We Who Will Die by Stacia Stark - 3

I ’ m sprinting instantly, dimly aware of Carrick and Gerith falling into step next to me. But I’m soon leaving them behind as I hurtle through the streets, dodging mothers with children clutching their skirts, couples walking arm in arm, pickpockets flittering through the crowd.

Oh gods. Oh gods, please .

My lungs burn, but I push my knees higher, pump my arms harder.

Something is breaking inside my chest.

No. This is not it. This is not how I lose my brother.

This is not happening.

I slide around the corner, and our home comes into view.

Evren lies slumped next to our front door, gasping for breath. Bran stands a few feet away from him, a thick cloak pulled up over his head, his expression calm as he watches my brother suffocate.

“What did you do?” I demand, aiming for Evren.

“I didn’t touch the child,” the vampire says, his voice dripping with offense.

“Evren. Just breathe.”

Red blotches stain his face, his breaths little more than shallow gasps. He clutches at my shirt and attempts to speak. But he can only achieve a choked wheeze.

If I could, I’d rip out my own lungs and hand them to him.

Gerith drops down next to me, his face white. Behind him, Carrick curses. “We need to get him to a healer.”

His words are useless. I’ve been to every healer in the Thorn and none of them can ease these attacks for longer than a few days. Besides, we don’t have time. This is worse than any attack Evren has suffered through so far. I pull him even closer, as if my proximity can give his lungs the air he needs.

“Would these help?” Bran pulls two lung tonics out of his cloak pocket.

Carrick goes very still. Slowly, he gets to his feet. The vampire ignores him. Overconfident bastard. I’ve seen Carrick fight, and he might not win, but he would make Bran hurt.

“You know they will. Please, give them to my brother.” I’m not too proud to beg. Not when Evren’s eyes are this wide. Not when he’s staring at his twin as if he’s silently saying goodbye. Not when Gerith is shaking, tears streaming down his face.

Bran says calmly, “I will. Just as soon as you agree to our deal.”

“Deal?” Carrick grinds out.

“I need to present the emperor with a gladian.” Bran leaves out the little detail about being his spy and killing the emperor. “Your choice.”

Carrick’s laugh is bitter, terse. “No.”

“Velle,” Gerith says, taking his brother’s hand.

Evren clutches at my shirt until I meet his eyes. He’s shaking his head frantically at me, still wheezing too much to speak. His lips have a blue tint, the muscles around his chest and neck bulging.

My brother is dying right in front of me.

“Agree to our deal, and your brother is healed,” Bran croons.

Carrick takes a single step closer to him. “Hand over the tonics.”

Bran raises one dark eyebrow. And then he drops one of the vials.

I cry out, but it’s too late. The vial shatters against the ground, glass scattering, the tonic nothing more than a violet pool of liquid on the stone.

Useless.

Wasted.

Gone.

“Oops,” Bran says. This time, when he smiles, he reveals fang. I recognize it for the threat it is, and I pull one of my knives. One of my silver knives.

His eyes flare, but that smile remains on his face. He believes I’m bluffing.

I don’t bluff.

“Drop the last tonic, and I’ll kill you.”

“Your brother will die.”

“But so will you. I have a feeling Evren would like that.”

“So would I,” Gerith says.

Bran holds the tonic higher. “A simple vow.”

Evren slumps in my arms, losing his battle for breath.

This is so much bigger than I’d ever thought. Bran needs me to kill the emperor, or he wouldn’t have gone to this much trouble.

I was outmatched the moment the vampire decided I was going to do his bidding. And if I’d agreed to his deal last night, my brother wouldn’t be close to unconsciousness right now.

I know when my back is against a wall. And I won’t watch my brother die. “Fine.”

Carrick hisses a curse. “Arvelle.”

I ignore him. “Give me the tonic first,” I tell Bran.

He hands it over.

I know the moment I pour it down Evren’s throat that it won’t be enough. But his breathing evens out slightly, and Gerith’s pale face regains a little color as he wraps his arm around his brother’s shoulders.

“Allow me.” Bran bites one of his wrists until blood drips down his arm. When he leans down, pressing it to Evren’s mouth, Carrick retches. Gerith turns green. I ruthlessly pinch Evren’s nose, making him swallow.

He does. Vampire blood won’t cure the disease in his lungs. But it’ll heal the damage this attack has done to his body.

