We Who Will Die by Stacia Stark - 38

T hankfully, gorgon poison is treatable if you get to a healer soon enough. When I stumbled in, refusing to allow Tiernon to carry me, Axia took one look at me and shook her head.

“Why am I not surprised?”

Tiernon’s blood healed the rest of my cuts and bruises. Later, I can worry about my likelihood of becoming a blood addict, but now, I’m in bed in Tiernon’s quarters, Evren and Gerith curled up beside me.

I made sure everyone knew Jorah saved my life, and when I left the healers, he was retelling his story to Maeva, a wide grin on his face.

“The griffon shield kept us alive,” I murmur, and Tiernon sends me a sharp look from across the room.

“Do you want to discuss that now?”

Gerith sneers at him, opening his mouth, and I hold up a hand.

“Tiernon, my brothers have been impacted by this since the moment Bran showed up at our door. They’re old enough now to know the truth and to understand the risks. I can’t keep them safe by hiding things from them.”

It’s taken me a while to understand this, but I get it now. Evren sends me an appreciative look while Ger reaches out and squeezes my hand.

“A griffon shield?” he asks, and I fill them in.

“Wow.” Ev’s brow wrinkles. “I’ve never heard of something like that.”

My eyes meet Tiernon’s. “Rorrik was right. I had no control over the shield. I could only hold it for moments. If anyone else had seen it …” My voice trails off. Jorah saw it. But this, I know, he’ll keep to himself.

“He’s also right about something else. I need to learn how to use it,” I say. “If I’d been able to use water, the way I did that day when Rorrik was here, I could have avoided Albion’s knife.”

A muscle jumps in Tiernon’s cheek at the mention of the knife. “If you’d already shielded, it’s likely you couldn’t have summoned water. Not without more training.”

“So I need to train. I don’t know why my power is working this way, but I can’t hide from it any longer. Will you help me?”

He gives me a look. “You know I will.”

“Will we leave Senthara now?” Evren asks. “Are we going to go north?”

“No. I’m sorry, Ev.”

Tiernon lifts a brow and I know he’s wondering how far my newfound transparency will go.

“I have to kill the emperor before we can leave this place.”

Gerith goes white. Slowly, he rolls off the bed, getting to his feet. “That’s impossible.”

I sigh. “It’s not impossible. He’s not immortal. But it is very, very difficult.”

Ger throws up his hands. “You were just nearly killed by a guardant!”

Tiernon grins at me. “How’s that candor working out?”

I poke my tongue out at him and his eyes darken.

My neck begins to burn, as if my bond with Bran is waking at the reminder of my task. The dull itching spreads through my hands, and I attempt to ignore it.

The urges aren’t mine.

They’re Bran’s.

And I won’t let his bond make me throw away my life.

“I’m more concerned about Mortuus,” Evren says, suddenly sounding more mature than I’ve ever heard him. “You said you heard his voice in your head.”

I want to dismiss the voice as my imagination, but that would be a lie.

“Yes. Twice.”

“I’ve never heard of him being able to communicate before. Even to his followers. Did you know there has been an entire sect dedicated to freeing Mortuus for decades now?”

Gerith, Tiernon, and I stare at him.

“What?” he asks. “You know I read a lot.”

A knock sounds on the door, and Gerith opens it.

“I’ve been released,” Maeva announces. “Just in time for our presentation.”

Novice presentation. I’d almost forgotten. After each Sundering, the royal family chooses which novices will be forced to shadow them for the next year.

“You shouldn’t be going anywhere.”

“Relax, Arvelle. I can walk again now. In fact, I’m pretty sure it was the Primus’s blood that hurried the healing along.” She gives Tiernon a smile and he gives her a grim nod back.

What’s wrong with him? she mouths at me.

“He’s still annoyed that I went after Albion alone,” I whisper back.

Tiernon glowers at us. “I can hear you.”

I valiantly hide a smirk. “Maeva. This is Gerith, and this is Evren.”

She beams at them, and Gerith grins back at her. Evren gives her a somber nod, likely still preoccupied with thoughts of Mortuus.

“I’ve heard so much about you.” When Maeva takes a seat on the bed, I narrow my eyes at her.

“I thought we could go to the presentation together. Besides, I’ve never been in the imperius quarters before.”

I nod at the love bite beneath her ear. “Uh-huh.”

Maeva’s face turns even redder than the mark Neris left behind and I grin, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Since Tiernon gave me his blood and Axia treated the gorgon poison, there’s absolutely no need for me to be in bed anyway.

“Do you have to go?” Evren’s voice is a low murmur, almost a whisper.

I meet Maeva’s eyes and see the same dread I’m feeling.

“Yes,” I say. “We do.”

