We Who Will Die by Stacia Stark - 27

T hree hours pass before I can haul myself out of bed. I splash water on my face and walk through the imperius’s common room, ignoring Deitra’s frown and Micah’s wince.

I find Maeva walking with Brenin on the way to the dining hall.

Dinner. It must be time for dinner. That explains the scent of cooking meat and bread. My stomach churns uneasily at the thought of food.

“Maeva.”

She stiffens. “Yes?”

Her eyes are so cold. I swallow. “Can I talk to you?”

“Fine.”

Brenin sidles away. “I’ll catch up with you.”

“I wanted to apologize,” I say when he’s gone. “For earlier.”

Maeva folds her arms.

“Look …” I shove a loose tendril of hair off my face. “There’s no excuse for the way I spoke to you. But … I’d just read a letter. From … someone who died. Someone I loved.”

Recognition flickers in her eyes, but they don’t warm.

“I was … grieving,” I admit. “And angry. I took it out on you.”

Maeva has been scarred repeatedly by the rejection from those she cares for. I’ve seen the hurt she attempts to hide each time her father looks past her as if she’s invisible. In my grief, and in my clumsy attempt to shield her from the emperor’s wrath, I’ve torn open those wounds once more. She deserves better than that. And nothing will protect her from her association with me.

She shakes her head, her freckles stark against her pale skin. “I’m the one who is sorry. I’m sorry about whoever you lost, Arvelle. And I’m sorry I’ve tried to force my friendship on you.”

“Maeva—”

She holds up one hand. “You made it clear from the moment you arrived that you don’t want or need anyone.” She lets out a bitter laugh. The kind of laugh I couldn’t have imagined someone like Maeva making.

This is what you do. You poison people.

“Do you know what it’s like to attempt to be friends with someone, and any time you think you’re sharing a nice moment, a moment of understanding … they suddenly look like they want to throw up? Can you imagine how much that hurts?”

“Maeva—”

“No, Arvelle. I welcomed you here when no one else would even speak to you. Not because I felt sorry for you, but because I thought you needed a friend. Like I did. And I was wrong. You’re so, so convinced you’re better off alone, and maybe you’re right. Since you don’t want or need my friendship, you no longer have it.”

With a long look, she turns and walks away.

I watch her go, my entire body numb.

My eyes are hot, my throat tight. Fine. Fine. It’s for the best anyway. If she’s ever questioned by the truthseekers, she can tell them we’re not friends. We were never friends.

Shoving it all down, I make my way back to the imperius quarters.

Tiernon is waiting outside my door when I arrive. His eyes are guarded as they meet mine, but he gives me a questioning look.

I unlock the door, gesturing for him to step inside. He lifts a hand, tapping it against the invisible ward.

“Oh.” My cheeks heat. All this time, and I somehow still forget. “Tiernon,” I say formally. “Will you please come in?”

He steps inside, and I close the door behind us, slumping against it.

Tiernon’s brows knit together. “You look exhausted.”

“I … Maeva …”

You’re so, so convinced you’re better off alone, and maybe you’re right. Since you don’t want or need my friendship, you no longer have it.

Tiernon reaches out his hand, his eyes dark. “Come here.”

I take a step toward him, and he wraps me in his arms. The brush of his lips against mine is gentle. Tender. It’s a kiss saturated with yearning. A kiss touched with bitterness. A kiss weighted by what we might have been.

My breath hitches. The emperor robbed us of so many years. So many memories. A future. And tomorrow night, either the Vampire Council or the emperor himself will steal what little we have left.

I know now, the grief and rage Tiernon felt when he was forced to leave me. When he was forced to pretend I no longer existed.

And when I truly no longer exist?

My death is going to break him. The inevitability of it slices into me, urging me to push him away. As if I can find words bitter enough to soften the blow of my upcoming demise.

I need to remember one crucial fact: Any time we had together was time we stole from fate. There was no future for us. There would never be marriage, children. There would never be a world where I didn’t die centuries before Tiernon.

