. “You hate the emperor and his family, Arvelle. You always have. Ever since my father made the Sands compulsory. He’s the reason your mother’s sister died, and the reason your
mother became an addict.”
“Stop.”
“He’s the reason Kassia is dead. She never would have walked into that arena otherwise.”
“I said stop.”
“Neither would you. You wanted to be a healer. You loathe that you have a unique talent with your sword. After the way I left you, you hated me enough without knowing who my father is.”
My eyes burn, my throat aching like someone has set it on fire. “Oh, so your lies were for my protection?”
“Yes.” A muscle feathers in his jaw. “They were.” He shoves a hand into his dark hair. “And my own.”
“And when we were younger? Before you left?”
“I wanted one thing,” he says quietly. “You were my only escape.”
Strong, warm hands cup my face as he presses his mouth to mine. “Are you sure?”
My cheeks flame, and he presses even closer. “I need you to be sure, Arvelle. I never want you to look at me and regret.”
I study his face, as familiar as my own. Since the moment I met him this was inevitable. I look at no other boys the way I look at him. I trust no one the way I trust him.
Taking his hand, I boldly press it to my breast. He sucks in a breath, and I meet his eyes.
“I’m sure. I-I want you to be my first.”
He looks at me with his heart in his eyes. “If I have it my way, I’ll be your only.”
Misery coils through me, turning my limbs to lead. I blink back tears, refusing to cry. “I’m glad I was an escape for you.
One you could abandon once you no longer needed that escape.”
“It wasn’t like that.”
“I want you to stay far, far away from me.”
He shrugs, but his eyes harden. “That won’t happen until you’re free of Bran’s manipulations. Go to bed. Tomorrow is going to be a difficult day for everyone.”
“Why?”
“Someone killed Tiberius Cotta. While he was sleeping in the palace. Under the emperor’s protection.”
The world stops. When it restarts again, I’m aware of Tiernon’s strong hands gripping my shoulders. He’s saying something, but I can’t hear him over the sound of the blood rushing in my ears.
The one sigilmarked making a difference in this empire. The gold-crowned fighting for mundanes and low-level sigilmarked. A man who fought for peace. A man from the Thorn. A man who saved my life with his weapons.
And I’ve murdered him.
“Arvelle.” Tiernon gives me a gentle shake. “Breathe.”
My lower lip trembles and I sink my teeth into it, pushing him away. He releases me, and I stumble into my bedroom, thankful no one has invited the Primus in.
For some reason, Rorrik wanted Tiberius Cotta dead.
And I’ve played right into his hands.
