We Who Will Die by Stacia Stark - 26

I t’s late when I prepare to leave Tiernon’s quarters the next morning. Tiernon canceled the imperius training to allow the imperiums a few hours to grieve, and we spent the time in bed. I managed a quick conversation with Evren and Gerith, apologizing for “accidentally breaking” my mirror.

I won’t have them worrying more than they already do.

My new mirror is safely tucked in a drawer. I miss my brothers so much, it’s a constant ache inside me.

“I’ll have your things moved into the imperius quarters,” Tiernon murmurs as I leave.

I turn, leaning against the door. “Um.”

One dark eyebrow shoots up, and he folds his arms behind his head. “You wanted to be an imperium. Imperiums belong in the imperius quarters.”

I’m not going to win this one. “Fine.”

I hesitate, and Tiernon narrows his eyes. “What is it?”

“Neris told me that the sigilkeepers are blackmailing members of the Vampire Council with the sun.”

He sighs. “Neris has suddenly become incredibly chatty.”

I flick my eyes toward his private garden. “Did you ever go to them? I know you miss the sun.”

His words from last night echo through my head. I missed you more than I miss the sun.

“The sigilmarked can only ever give us temporary relief.” He swings his legs out of bed, crossing the room to me. “Those vampires are fighting for something even the most powerful sigilmarked can’t give them—full access to the sun for the rest of their lives.” He holds my gaze. “Obsessing over the things you can’t have will gradually eat away at everything you are and could be.”

His gaze is intent, and he reaches out for me, his hand brushing my cheek. My heart leaps into my throat, and I feel the strangest urge to … weep.

Tiernon sighs, tucking my hair behind my ear. “You need to get to training.”

“Tiernon … do we need to hide this from the others?” I gesture between us.

“No. It’s not … unexpected for members of the imperius to have … dalliances with novices. But if the emperor was to learn who you really are …”

“He won’t. There’s no reason for him to look further into my background. And I’ll keep it that way.” I eye him. “Just how many dalliances have you had with novices?”

He gives me a sudden grin and my heart flips. “Arvelle Dacien. Are you … jealous?”

I roll my eyes. “This coming from the man who interrogated me about Carrick ?”

He glowers at the other man’s name, but his hand caresses my face, his palm warm against my cheek. “No dalliances. At least not here. When I was at the front … I was filled with so much rage, so much hurt. I knew I’d never see you again, and I thought if I lost myself in other women, I’d forget you.”

It’s not unexpected. I’m not sure why I even brought this subject up. It’s like I’m picking at a scab, waiting for it to bleed. And yet I can’t seem to stop myself.

“Was one of those women Orna?”

Tiernon’s expression hardens, and I know I’m right. I wiggle free, and he sighs. “Yes. It was one night. Both of us were grieving. Orna is deeply in love with her sire. At the time, she was rebelling against him, furious at something he had done. Now, they are considering having a child together.”

My fists unclench. I didn’t expect that . “She cares about you.” And she’s seen how much Tiernon has suffered since he met me. Not just his torture when he wouldn’t tell the emperor who I was, but his fury while he was at the front, his deep need to protect me even now.

Tiernon nods, and I heave a sigh. “Well, it sounds like she is a good friend. I’m glad you have people like her in your life. I suppose I’ll just have to make her like me.”

A crooked smile. “Good luck with that.”

My heart warms, as it does each time I see a rare glimpse of that fa miliar grin. I’m beginning to understand now—why he so rarely spoke of his family when we were children. The Thorn was the one place he could be himself—unrestrained, carefree, and at ease. As he grew older, though, he became increasingly withdrawn … even somber. And now I know why.

It was the burden of keeping me alive despite the danger his father posed. It’s the same burden he carries now, for each of his imperiums.

If his father had never learned of his trips to the Thorn, would Ti have eventually chosen to leave me? Would he have decided the threat was too great, the risk of discovery too high to justify those few precious hours of being himself with me?

Pressing a kiss to his cheek, I push that thought away to consider later. Tiernon gives me a searching look, but I slip out of the room, moving quickly through the imperius common room and along the corridors. I’m almost at the training hall when a shadow looms over me, and I palm a throwing knife, heart pounding.

Bran. His face has grown hollow, the skin pulling tight over his cheekbones and jaw. His skin is waxy and sallow, and I catch the tremble of his hands before he folds his arms.

He raises an eyebrow. “You killed Tiberius Cotta.”

I stare him down. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I’m just a few feet from the training hall. From safety.

Bran smirks at me. “Cotta was a simpleminded fool.” His expression hardens. “But he wasn’t your target. There is no more time left to waste. The emperor is becoming more and more paranoid. So I’ve created an opportunity for you.”

“What kind of opportunity?”

“The Vallius will be attending a dinner with the Vampire Council two nights from now,” Bran says. “The imperius will also be attending as a show of force.”

“I don’t understand.”

His lips peel back from his fangs. “Let me be clear. You will take a silver blade, and you will kill the emperor when he least expects it. When he’s relaxed, unshielded, and surrounded by those he trusts.”

I stare at him. “If I kill the emperor publicly, I’ll die. Instantly.”

“Your longevity is not my problem.”

“I won’t do it. It’s a death sentence.”

“Yes. You will. Elva recently mentioned she has some friends visiting. A group of vampires who are currently happy to keep your brothers safe .”

The threat is clear, and my palms turn slick. “You’re devolving,” I say coolly. “If I were you, I’d cut back on the sun tonics.”

His expression twists into fury, and he bares his teeth with a hiss.

“Is the sun worth this, Bran?”