“You’re shaking. Talk to me, Velle. What’s wrong?”

“Just kiss me again. Kiss me again, and don’t stop.”

He runs his hand over his mouth, and I can see him debating whether to push this. So I slide my hands beneath his shirt, enjoying the feel of his warm skin. “I want this. Don’t make me beg.”

Tiernon nuzzles my ear. “You never need to beg me for that .” At my urging, he whips his shirt off, revealing the wide, muscled chest that makes my toes curl.

I want to lose myself in him. I want to create one last memory for both of us. And, selfishly, I want to imprint myself on his skin so he’ll never forget me.

His eyes are depthless pools of blue, and he watches me closely, as if attempting to discern my thoughts. When I drop my gaze, he huffs a laugh, gently pulling my own tunic over my head.

One hand slips down to the back of my neck, fingers burrowing into my hair. He kisses me like I’m something precious and fragile and … loved. Our kiss deepens, my stomach tight with anticipation, my breasts heavy.

“You won’t rush me this time,” he murmurs against my mouth, and I let out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. Slowly, he draws back. “Arvelle.”

“Not now. Later.”

It’s a lie. By the time he understands, it will be far too late.

Tiernon frowns, but he doesn’t argue, taking my hand and leading me toward the bed. The covers are soft and silky beneath my skin, and I close my eyes, reveling in the feel of his mouth as he places gentle kisses along my jaw, the caress of his hands as he peels my leathers away, his low curse as he gazes at my body.

I’m lucky. So, so lucky to have been given this time with him. My heart aches at the time wasted, the days I spent wrapping my fury around me like a shield—before I truly understood everything Tiernon suffered. Everything he sacrificed to keep me safe.

Our eyes meet, and his smile is brilliant, blazing, breathtaking. My heart cracks, but I smile back, soaking in this moment.

Tiernon studies my face, his expression shifting into something raw and wounded. “What have you done?”

I shake my head, a single tear spilling down my cheek.

“Arvelle.”

“Just love me, Tiernon. Please.”

“I do. Gods, you know I do.” He brushes his lips against my collarbone, and I tremble. So he does it again. And again.

Moving lower, he pierces the fabric between my breasts with one brutally sharp fang, then yanks upward. The material rips, and he tears it away with his hands, a groan spilling from his throat as my breasts are freed.

He closes his mouth over a nipple, flicking his tongue until I gasp, clawing at his shoulders. But he’s already working his way down, pausing for a nibble here, a kiss there, his tongue drifting over one spot before his fangs gently scrape at another, until I’m groaning, arching against him, desperate for relief.

Heavy, languid intoxication spreads through my body as Tiernon pushes my thighs apart, his fingers brushing the sensitive skin behind my knees. When he lowers his head, I wind my fingers into his hair, already trembling with need.

Sweeping his tongue over me, he settles into a rhythm, stroking and caressing and teasing. When he flicks that clever tongue across my clit, I moan, tugging at his hair. Tiernon lets out a rough growl, driving me higher.

The rest of the world falls away, until all I can think about is the feel of his mouth on me, the grip of his hands on my thighs, the pleased, satisfied sounds he makes.

“Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods …”

My climax roars through me and I twist beneath his hands, chasing the pleasure. Tiernon continues until I’m limp, my body shaking with aftershocks. When he lifts his head, his eyes are filled with wicked delight.

“I’ve missed your taste,” he murmurs, lowering his head once more to pepper my inner thighs with kisses. “I’ve missed those little sounds you make.”

My cheeks heat and he grins up at me. But his face is flushed with need.

I reach for him, and he shucks off his own pants, kneeling between my thighs. I let out one of those little sounds, and his grin widens.

“I need you. Now.”

Slowly, he presses himself inside me, and I wind my legs around his waist, tilting my hips. He takes his time, hips rolling as he withdraws, pushes deeper, withdraws once more. When he’s finally seated within me, he lets out a groan.