A N HOUR LATER, I trail after Calena as we climb the stairs into the stands. She’s tense, her face white—unsurprising considering the emperor is opening the presentation with his usual brand of entertainment . By the time we novices slip into our seats of honor—just a few rows up from the sand of the arena—a group of Torvellens have begun walking into the arena through another gate.

Most of their skin tones are on the paler side, reflecting the cold climate of their kingdom. Both men and women wear their hair long and braided, the colored beads in their braids a symbol of the various mountain clans many of them belong to.

The Torvellens are chained together, marching as one, ensuring they don’t trip. And still, an enforcer cracks his aetherwhip. The smallest woman flinches, letting out a low cry, and the men on either side of her turn toward the enforcer, their eyes lit with rage. Another crack of the whip, and deep wounds open up across their cheeks.

More people enter the arena through the gate directly below us. Their skin tones range from medium tan to deep brown, and most of the women have straight hair, tied back with beautifully embroidered Zevarian cloth bands, although many of those bands are now faded and filthy from their time in captivity.

Zevaris and Torvellen are two kingdoms the emperor considers enemies of the empire. Over the past few decades, he has chipped away at their kingdoms. And still, they fight for every inch of their territories.

Maeva sits next to me, her face white. “I’ve heard rumors of the queens of Torvellen and Zevaris allying,” she whispers.

“That explains what’s about to happen.” I nod at the enforcer currently walking down the row of Zevarians, handing them each a sword. A woman immediately slashes out at the enforcer, and the one with the aetherwhip cracks it, driving her to her knees.

On the other side of the arena, an enforcer is arming the Torvellens. He gestures, and they step forward, facing the Zevarian group. Tears are rolling down the face of one of the Torvellen men as he stares at the Zevarian woman in front of him.

My sigil burns. Rage pours through me, no longer able to be contained.

“Arvelle,” Maeva whispers. “Don’t. It’s not time.”

I know she’s right. But I can’t watch this anymore. I refuse.

Something soars above us. The world turns upside down. Pain explodes across the back of my head, shooting down my neck and through my spine.

When I open my eyes, I’m lying between stone benches, Maeva slumped next to me.

I don’t … I don’t understand.

BOOM!

BOOM!

BOOM!

“We’re under attack!” someone roars, their voice bellowing across the arena. “Protect the emperor!”

I peer up toward the top of the arena. Where the Praesidium guards should be posted in the guard towers along the upper level, rebel vampires are crouched in their places, crossbows in their hands. Somehow, they made it through the arena’s ward and waited, invisible.

One of them strides high above our section, and there’s something familiar about the way he moves …

Understanding crashes through me. It’s the vampire from the Circus. The one who escaped.

BOOM!

An entire section of the arena explodes directly across from us, and I cover my head as chunks of marble and dust hurtle through the air. When the dust clears, thousands of people are gone, nothing left but smoke and rubble.

“Aether bombs,” Briona screams behind us. “Get down!”

My face is numb, my body slow, sluggish.

I don’t have time to be in shock. And yet I can’t seem to think.

The entire arena shudders, and I’m suddenly excruciatingly aware of the maginari two levels beneath us.

If it collapses, all of them are dead. Some of them might wish for that end over the emperor’s arena, but …

My mind sharpens, and I roll to the side, checking Maeva for injuries. Blood drips from her neck, the scrape deep but not life-threatening. “I’m fine,” she says. “You?”

“Fine.” I stagger to my feet, dragging her with me. “We need to get out of here.”

On the sand, the Torvellens and Zevarians are working together against the enforcers. The Zevarians have gone for the enforcer with the key to their chains, while the Torvellens handle the one with the aetherwhip.

Spectators bolt frantically for the nearest exits. Those who are stupid enough to enter the arena are immediately cut down by furious, rampaging Torvellens. I can’t blame them for taking advantage.

We head toward the closest exit, and Kaeso lurches to his feet from beneath a bench. His eyes are wide and stunned. “What’s happening?”

“They’re targeting the emperor,” Maeva says.

Triumph flashes through me, instantly swamped by terror. Blood rushes in my ears, until I can’t grasp a single thought but one: Tiernon is with his father.

I can’t see him from here, but the pulvinar is surrounded by guards, all of them shielding the emperor. Aether bombs hit the pulvinar, one after the other, eating away at the shields. The emperor is likely being smuggled out by now, along with his sons. My heart rate slows, and I force myself to focus.

Tiernon will get out of here. The guards will drag the emperor’s sons out if they have to. Meanwhile …

Commotion.

Distraction.

Chaos.

I catch hold of Maeva’s wrist, yanking her to a stop. This is our best chance.

Kaeso’s eyes are wild as he reaches for us, but the crowd surges forward and he’s swept up, forced to keep moving.

BOOM!