I gesture toward his unkempt, greasy hair, allowing my gaze to drop to his wrinkled, stained clothes. Something red is tucked possessively beneath his arm and I squint at it. A book. With gold-embossed letters.

“The sun is worth everything ,” Bran says.

I was right. Bran has an addiction of his own. I’m bonded to a vampire who is slowly losing his mind. A vampire working with the rebels. My palms turn damp.

“Arvelle?” Maeva stands a few feet away, her nose wrinkled, eyebrows drawn together as she watches Bran.

I know that look. It’s her I’m-not-a-threat-I’m-just-confused look. And I have no doubt her left hand—currently hidden behind her back—is caressing the hilt of one of her knives.

Bran gives her a sickly smile. She sends a cool look his way, and he turns his attention back to me.

“You know what you need to do.” He strides away, and Maeva watches him go.

“Is he threatening you?”

“It’s complicated.”

“You need a new sponsor.”

“Yeah, well, not many people thought I’d get this far.”

“Tiberius did.”

Guilt stabs through me. I haven’t forgotten that Tiberius replaced my weapons before I fought Maximus. The parma he gave me saved my life. And in return, I took his from him.

Just as Bran is going to take mine from me if he manages to make me kill the emperor in public. My heart thunders against my rib cage, my ribs constricting until I’m suddenly pulling in deep, desperate breaths.

Two days. I have to find a less public way to kill the emperor within the next two days. Bran didn’t get to the last part of his threat. The part where he reminds me that he has my brothers.

He didn’t need to.

This is it. I need to warn Leon so he can get out of here.

“Yeah,” I say. “Let’s go, I think we’re late.”

Maeva sighs. “You can talk to me, you know.”

We step into the training hall, and Maeva sends me a wary look. The tension is thick and stifling, filled with hissed whispers. A group of sigilmarked novices are watching the vampires with barely disguised loathing, while the vampires sneer back, displaying their fangs.

“What’s going on?” I murmur.

Maeva chews on her lower lip. “The Vampire Council opened an investigation into a group of sigilmarked emissaries. The emissaries hated the vampires they served and conspired to serve sigilmarked interests instead. They were spying on the vampires, undercutting their deals, securing grants that benefited sigilmarked-owned businesses, and spreading rumors about vampires suffering from sun madness.”

I gape at her, and she shrugs. “It’s not the first time and it won’t be the last. Vampires are forced to trust sigilmarked to further their interests during the day.”

“They didn’t make them … bond?”

Maeva lets out a laugh. “A sigilmarked voluntarily taking a vampire bond? They would never .”

I swallow. “Of course they wouldn’t. Because that would be stupid.” I resist the urge to slap my hand to the invisible mark on my own neck.

Kaeso slowly turns his head, pinning the gossiping sigilmarked across the hall with a glare. He can probably hear every word they’re saying.

I wince. He can probably hear every word we’re saying as well.

“What happened to the emissaries?” I whisper.

“Dead. The emperor didn’t even turn it into a spectacle. He had them all turned by the vampires they worked for, and then ordered their bodies burned.”

I suck in a sharp breath, and Kaeso slices a glare in our direction. Maeva’s cheeks turn pink, and she wanders away to murmur to Brenin.

“Quiet,” Nyrant calls. “Groups are already assigned, and you’ll find your guardants waiting in your assigned area.”

Leon stands near the back of the hall, talking to Albion and another guardant near the gladians with bronze sigils.

As a gold sigilmarked, I should be with the other golds. But my sigil is still so small—even with its recent growth—if I was ever to truly become a Praesidium guard, I would never be given an important role. I’d have no chance to work my way up the ranks. I would be fodder, sent to the front lines.

Even if I understood how I used Antigrus’s power to create a shield, I can never let anyone see it. I trust the few imperiums who saw what I can do to keep their mouths shut—none of them would do anything that could hurt Tiernon. But I have to be so, so careful around everyone else. The silvery blue sheen associated with griffon power is too recognizable. And I’ve never heard of maginari gifting sigilmarked with power before.

I sprint and sweat and suck in deep, desperate breaths. When Nyrant finally calls an end to training, Leon crosses his arms. “I want to talk to you.”

I gesture for him to get on with it and he shakes his head. “I’ll meet you back at your room after lunch.”

“Fine.”

Kaeso walks past, alone. He was one of the few vampire gladians who chose to be friendly with the sigilmarked, but even his affable charm couldn’t bridge the divide after the emperor ordered the guard Rorrik distracted to be turned.

“Kaeso.”

He stops, his eyes wary.

“I just wanted to say thank you. For helping us at the Circus yesterday.”

His face turns carefully blank. “You need to thank me, to give me positive reinforcement because I’m a vampire and we’re vicious loners who care about nothing but ourselves, is that it?”

I rear back, stung. “No. That’s not it—”

“I saw the horror on your face just now, when you learned the emperor punished sigilmarked who betrayed the vampires who trusted them. Vampires who had no choice but to rely on day-walkers to advocate for their best interests.”

Is he trying to convince me that vampires are somehow the victims in this empire—an empire formed by one of the First vampires Umbros ever created?

Kaeso sneers, displaying his fangs. Until now, he’s been extremely careful to fit in with the sigilmarked. So careful to not be a threat, to be just one of the other gladians.

“Sigilmarked seem to think they’re the only ones who struggle in this empire,” he says. “As if mundanes aren’t barely surviving, and as if vampires don’t fight the call of the sun each and every day.”

My confusion seems to infuriate him, and he takes a step closer, his entire body trembling. Over his shoulder, I catch Maeva watching us, eyebrows lowered in concern.