“Do you remember the last time we did this? Before I left?” His voice is low and hoarse, and he withdraws again, pushing deeper.

Wrapping him in my arms, I angle my hips, needing more.

Cupping my face with one hand, he holds me steady for his kiss, and I gasp against his mouth as he plunges into me.

“I remember,” he murmurs, circling his hips as I pull him closer, desperate. Pleasure burns through my core, low and insistent, until I’m gasping.

“Did you know it would be the last time?” I ask breathlessly.

A few days before the Sands, I’d met Tiernon after training. We’d wrestled like children, then made love with the unrestrained joy of two people who had all the time in the world.

The thought that he could fake that …

Tiernon goes still. “No. There are so many things I would do differently, Arvelle. But that day … I’ve relived it a thousand times in my mind. You had grass in your hair and a glint in your eye. I teased you about using me to take the edge off your nerves. You told me you expected me to do more than just take the edge off. By the time we were done, you wanted to be boneless.”

My eyes fill, and he nuzzles my cheek. “I succeeded.”

I hiccup a laugh at his smug smirk, and he presses into me once more. He drops kisses across my face, his hand slipping between us, and I gasp at the burst of pleasure.

He strokes me again, thrusting deep. The sudden burst of sensation makes me moan, and his eyes darken.

Tiernon’s mouth takes mine, our tongues tangling, bodies shifting together. Again and again he thrusts, his rhythm pushing me higher, his fingers guiding me toward the edge of bliss.

And still, my climax is almost unexpected. It sweeps through me, swelling over and over again as I shudder in his arms. Tiernon’s body goes tense, and he thrusts deep, stilling as he empties himself inside me.

We’re both trembling, and he slumps, resting his weight on top of me for the barest moment before rolling away. Neither of us speaks, but his hand drifts across my back as I snuggle into him.

He holds me through the night, a warm, comforting presence in my bed. And when I wake up, he’s gone.

I’ M NUMB AS I take a shower, pull my damp hair back into a braid, and stare at my sigil.

If I knew how to control my power, maybe I would have a chance at the emperor’s dinner. I could use Tiberius’s water to flood the room after I kill the emperor, giving myself a few minutes to escape.

I’m not hungry, but I make my way to breakfast anyway, finding a seat next to Micah, who gives me a nod.

“The Primus isn’t here,” he says unnecessarily when I sit down.

“I noticed.”

“If he was here, he’d tell you to eat.”

I show him my teeth. “It’s a good thing he’s not here, then.”

He places his elbow on the table, resting his chin on his hand. “The two of you are fascinating to watch—”

“Micah.” Neris’s voice is heavy with warning as she takes the empty seat next to me. She studies my face. “You look exhausted.”

I shrug, and she shakes her head at me, handing me a piece of flatbread and some fruit. With a sigh, I take a bite.

Deitra and an imperium named Dolen are murmuring down the other end of the table, while Orna sits and stares at the empty chair across from her.

Lucius’s chair.

Maeva walks into the dining hall and our eyes meet for the barest moment before she turns her head, her face carefully blank.

I can’t do this. Getting to my feet, I ignore the eyes on me as I walk toward Deitra, dropping the note I’ve written next to her.

I’m calling in my favor.

She scans the instructions and gives me a tight nod. Good. She’ll make sure Leon doesn’t go anywhere near the palace.

I’m almost at the imperius quarters, when I feel it again.

The same, all-encompassing dread. The chill, deep in my bones. The knowledge that someone—or something —is watching me.

I stop midstep, barely breathing. The skin along my arms prickles, spreading to a low thrum at the base of my neck.

“Help me.”

My stomach spirals. I should have told someone. Should have swallowed my pride, pushed past the fear, and admitted I’m hearing strange voices.

“He wants us to return.”

My heart stops, then kicks in my chest, my pulse pounding in my ears.

It can’t be. I know it can’t be. And still …

“Gradon?”

Impossible.

“He wants us to return.”