Another aether bomb hits, this time above our heads. Huge chunks of marble fall from the seats above us.

Maeva hauls me down, and we crouch, covering our heads with our arms. My breathing turns shallow, my vision sharpening until all I can see is the woman just ten feet from us, in the path of the marble.

Raising her arms, she throws herself to the side. But it’s too late.

The world seems to tilt, and I’m suddenly frozen, staring at the spot where the woman was just standing.

“Arvelle.”

Maeva shakes me, and I force my gaze away, meeting her somber eyes.

The arena is still shaking, on the verge of collapse. I gesture at the stone beneath our feet. “We need to get the maginari out.”

Realization flickers over her face, followed immediately by determination.

There’s no way we can get to the exit on this level. We’re going to have to drop down into the arena. I can’t see any Zevarians or Torvellens on the sand. I hope they managed to escape.

Linking arms, we make our way back through the heaving mass of screaming, panicking people, to the edge of the arena.

It’s a ten-foot drop, and I land in a crouch. Maeva drops gracefully beside me, and we whirl for the gate.

We reach the holding room within moments, and by the time we climb through the trapdoor, the screams and shrieks from the arena have turned muffled.

I may have been here once before, but Maeva has memorized the path. She sprints unerringly toward the maginari, never hesitating.

A distinct, rhythmic cadence sounds, and I freeze. Maeva slowly turns.

“The patrol.” Her eyebrows lower. “They’ve sent the guard early to check the maginari are secure. That guard will have the key. We need to split up.”

“No.” The word is sharp, my refusal instant.

Maeva glances back toward the sound of footsteps, her eyes wide. “You’ve got to warn the maginari, Arvelle. Some of them are too injured and sick to move. They’ll need help. Go tell them to prepare.”

“ I’ll get the key.”

“No.” She’s already moving. “You’ve talked to the maginari. They’ll trust you. I won’t be long.”

I don’t like it, but Maeva disappears into the darkness, and I force myself to keep moving.

The maginari explode into roars and screams when I appear at their cage. Even from down here, I can hear the dim but unmistakable sound of several explosions, one after the other.

Pholus steps forward, and the maginari go silent. “We’re getting you out,” I pant, leaning on the cage bars in an effort to catch my breath. The bars sting my fingers, and I instantly remove my hand. “You need to get ready to escape.”

Linaros’s hooves click against the stone as he approaches. “You have conditions.”

“Yes. I want you to vow that you won’t attack any innocent people here.”

He lets out a bitter laugh. “No one is innocent.”

“I know you can hear the carnage above us. But it won’t be long before the emperor has control again. This is your chance for freedom.”

Pholus angles his head, snapping his beak at Linaros. “I speak for all the maginari here. We accept your conditions and vow not to harm any who do not attempt to harm us.”

“Deal.”

Footsteps thud on stone, and my heart leaps into my throat.

“Do not worry,” Pholus says. “This is the one who left to find the key.”

Clearly, he heard Maeva and me earlier.

Maeva appears, flushed and covered with blood. I go still, and she shakes her head. It’s not her blood.

Her hand trembles as she shoves the key into the lock. The cage doors slide open.

Linaros clomps forward, cupping Maeva’s face with his huge hand. “You are brave,” he says. “Thank you, daughter of Tharwyn.”

She looks taken aback, and he smiles down at her. “Our god claims all who worship him.”

Maeva worships the maginari’s god?

She gives Linaros a trembling smile. When our eyes meet, her chin juts out, as if she feels the need to defend her choice. When I roll my eyes, her smile widens to a grin. “I know a way out.”

“Tell me.”

“A few weeks ago, I weakened the hinges of a gate leading out of the arena in the level above us.” Maeva smiles at Linaros. “A few hits from you should do it.”

Of course she did. “Is there anything you didn’t think of?”

“How to lie to the emperor’s guards when I was captured and interrogated.”

My stomach churns. “I need to get back.”

Her eyes widen. “Arvelle.”

“You know I have to.” Chaos is reigning. This is my best chance to kill the emperor. My brothers are in the ludus, which means I can take them and head north.

Maginari are streaming out of the cage. The gorgon bows her head at me, and I bow back, careful not to meet her eyes.

“Go,” I tell Maeva. Surprising us both, I drag her close for a quick hug. “Be careful.”

“You too.”

Linaros steps through the cage door once more, this time with an unconscious harpy in his arms. He levels me with an intent stare. “You kept your word. I will not forget it.”

T HE SMELL HITS me first.

Smoke. Blood. Sweat. Fear.

The sharp, chemical scent of aether still lingers in the air, mixing with the sickly sweet scent of death.

Huge craters mar the arena floor, their jagged edges blackened and smoldering from aether bombs. The sand is stained dark with blood and scorched earth, creating a slurry that sucks at my boots.