“I was nine years old when I watched my father succumb to sun madness. Can you imagine what it’s like to watch the servants chain your father to his bed so he won’t sprint out the front door at dawn to burn himself alive?”

Bile burns up my throat. “No. I can’t.”

“The sigilmarked could save us from that,” Kaeso says. “But you refuse to. And we’re the monsters.” He lets out a hollow laugh.

Another vampire who believes the sigilmarked could give them the sun. I open my mouth to repeat what Tiernon told me—that such measures are only temporary—but Kaeso is already stalking away. Maeva gives me a questioning look and I wave at her, signaling I’m fine .

For the first time since I watched Tiernon lose the sun, I truly pity the vampires. They’re held hostage by their need. Already, sigilmarked sell the kinds of tonics Bran favors—brewed by sigilmarked healers who give vampires stark warnings to use only occasionally and with great care due to the risk of madness.

Many of the novices remain in the training hall. The vampires stand in a group, ignoring the sigilmarked, who stare at them with open disgust. The divide is unmistakable.

We may have survived the Sundering, but the cracks are beginning to show. Just days ago, we made it through the naval battle together, fighting side by side. But the emperor’s choice to turn a sigilmarked has done what three brutal challenges in the arena could not: it’s reminded the sigilmarked and vampire novices that we will always be enemies.

“Arvelle? What was that about?” Maeva nods in Kaeso’s direction and I sigh.

“He’s … upset. You know he was friendly with some of the others, and they’ve turned on him.” Kaeso was one of the few vampires who wanted to be friends with the sigilmarked. One of the few who wasn’t entirely convinced of vampire superiority.

Maeva lowers her voice to the barest whisper. “I’m not surprised he’s upset. I heard one of the vampires who was betrayed walked into the sun yesterday. The emperor is keeping it quiet, but apparently the vampire thought his emissary was his friend. The betrayal pushed him over the edge and into sun madness.”

My gut twists. I can’t imagine the betrayal that vampire felt.

A strange fluttering begins in my chest, and a hint of blue glow highlights my skin. Horror fills me, and the shield grows darker, slowly beginning to take form.

A chill ripples down my spine. “I need to go,” I mumble. “I need to do … something.”

Maeva raises an eyebrow, but I’m already turning away. “I’ll talk to you later.”

I hurry out of the training hall and lean against the stone wall, forcing myself to do the visualization exercise Tiernon taught me.

A pond. Still. No ripples.

Slowly, the blue fades away. My head swims, and I stagger, lurching away from the training hall.

Why did the shield begin forming now? I wasn’t under any kind of threat.

If anyone had noticed …

Feeling nauseated, I pick up my pace, my footsteps echoing on stone. The air suddenly feels heavy, pressing against my skin like a thick, humid blanket.

An unmistakable awareness flickers at the edge of my senses, and my breaths turn jagged, dread coiling low in my gut.

It’s the same sick sensation I felt in the corridor between Leon’s room and the gladian barracks the night I killed Tiberius.

My fingers twitch toward the hilt of my dagger, the prickle intolerable. It no longer feels like an icy caress along my skin. It’s a chill that soaks into my muscles, lodging in my bones.

Slowly, I turn. As expected, the corridor is empty. But I’m being watched. I know I am.

“Help me.” The voice is a plea and a demand all at once. It reverberates inside my head, as if someone is mindpathing to me. But I have enough experience with that power to know this is very, very different.

Frigid, invisible fingers skim the length of my spine, until my teeth ache, my fingers stiffening around my weapon. The presence feels closer—a weight in the air that presses suffocatingly close. It’s a strange pull , as if the presence is attempting to guide me somewhere. A whisper brushes my ear, the sound low and guttural.

“Help.”

And then it’s gone.

My entire body is taut, trembling with the remnants of terror.

Maybe this is Tiberius, refusing to move on. Maybe he’s enraged, determined to make me pay.

But that voice wasn’t familiar. And it asked for help .

Perhaps this is it. Perhaps I’m truly losing my mind.

It takes more willpower than I’d like to admit, but I shove aside the paralyzing dread and force myself to continue walking, until I’m standing at the spot where I first met Jorah.

Leaning my body against the familiar spot on the wall, I shove, cursing when it doesn’t move.

Pressing my fingers into the rough stone, I try again and again.

“Jorah!” I hiss.

No answer.

“Please. I need help.”

“Jorah.” I slump against the wall, head spinning dizzily.

But it’s not just my head spinning. I stumble with a yelp, the light dimming further as the wall gives way behind me.

Jorah eyes me. “Hello.”

I’m so relieved, I could throw my arms around him. But he’s leaning close, studying my face. “When was the last time you slept?”

I shrug. Even if I hadn’t spent last night with Tiernon, I still wouldn’t have been able to sleep. Each time I close my eyes, I see the grim acceptance in Lucius’s eyes, moments before his heart was ripped from his chest. And I see Tiberius Cotta smiling congenially down at me, his lifeblood gushing from his throat.

“I need some help,” I say. “Last time we spoke, you mentioned a library.”

His face closes up, and I want to bury my hands in his tunic and shake him. “Please, Jorah. It’s important.”

“It’s forbidden for gladians to enter.”

“I’m a novice now.”

“Novices are only allowed under vampire supervision.”

“If I’m caught, I’ll take your involvement to the grave. I swear.”

Antigrus’s words echo again through my head.

“Use it well.”