Within a few minutes, Evren’s breathing has evened out, and he’s able to sit up against our front door.

Gerith gets to his feet, bares his teeth, and lunges at the vampire, brandishing a dagger.

One of my daggers. He must have snuck into my room again.

Carrick yanks Gerith off his feet, plucks the dagger from his hand, and throws it to me. I catch it as Bran frowns at them both.

Gerith swings uselessly at the vampire, straining against Carrick’s hold. “One day I’m going to kill you.”

Bran rakes him with an unconcerned look, then turns to me. Even with his heavy cloak, he must have paid more money than I can even imagine for the sun tonic that allows him to be out at this time of the day. Those sun tonics are rumored to turn vampires mad, but Bran certainly doesn’t seem to be suffering.

“We leave in two hours.”

“Two hours?”

“I’ve wasted enough time here. Be ready to leave. And, Arvelle”—he smiles—“a deal is a deal. If you try to run, I will kill both of your brothers.”

Turning, Bran disappears. The blood drains from Carrick’s face as he releases Gerith.

“What was that, Velle?”

I open my mouth but can’t find a single word. I’ve just dug my own grave.

Dimly, I’m aware of Gerith helping Evren to his feet. Tears slip down Evren’s face as he stares miserably at me.

My lips are numb, but I force my next words out. “Carrick, I need you to stay with them for a little while.”

He takes a step toward me, arms already outstretched. “Don’t do this. Maybe … maybe you can ask him .”

Just minutes ago, he was reinforcing that I have no one else to turn to. I let out a hollow laugh. “Even if I could find Ti, do you truly think he would care?”

He left me on the worst day of my life. And a small part of me—a stubborn, cantankerous part I’m not particularly proud of—would rather die than ask him for anything.

I push the thought away. I’m running out of time.

“Look after them until I’m back. Please.”

Carrick nods, and with one last look at my brothers, I break into a run, feet pounding along the cobbled streets. I can’t fall apart. There’s no time. But heat sears my eyes, and my throat swells until each breath burns like acid.

Two hours.

I sprint past taverns and fountains. Past Perrin’s apothecary and the small market where I was supposed to refill our aether stones tomorrow. I push through crowds, ignoring curses and yells. I dodge around obstacles, bolt through alleys, until finally, finally , I reach the outskirts of the Thorn.

If this is happening—and some part of me is still sure it’s not happening—I have one chance.

Leon.

He still lives near the woods, next to the large clearing where his daughter and I once trained every day for years leading up to our turn in the Sands. Back then, this cottage was charming, with a large veg etable garden next to the roses Kassia babied. The roses we used to pick and sell to nobles.

Now, the fence has fallen in places, and the roses …

I slow to a walk, attempting to catch my breath. My stomach turns, and a sour, rancid taste climbs up my throat. Once, the twins considered Leon to be their surrogate grandfather.

But that was before I failed.

I force myself to walk up the steps, not bothering to knock. He won’t answer anyway.

A few weeks after Kassia died, I left food by this door. The animals ate it, the man inside too stubborn to take what I was offering. When I’d returned, I hadn’t been able to stifle my bitterness at the waste.

I’d slammed open his door and roared at Leon that the bread had come from my brothers’ dinner that week, and he hadn’t even had the decency to pretend to eat it.

He’d snapped back that I was too cowardly to face him after costing his daughter her life.

The accusation wasn’t anything I hadn’t thought myself. And yet I would’ve rather swallowed poison than hear those words from him.

Leon had stared at me, regret shadowing his eyes, but his blunt chin had jutted out. He’d refused to apologize. That was fine. We both knew I didn’t deserve apologies.

But I’d shoved more bread and meat in his cool box. And he’d eaten it. I continued to visit at least once a week. For Kas. Because she would have done the same for me.

And gods, she would have been horrified by the state of this house.

The once vibrant garden is now overgrown with weeds, the paint on the wooden siding is faded and flaked, and the blue shutters Kas loved are now hanging askew.

This house was once Leon’s pride and joy, bought with his winnings from his year in the Sands.

Straightening my shoulders, I walk inside. The cottage smells stuffy, as if Leon hasn’t opened a window in months. His fire is burning low, a pile of kindling strewn messily on the hearth.