Terror claws at my throat, my mouth turning dry as dust. That was Gradon’s voice. The same voice that always had a joke, a word of kindness. I hadn’t known him well, but there was no question he was a good man.

That same pulling sensation reaches for me, and this time, I bully myself into moving, refusing to give in to the instinct to freeze.

The first step is the most difficult. And then I’m stumbling into a jog, allowing that presence to guide me toward it.

Toward him .

I don’t understand. I saw his body.

“He wants us to return.”

I tremble, ignoring the urge to slap my hands over my ears. “Who?” I ask aloud.

No reply. I follow that icy presence, until I’m almost at the imperius quarters, staring at a blank wall. I don’t allow myself to hesitate. With a deep breath, I press my hand against the wall, and it swings open, revealing a dimly lit corridor.

I step into the corridor, and the door swings shut behind me. The putrid scent of decay fills my nostrils, and I follow the corridor, taking a staircase down as the cloying reek grows stronger. I breathe through my mouth, pushing open the door at the bottom of the staircase.

Seven tables, each holding a body. Somehow, I’ve stumbled upon the morgue. But there are no other gladians here—no one who has died in the arena. These are all the people who have turned up dead in the ludus.

Three of them were discovered before I arrived, while the other gladians had already begun training. Hundreds of people could have had the opportunity to kill them—maybe more, depending on how many people know about the hidden tunnels.

I take a step closer and valiantly suppress another dry heave. The scent is a bitter, metallic tang, undercut by a faint sour note and a hint of smokiness. There’s a dampness to the air, like mold, tinged with the faintest hint of rot held in stasis. The sickly undertone fills the back of my throat.

Whoever used their power to halt the decay has also trapped the scent, magnifying it until the room is saturated with the essence of death.

Gradon is the closest, and I can’t help but remember his easy grin. Now, his expression is twisted into a grimace.

“He wants us to return.”

“Help me.”

I force myself to take another step closer. My skin begins to tingle, my pulse races, and an inescapable sense of doom slides through my gut.

As one, all the bodies open their eyes.

And they glow a bright, poisonous green.

My sword is in my hand before I’m aware I moved, and I bend my knees, staying light on my feet as something cold slithers down my spine.

This is why you don’t sacrifice people to the god of ruin.

I survey my path to the door. Five steps.

The bodies don’t move. But their eyes continue to glow that eerie green.

My head spins dizzily, and I stare at Gradon’s corpse. Please tell me he’s not in there. Please tell me he’s moved on to the afterlife.

“He wants us to return.”

“Gradon?” My voice is small.

A malevolent presence suddenly fills the room, until I’m forced to my knees as the world spins dizzily around me.

“Mine.”

This is a new voice. A voice that sounds like a thousand screams all at once. I cringe, slamming my hands against my ears.

No. Whatever … who ever this voice belongs to—and I have a sneaky suspicion it’s the worst possible scenario—they don’t get to trap these people in their bodies. These people have suffered enough.

I’d like to say it’s courage that shoves me to my feet. In reality, it’s indignance. It’s the unfairness of this situation, this empire, this life .

And, if I’m honest, it’s pure impulsivity.

“No,” I hiss back, slamming my hand on Gradon’s face. “Go, Gradon. Be free.”

I push every drop of my will into my command, picturing whatever part is left of him breaking free of the corpse before me and going somewhere new. Somewhere peaceful.

The presence doesn’t leave. I get the feeling it’s watching. Waiting.

The green light fades from Gradon’s eyes. I instantly feel the difference. He’s gone.

And so is the strange, dangerous, invisible force in this room.

Shaking, I force myself to do the same for each body. I don’t know the names of all the victims, but pushing my will into the command seems to work. One by one, the eerie green light leaves their eyes.

By the time I’m done, I’m freezing cold, on the verge of either laughter or tears—maybe both. The last murder was the day of the third challenge. I’d thought that meant it was over. But there are worse things than death.

Like being trapped in your own rotting corpse.