The griffon somehow transferred some of his powers to me as he died. I’ve never heard of such a thing—never thought it could be possible. Tomorrow, I’ll be standing in the same room as the emperor. I’ll plunge a silver knife into him, in front of the Vampire Council. What if … what if there’s a chance I could control that power, could use it to protect myself?

Jorah studies my face for a long moment. Finally, he sighs. “Come with me.”

I fall into step beside him. This corridor is narrow, its walls made of uneven stone blocks, worn smooth. Faint markings have been etched into the stone, and the floor beneath our feet is slightly concave in the center, absorbing the sounds of our footsteps.

Jorah’s mouth is turned down, and I study his face. He still seems sad. Muted. Because of me.

Tiberius Cotta was a good person. Someone who sponsored me when I had no one—someone who provided me with weapons that saved my life.

One little conversation and you decided to trust me. Rorrik’s words taunt me.

“Arvelle?” Jorah’s brows crease and I force myself to attempt a smile.

“I’m fine.”

With a frown, he continues walking until we get to a silver door. It gleams in the faint glow of the aether lamps on the wall, every inch of it carefully polished.

“Here,” Jorah says. “Do you remember how to get back?”

“Remind me again.” I’m not risking a repeat of last time, so I listen carefully to Jorah’s instructions.

“Thank you.”

He gives me his sweet smile and touches the door handle. The silver door swings open welcomingly.

Slipping Rorrik’s pendant back over my head, I take a moment to stare, inhaling the scent of old parchment. The library is dimly lit by aether stones, the lamps casting long shadows across arched ceilings.

Stretching almost as high as those ceilings, hundreds of book shelves are arranged neatly into narrow rows. To my left, a statue of Staleia is positioned against one wall. The goddess of wisdom and the arts wears a placid, patient expression, her lips curved up in a gentle smile. One hand holds a thick book, while the other reaches out, as if beckoning her followers to approach.

Several tables have been positioned near the statue, a few of them still holding stacks of books. But I wander toward the shelves to my left.

The air should be damp down here, but it’s bone dry instead, likely protected by whoever harnessed aether to ward against moisture. Slowly I pull the closest book, and my heart races. The date on the spine tells me it was written six centuries ago, and—aside from a faint yellowing of the pages—it’s in perfect condition.

I stroll past history and languages and battle strategy. Along three shelves, records of every gladian and guardant who has entered the ludus are neatly stacked in alphabetical order. Another entire section is devoted to flowers, and I pull a book at random, flicking through the pages. Roses. Kassia would love this library …

I shove the book back where it belongs, breathing shallowly as I’m assaulted by memories of Kassia fighting, dancing, laughing. Turning away, I force myself to continue my search. Maginari history? Or would information about power transfer be somewhere else?

I shuffle from section to section, until I have a stack of books almost too heavy to carry. I’m about to haul them back to the tables near the statue when I stumble across another table, hidden away in a corner so shadowed and secluded, I almost miss it.

Someone has set up their own little research station in this corner, with a stack of books waiting on one of the round tables. Behind the table, the wall is marred by a crack that splinters outward from a fist-sized hole, the stone crumbling at its edges.

Whoever was researching here was both incredibly angry and incredibly strong.

A vampire.

I lean closer, peering at the open book, but the language is one I’ve never seen before. One that pokes sharply into my mind.

I scan the page, and my eyes water.

With a hiss, I press my fingers to suddenly aching eyes, wiping away moisture.

I reach out, flicking to the next page, and my hand trembles. My finger is damp with blood, and I’ve left a single, perfect fingerprint on the page.

Shit.

Flicking the pages back, I let out a relieved breath. Mine isn’t the only bloody fingerprint staining the parchment. Although it is the freshest.

I turn back to the first page. The words blur, and my mind rebels, pain stabbing into my head.

My eyes sting, and I attempt to blink away the pain. Shaking my head, I straighten, turning the page back to where I found it.

Wait.

The words have rearranged themselves into sentences I can read.

Noxdraught was created by Serehaina, the goddess of agriculture, grain crops, fertility, and dreams. Serehaina designed the poison as a mercy, during the Great Sigil Wars—a time shortly after Umbros created his vampires, when countless mortals and vampires perished in battle as the gods warred.

I wipe at the bloody tears that drip from my eyes, careful not to smear the blood on the pages once more. It still feels like a spike is being driven through my head. But some part of me—the part that still wishes I’d been tutored—is fascinated by this book.

Is it the language that requires blood, or the book itself? Is it protected by some kind of charm or ward?

No. I need to focus. Taking my pile of books, I head to a table near the statue, sitting and opening the first tome.

It’s a book about maginari.

The first few pages are dedicated to wyverns.

These creatures value honor, loyalty, and courage. They will only bond with those who display these traits.

I snort. Honor, loyalty, and courage? None of those sound like Rorrik. He must have trapped the wyvern into a bond somehow. I scan the page, looking for ways that it could be done.

Nothing. But that doesn’t mean someone like Rorrik hasn’t found a way.

Flicking to the page about griffons, I search for something to explain how Antigrus gave me his power.

As I’d expected, there’s no mention of such a thing being possible, but I find it difficult to believe maginari would share their secrets willingly with vampires and sigilmarked.

This book is useless.

Pushing it aside, I reach for the next book.

The Empire of Senthara: A History.

The author is long-winded and dry, and I scan page after page, searching for any mention of maginari giving their powers to sigilmarked.

Nothing.

I sigh, about to close the book when I catch a glimpse of a familiar picture.

It’s the same picture of Mortuus from Gerith’s textbook, the god of ruin baring his teeth in a snarl as Anoxian looks on, that strange, dark sword in his hand.