Leon steps into the room; his gray eyes are blurred with sleep, and a pillow crease slices across one cheek. He’s still a large bear of a man, with a wide, stubborn jaw and high forehead. Both his dark hair and unshaven beard are shot through with silver in places, the sight making my stomach twist.

“I won’t be able to visit anymore,” I say.

Silence stretches between us as he stares at me. Finally, he turns away.

“Fine. I don’t need you here.”

I stare at the back of his neck. His skin used to turn a light umber each summer as he trained us outside, but now, he’s paler than I’ve ever seen him. It’s as if his grief has diminished him somehow. As if it’s sucked the marrow from his bones.

“I’ll be competing in the Sundering.”

The silence grows teeth that gnaw at me. Slowly, Leon turns back. His eyes are no longer blurred. No, now they’re cold gray steel.

Twenty years ago, the emperor made the Sands compulsory for sigilmarked.

Winners of the Sands are strongly urged to join the ranks of the Praesidium Guard. Although others must still undergo rigorous qualification, victors are immediately granted the chance to compete in the Sundering. But for me—and Kas—competing in the Sundering was never the goal. All we wanted was to survive the Sands and finally start living the rest of our lives.

My hands begin to shake, and I shove them in my pockets.

“You would disrespect her memory that way?” Leon demands.

Gods, he always knows just where to strike. My throat is so tight, I can barely speak, and I force myself to take a slow, deep breath. “I have to.”

“You have no business getting into that arena.”

“I know. I still have to do it.”

“After every intake, fewer than half of those who compete will still be breathing. Of those survivors, another third will die while training as novices for the Guard.”

I’m well aware of the statistics. And still, my heart falls into my stomach.

“I know this too. It doesn’t change a thing.”

“Get out of my house.”

“Fine. Carrick will look in on you.”

“Out!” Leon roars, and a gust of wind slams his front door wide open. His silver sigil glows, his face reddens, and the tiniest spark of satisfaction lights within me. At least when he’s furious, he looks like he’s alive again.

I stalk toward the door. He shadows my footsteps, unable to leave it alone. “What are you thinking?”

Turning, I stare into his lifeless eyes. And I tell him about Bran. I tell him Bran wants me to make it through the Sundering. I don’t tell him about the other part of my deal with Bran. The part that involves cold-blooded murder. If I’m caught, at least Leon will be able to swear he had nothing to do with it.

Leon leans against the doorframe, steadying himself. “Why would a vampire show up and blackmail you into the Sundering?”

I don’t reply and he narrows his eyes. “It’s a death sentence.”

“Either I go, or my brother dies.”

His eyes turn distant, dazed. “I trained both of you,” he says. “You were two of the fastest with a sword I’d ever seen.”

My throat aches. “I know.”

“And still, my daughter died.” His eyes sharpen. “Now, you’re old and slow, and that ankle is going to give out on you at some point. You will die too.”

“I’m not old.” I feel old.

“We both know arena years aren’t the same as birth years. You walk with a limp when it’s cold.”

I have no idea how he knows that, since he never leaves this house.

“What part of I have no choice do you not understand?”

“Last time you had no choice either.”

“It’s not the same.”

“Oh, I know it’s not the same. You were reckless. Both of you. You thought you could play the game and win—without consequence. When the reality was the game was playing you . And now, you want to try to play that game again. But you’ve lost the spark that made you great. You do this, and you die.”

“I just have to make it through the Sundering.” My words are fast, desperate. “I do that, and my brothers have a future.”

Leon just shakes his head.

“I’ll be fine.” I turn to go, throwing one last comment out. A comment I know will burrow deep. “Merrick will train me.”

Stunned silence.

I pick up the pace, taking long strides back down the path.

“Merrick?” Leon is nipping at my heels, likely moving faster than he has in years.

I’m a piece of shit for manipulating him like this. But I have no choice. I am slower, although I’ll fix that. But I’m also harder. The part of me that was capable of joy was killed when my best friend took her last breath. And any softness I had left finished bleeding out the moment I learned Ti was gone too.

Unless Leon trains me, I’m dead. And he’ll do it, because allowing me to go alone would be like spitting on his daughter’s grave.

I’m counting on that. Because I’m a cowardly worm. And because he’s my only chance.

“Arvelle.”

My name is a cold blade, and I turn to face it.

Leon stares at me. He knows exactly what I’ve done. Why I came here. And malice wars with bitter fury in his eyes.

“I’ll think about it.”