I wouldn’t have thought Mortuus’s imprisonment was relevant to Senthara’s history. Until I get halfway down the page.

The year before I was born, an earthquake struck. The epicenter was in northwest Senthara—close to the Myrestorn border. Great cracks opened in the ground, while thick, dark mud poured from those cracks as the earth shifted.

Some blamed Mortuus, convinced the god had used his time free of his cage to create destruction.

Most chose to believe it was a natural occurrence. One that would have been much worse if the quake had struck closer to the capital city.

According to the book in my hand, it was indeed Mortuus breaking free of his cage. Every twenty-five years, on the longest night of the year, the bars weaken enough for him to temporarily escape and cause havoc. The power within those bars pulls him back inside his cage the moment the sun rises.

Just like the vampires, his freedom is tied to the sun. That’s nicely ironic considering he was the one who stole it from them.

Even while knowing just how much more powerful—and how much more of a threat—the vampires would be if they could walk in the sun, my heart still aches for Tiernon and vampires like him. Those who were allowed to grow beneath its warmth, all while counting down the days until it would be out of their reach forever.

I return my attention to the book—and to the destruction Mortuus wielded while he was free. According to the author, the god destroyed an entire city before slowly moving south—his movements easily tracked by the trail of bodies he left in his wake.

And then the death stopped—hours before he was due to be whisked back to his cage. What was he doing?

Flipping the page, I freeze. I know this mark. I’ve seen it many times before—once, at the statue of Anoxian when I first arrived at the ludus. Once on Gradon’s neck. And once etched into the bracelet I found in Tiberius Cotta’s pocket.

My first reaction to it was so violent, I’m unsure how I could have forgotten the spiral, the tiny, jagged lines, the strange symbols.

A chill slides down my spine. Why would someone carve the mark of Mortuus into a statue of Anoxian? Why would Tiberius Cotta be carrying the mark with him—something that could have cost even a sigilkeeper his life? And why would someone be killing people and carving Mortuus’s mark into the bodies?

Thumping echoes reach my ears and my heart jumps into my throat. I’m not the only one who planned a late-night visit to this library.

Hauling the books into my arms, I sprint into the dark shadows of the shelves, keeping my own steps light. My breaths come in shallow pants, and I hold my hand to my mouth in an attempt to quiet them. The pendant around my neck hits one of the books with an audible click, but the footsteps continue their slow rhythm.

Rorrik prowls past me as if I’m invisible. I have no doubt if I drew attention to myself, he would hear me, but for now, the pendant he gave me is hiding my presence from him.

He looks … tired. And that makes him look far too human for my liking. A thick book is wedged beneath his arm, and he slides it onto one of the tables near the statue of Staleia, flicking it open. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his muscles are tense, eyes sharp and alert. There’s a sense of anticipation about him, as if he’s about to get something he desperately wants.

He begins to read, and I hesitate, torn between attempting to sneak past him and staying put. The pendant worked in the emperor’s palace, but Tiberius was already asleep. Meanwhile, Rorrik is an awake, alert vampire.

I can’t help but watch him. What could someone like Rorrik be looking for? If he wanted, he could be spending his days in luxury in the palace, but instead he’s constantly prowling around the ludus and wandering into this library to read ancient books.

He’s clearly searching for something specific in the book in his hands, because he turns to a particular place, eyes narrowed.

From here, I can see the way his hands—elegant and long-fingered—tense on the edges of the book. The way he leans forward, eyes intent as he scans the text.

Frowning, he flicks several pages, then flicks back. His shoulders slump. His eyes close. When they open again, they’re filled with dark misery.

Misery turns to rage and he picks up the table, throwing it against the wall. The action is so unexpected, I recoil, slamming my elbow into the bookshelf.

Rorrik doesn’t hear it. He’s busy turning the remaining tables and chairs into shards of wood.

My heart stops. This is the same man who wanted me dead because I saw him pet his wyvern. If he learns I’ve seen him truly out of control, he might do worse than kill me.

Finally, Rorrik stops, his back to me as he stares at the statue. He can’t be praying—vampires pray only to Umbros, and something tells me Rorrik isn’t particularly pious. After long moments, his posture relaxes. Abandoning the mess he has created, he moves toward the back of the library.

Slowly, I walk down the aisle between the bookshelves as he keeps to the outer edge of the room. When he sits himself at the table and glowers down at the books, I can’t help but peer around the closest bookshelf and watch him once more.

He opens one of the books and reads, his eyes dripping blood. I wince. I know just how much it hurts. Even if Rorrik’s eyes are continually healing.

And yet … he’s not reading. He’s copying something down onto parchment and comparing it to another book. A key? It seems the words in those books aren’t rearranging themselves for him.

He’s trying to decode the words.

Rorrik is looking for something. Researching so intently, he’s bleeding from his eyes. But from the hole in the wall next to him and the broken tables behind me, he’s not having any luck finding it.

Despite my loathing, some part of me feels sorry for him.

His voice echoes in my head. I like to break people. In fact, it might be my favorite thing to do. But you? You were broken before you even walked in here, hiding your shattered shards from the world with the tattered cloak of your pride. Honestly, it’s a little boring.

Maybe I don’t feel sorry for him after all.

Maybe he deserves to suffer.

I hope he never finds whatever he’s looking for. And I hope it eats at him day and night for the rest of his life.

Rorrik reaches for the book on the edge of the table. I’m about to turn and tiptoe away when he freezes with that unnatural stillness.

Slowly, he drops his nose to the open book and inhales, sucking the scent deeply into his lungs.

Realization slides through me. I left my blood on that book.

My pulse pounds in my ears and my every instinct goes on high alert. Rorrik raises his head, his eyes dark with vicious malice.

I hold my breath. Slowly, carefully, I take a single step back. Rorrik gets to his feet.

With no other choice, I duck, crouching in the shadows of the bookshelf. The pendant only suppresses sound. I’m not invisible.

“I know you’re here,” Rorrik purrs. “You better run, little rabbit, and hope I don’t catch you.”

My heart leaps into my throat but I force myself to stay still, even as my whole body trembles. I know what he’s doing. He knows he gave me the pendant, and if I run, he’ll be able to pinpoint exactly where I am.

And he’ll enjoy the chase.

Rorrik inhales slowly, audibly, his eyes turning glazed, almost sleepy. I shove my trembling finger in my mouth, licking any trace of blood clean.

The library doors open and I let out a shaky breath. Rorrik tenses, eyes lighting with predatory intent.

A low, male voice rumbles from the doors. I can’t hear who has entered, or Rorrik’s reply. I’m too busy crawling through the shadows, all my faith in the pendant around my neck.

I silently curse, unable to see the door without craning my head around the nearest bookshelf. Trembling, I inch closer to the side of the shelf, my body still in the shadows.

Rorrik’s gaze flicks to me, pinning me in place. He’s known where I was this entire time.

He turns his attention back to whoever has walked in, and relief washes over me, leaving me lightheaded. The question? Is whoever just entered scarier than Rorrik?

Unlikely.

“What are you doing in here?”

I freeze. This time, I recognize that low, hoarse voice. Tiernon.

Slowly, I get to my feet. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that Tiernon won’t allow Rorrik to harm me.

“I believe I know why you’re here, brother. Attempting to find a way for your little novice to hide her newfound power?”

I go still. Is he? I feel like an idiot standing in the shadows while Rorrik knows I’m here, so I round the shelves, meeting Tiernon’s eyes.

He frowns.

“You should know better than to spy on me.” Rorrik’s voice holds a lethal undertone, and I force myself to face him.

“I wasn’t spying. I was here first. I didn’t know it was you. And then I didn’t want to interrupt your little tantrum.”

Tiernon sighs. “Arvelle. Must you?”

Rorrik’s eyes glitter with wrath, even as he pastes a half smile on his face. “She feels safe with you here. Unfortunately, she fails to realize just how breakable she is.”

Tiernon stares back at him, eyes dark with restrained fury. “You won’t touch her.”

Uh-oh.

“I’ll just, uh …” Go anywhere else.

“Not so fast,” Rorrik says.

“Leave her out of this.” Tiernon takes a single, threatening step forward.

“But I can’t. After all, your little novice has been up to no good.”

My heart trips. “What are you talking about?”

Flames roar across the room. I duck, the heat searing my face.

My suddenly wet face.

Opening my eyes, I take in the water, which splashed up to counter Rorrik’s fire.

Tiernon just stares at me. “Since when can you use water?”

“I-I can’t .”

It … it doesn’t make sense. Antigrus couldn’t have gifted me with this power. I’ve only seen a couple of people using water since I arrived—

Horror slashes through me, sharp and sickening.

One of them was the woman who used her power to make two gladians slip on my first day of training—but she died during her first challenge …

And the other was Tiberius Cotta, who drained water from a pitcher the day the sponsors watched the gladians fight before my first challenge.

I only interacted personally with one of them.

Rorrik gives Tiernon a slow smile. “Each time she kills someone, she becomes a power-snatching imp. It’s why she can suddenly mindpath and shield like a maginari, while also wielding water like a gold-crowned. It’s endearing, really.”

I take a step back, shaking my head. “But … I’ve killed … others.”

Rorrik’s eyes gleam. “No, you haven’t. In fact, you’ve been very careful to keep people alive. You should really work on that.”

My head whirls, waves of nausea sweeping through me. I’d thought Antigrus had given me a gift. But Rorrik’s right. I took what was his when I killed him. And there’s no question—I stole Tiberius’s water from him too.

Like a murderous leech.

“Wait.” Tiernon is staring at me like he’s never seen me before. “ You killed Tiberius Cotta?”

My stomach sinks. “I—”

“That’s why you were so upset. I thought it was just because you liked him …” His mouth hardens. “You told me you didn’t know why your shield was griffon blue.”

“Because I didn’t know. I was in here researching tonight because I thought Antigrus gave me his shield.”

“A griffon shield.” With a low laugh, Rorrik leans against the bookshelf at his back. “Have you succeeded in mindpathing with anyone else yet? Or is that little gift reserved for me alone?”

“Stay out of this,” I hiss.

Tiernon glances between us, and then his gaze drops to the place on my neck where Bran’s mark burned the night he tried to help me escape.

“Of course,” he mutters. “It’s why you want to join the imperius, isn’t it?” His brows draw together and his eyes widen. “You killed Tiberius by mistake. You’re being forced to kill my father.” Understanding dawns in his eyes and I swallow around the lump in my throat.

“Ti—”

“Someone needs to teach her how to control her powers.” Rorrik narrows his eyes at me. “All it would take is one little mistake like the one you just made, and my father would kill you.”

“No one will know that she gets her power from—” Tiernon stops speaking, but I finish his sentence.

“Death,” I say woodenly. “I get my power from death.”

Rorrik strolls toward us, but his eyes are intent when he waves one hand in my direction, his gaze still on Tiernon. “Do you believe our father will care where she got her power? The moment he learns she has powers from both maginari and sigilmarked, he will see her as the threat she is and kill her. That’s if he doesn’t torture her first.” He gives Tiernon a humorless smile. “Perhaps she will get lucky, and our father will merely line up his enemies, forcing her to kill them one by one to take their power so he can use her on the battlefield.”

Tiny dots blur my vision, and I stumble. A flash of movement—Rorrik’s hand shoots out—as if to steady me, but he freezes just short of contact. I suck in a breath, and Tiernon is suddenly at my side, wrapping his arm firmly around my shoulders.

Rorrik steps back, his jaw tightening.

“Why would you care?” My voice is hoarse.

Rorrik’s eyes linger on Tiernon’s arm, and his expression turns flat. “Because if the wrong people learn what you can do, and that I knew about it, things might become complicated for me.”

Of course this is about him.

“No one will learn about it. I’m being careful.”

Rorrik nods toward the water pooled on the floor. “You’re careful until you’re under threat.”

My skin prickles. I wasn’t under threat today, when I almost conjured a shield in the training hall.

“So what are you suggesting?” Tiernon asks.

“Simple, brother. Either you train her, or I will.”

Tiernon actually looks like he’s thinking about letting his ruthless brother train me.

I have no doubt that if I’m forced to work with Rorrik in any capacity, one of us will end up dead. He’s lethal, but I’m motivated.

Shaking off Tiernon’s arm, I walk toward the door. “We’ll talk about this later, without your brother.” I’m more than willing to be trained. But not by Rorrik. Never by him.

“Giving up?” Rorrik’s voice drips with amusement. Amusement and something darker. Ignoring him, I push open the wide library doors and freeze.

Jorah stares at me with glistening eyes, his expression frozen.

Oh gods.

I shut the door behind me, hoping Rorrik and Tiernon are still busy antagonizing each other.

“Jorah—”

“You … you killed Tiberius.”

I take his arm, dragging him away from the library door. “You were spying? If Rorrik and Tiernon find out—”

Jorah wrenches his arm away. “You killed the best man I’ve ever known.”

“I—” My voice trembles, and I drop my gaze. I can’t even look at him.

“Why? Why would you hurt him, Arvelle?”

“I didn’t mean to. You have to know that, Jorah. I didn’t know it was him.”

He’s already walking down the corridor, tears streaming down his face.

“Jorah.” I swallow as he goes still. My eyes burn, and I can barely get the words out. “Pl-please don’t tell anyone. About my power.”

With a slow shake of his head, Jorah keeps walking.

M Y HEART IS heavy in my chest as I make my way to my new room in the imperius quarters. Jorah’s devastated, ashen face remains in my mind, until it’s all I can see.

One day I’ll explain what happened. One day, when I no longer need to worry about Rorrik’s potential retaliation. Nothing I say can ever make up for killing Tiberius Cotta, but even if Jorah never speaks to me again, I have to prevent Rorrik from learning he was spying.

I’ve seen what he does to spies.

Pushing the thought away, I stare down at my shaking hands.

How did I create water to counter Rorrik’s fire? How—

Fire. Fire is a sigilmarked power, and yet Rorrik can use it.

And Tiernon didn’t seem at all surprised. Is it … is it some kind of shared gift with Rorrik’s wyvern?

I open the door to my room. It’s similar to Tiernon’s, only smaller. The fireplace is calling to me, urging me to curl up in front of it and block out the world.

“Arvelle.”

I stiffen, slamming a hand against my racing heart as I turn. I’d forgotten Leon was meeting me here.

He raises an eyebrow at my reaction, but his gaze darts away. “I have something for you.”

I gesture for him to follow me in, and he steps inside, closing my door behind him.

“Nice room.” The words are gruff, and Leon shifts on his feet. Is he … nervous?

“Tiernon insisted I move in with the imperius. Do you want to sit?”

He shakes his head, steel-gray eyes finally meeting mine. They’re clear, cool, and empty of the ire that usually fills them when he looks at me.

“I have something to give you. Something I should have given you a long time ago.”

A pause, and then he seems to come to some decision, stuffing his hand into his tunic pocket. He holds a piece of parchment out to me.

“Kas … Kassia wrote this. For you. Before the Sands. If anything happened to her, I was supposed to give it to you. I haven’t read it. But I didn’t give it to you either. I ignored my daughter’s last wishes, and I have to live with that. I’m giving it to you now.” He thrusts it toward me.

A hot ache burns through my chest and up my throat. I wrote her a letter too. A letter I asked Carrick to give to her if I …

“Thank you.” My hand trembles as I take the parchment.

“I was wrong. For years, I was wrong. Kassia would punch me in the nose if she knew how I treated you. I blamed you for her death, when I knew you would have done anything you could to stop it. When I knew I was the one to blame.”

“You weren’t,” I whisper. My lips are numb, but I need to say this much at least. “Leon, the moment Galia Volker stepped into the arena …”

“Kassia was dead.” Leon gives a sharp nod. “I can see that now. I can see you both, fighting to first blood, while Volker was fighting to kill. I see it in my nightmares, every night. There was no way for you to get across that arena in time. And Kassia …” He shakes his head. “Years of training and she fell apart in the arena. I’ll never understand it. And then I was weak. I was so angry at her for dying in such a stupid way, I lashed out at her best friend. The woman she considered a sister. The woman I’d considered another daughter.” He glances away. “I lied when I said I came to this place for Kassia. And when I said I stayed to help you for her. I did it for you.”

Tears flood my eyes, and Leon takes a wary step back.

I let out a watery laugh and he sighs, gesturing to the letter. “I have no excuse for not giving that to you. If I had … if I had, maybe you’d have mourned properly. Maybe we wouldn’t be here. You might’ve married, started a new life.”

“Leon …”

He shrugs one shoulder, a hint of temper entering his eyes. “You and I both know you’ve been frozen in time. You stopped living the day she died.”

“So did you.”

One corner of his mouth quirks up. “And by doing that, I disgraced her memory.” He nods at the letter. “It won’t help. I know that much. Nothing will help. But … maybe you can start to heal. Just a little.”

“Thank you,” I say again.

We stare at each other awkwardly, and he clears his throat. “Maeva mentioned it looked like Bran was threatening you earlier.”

I sigh. “Maeva needs to stay out of it.”

He massages the muscles in the back of his neck, pinning me with a sharp look. “I’ve spoken to numerous vampires and searched through ancient texts. There’s no evidence that killing Bran would harm you. So tell me the truth, Arvelle.”

I take a seat on the bed, suddenly exhausted. “Two nights from now, the emperor will be at a dinner with the Vampire Council. Bran has instructed me to kill Vallius there.”

“Or what?”

“I don’t think he needed to specify an ‘or what.’ He has my brothers.”

“He wants you to kill the emperor in public?”

“Yes.”

“It’s a death sentence.”

My stomach twists, but I force myself to keep my voice even. “Yes.” I didn’t want to tell him, except … “When they kill me, they’ll interrogate anyone who knows me. I need you to leave, Leon. Tiernon knows Bran has my brothers. Please, make sure they’ll be safe.”

Leon’s face is white. “You won’t do this.”

“I will.” The words are cold. Certain. “I need you to make sure my brothers have a good life, Leon. Please.”

“No. You will not do this. ”

Frustration bites at me. “You’re making this harder than it needs to be.”

“I’ll do it.”

I surge to my feet. “You will not .”

“It’s not just for you. This is for your brothers. They don’t deserve to grow up without you.”

“You—”

With a stiff nod, Leon walks out of the room, slamming the door behind him.

I let him go. But I won’t let him throw his life away. It’s not happening.

I sit on my bed, smoothing the edges of the parchment. I can picture Kassia writing in her messy scrawl, folding it unevenly, and handing it to her father with that cocky grin that said he wouldn’t need it.

But she never expected the worst to happen.

No one ever does.

Hands shaking, I unfold it.

Arvelle,

Can you believe it’s finally happening? All the training, all the early mornings, all the bruises and blisters and strains … tomorrow it will be all over.

I wasn’t going to do this. We said we wouldn’t. But I know you’re writing your own letter. I know you better than you know yourself.

And that’s a gift, Velle. If I don’t make it, I hope you’ll remember that much. Our friendship was the greatest gift of my life. And if my life doesn’t continue, and yours does, I hope you can say the same about mine.

But I also hope you find new friends. A new family. A new life. If I’m not there to haul you into the sun, those friends will drag you into it with them.

Tell Ger and Ev I love them. They’ll help you get through this, but don’t you dare smother them. Especially Ev. That boy needs to make some mistakes and learn from them.

My father … we both know this is going to destroy him. Gods, I swore I wouldn’t cry writing this, but … look after him, Velle. If I don’t make it … he’ll be like a bear with its paw caught in a trap—the more you attempt to help, the more he’ll lash out. But he’ll need you more than ever before.

Whatever happened in that arena, you have to put it behind you. You have to let yourself be happy, Velle. Or else, what was it all for? What did we train so hard for if not for a future?

Wherever you are, I hope you’re happy. I hope it’s peaceful (but not too peaceful, because we both know you’d be bored mindless).

I suppose I better wrap this up. You’re about to arrive with Ger and Ev, and we’ll suffer through my father’s cooking. This time, though, the flavors will be a little brighter. The texture a little smoother. It’s funny how the thought of your own mortality can do that.

If there is any good that comes from my death (and let’s face it, not much will, since I am incredible), I hope it’s that. I hope you love harder. I hope everything is brighter and smoother and more.

Don’t let my death dampen everything great in your life. And tell me this much:

Can you smell the salt-tinged air? Can you feel the heat of the sun? Are you living, Arvelle? Are you loving?

—Kas

Tears roll down my cheeks like a flood. I stare around the room, deep below the ground, as far from the ocean as I can get.

No, Kassia. I’m not.

Six years it took Leon to give this letter to me, and I still can’t blame him.

A knock sounds at the door, and I wipe at my cheeks. “What is it?”

“Arvelle?” Maeva’s voice comes through the door.

“Yeah.”

She cracks the door open, eyes widening. “Are you …”

“I’m fine.” I place the letter carefully on the bed. “What is it?”

She studies my face, but after a moment she sighs. “I was thinking about the maginari. I know you said you didn’t want to help but—”

“Maeva.”

Her chin juts out, and for a moment I see Kassia glowering at me. Kassia, who would have tried whatever reckless plan Maeva is cooking up. Kassia, who shouldn’t have died but did.

My stomach churns, and I bury my head in my hands.

“Velle …”

“Stop.”

“You’re upset. Whatever it is, we can talk about it. Let me help you.”

“I don’t need your help.”

“I thought we were friends.” The hurt in her voice is like shards of glass thrown into my face.

But my conversation with Leon has reminded me of something crucial: My guardant isn’t the only one who will be in grave danger after tonight—whether my attempt to kill the emperor succeeds or not. Anyone close to me could be tortured.

“We’re not. I don’t want or need any friends.” Even as I say it, I want to claw the words back.

Lifting my head, I meet Maeva’s glistening, rage-filled eyes.

She doesn’t say another word. She just turns and walks out of the room, closing the door quietly behind her.