Splintered wood, chunks of stone and marble, and the twisted remains of statues of Umbros are scattered across the sand.

And everywhere, everywhere I look, I see bodies.

Guards, vampire rebels, innocents caught in the cross fire. Most lie motionless, already dead. Others writhe in pain, clutching at wounds. Still more are horrifically burned, their flesh seared by aether explosions. The scent of charred flesh mixes nauseatingly with the odor of burnt hair and fabric.

The pulvinar is engulfed in flames, the smoke thick and noxious. Pockets of vampires and guards still fight on the sand and up within what’s left of the stone benches.

Several of those benches explode to my left, and panicked screams cut through the air. People are still trapped, still trying to flee, still searching for exits that haven’t yet been blocked.

One of the vampire rebels lies sprawled next to the arena gate, a crossbow still in his arms. His head is almost entirely decapitated, just a sliver of flesh remaining.

Wiggling his crossbow free, I examine it closely. It’s larger and sturdier than anything I’ve used before, reinforced with metal bands and adorned with intricate engravings that radiate power.

Instead of standard bolts, the crossbow is equipped with a cradle at the end of the drawstring, lined with soft material. I crouch, noting a canvas sack near the vampire’s outstretched hand. Pulling it toward me, I peer inside.

Aether bombs.

Roughly the size of an apple or a small grapefruit, most of them are spherical, while a few have a slightly elongated shape. Heart pounding, hands trembling, I gently pull one free, my lungs aching as I hold my breath.

The outer shell is etched with runes that turn my fingertips numb. Placing the aether grenade in the cradle, I pull the lever, drawing back the string and locking the cradle into place with a satisfying click.

Movement across the arena. I jerk backward into the shadows, my heart in my throat.

Fifteen or twenty Praesidium guards are slowly inching away from the gate. Behind them, I catch a single glimpse of Vallius Corvus’s furious face.

The vampires have somehow taken out his planned escape. Now, the emperor will have to cross through the open arena to get to another gate.

Dark satisfaction spreads through my body. For once he’ll stand on blood-red sand, vulnerable and terrified.

Six guards step forward, raising their hands in unison. A ward begins to form. Their sigils glow …

One of the guards suddenly lets out a high-pitched shriek. Another slaps his hand against his forehead and leans over to vomit, while the guard next to him falls to her knees with a scream.

What … why …

I twist, scanning the arena, and my gaze finds Calena hidden behind an overturned bench, her face covered with blood. Her expression is twisted with rage, her silver sigil flaring bright. My ears begin ringing, my hands clutching the crossbow tighter.

She’s preventing them from using their shields. I didn’t even know such a thing was possible.

Comprehension washes over me in a rush. A sigilmarked rebel, working from within to help the vampires kill the emperor. Calena has to know the emperor will merely be replaced by yet another vampire, but …

The enemy of my enemy …

Bran got to her. My instincts had prickled the night of the ball when I saw him watching Calena with that considering expression. I warned her the day he murmured to her in the Hall of the Gods. But can I truly blame her for jumping at the chance to target Vallius Corvus?

No. Not when I can see true fear on the emperor’s face for the first time. Delicious fear. Satisfaction floods my veins. Whatever he expected of the rebels, he never thought they’d be able to prevent his guards from using their power.

This is it. This is my chance.

A mammoth chunk of marble lies mere feet away, close enough to the stands that I can climb it. Slinging the crossbow over one shoulder, I haul myself up. The first row of the stands is several feet above my head.

I back as far as I can along what is left of the marble bench. Taking a deep breath, I sprint for the stands, launching myself into the air. My hand wraps around cool steel, and I strain with the effort of pulling myself up.

I knew I should have spent more time on those fucking ropes.

“Move, move, move,” I chant, climbing up onto the nearest marble seat. If the emperor retreats from the arena, I won’t get another chance.

I leap over the cracked remnants of the next bench, sweeping the crossbow from my shoulder. Higher. I have to get just a little higher.

The smartest thing for the guards to do would be to wait for reinforcements. But this could just be the first wave of a series of attacks. If they wait much longer, they could get pinned down. I have to get as high as possible, so I can escape from one of the exits at the top level. If I get caught anywhere else in the arena after killing the emperor, I’m dead.

An explosion sounds from outside the arena, and the stands lurch, shoving me off-balance. I trip, catching myself on one hand. Sharp pain shoots through my wrist as my hand takes the brunt of my fall.

The edge of the crossbow hits the stone floor. Terror punches into me and I brace, sucking in a breath. But either the aether bombs are less fragile than they look, or it’s blind luck that I’m still breathing.

My entire body trembles, and I wrestle with the fear.

Move. Don’t you dare miss this chance.

The stands stretch out in front of me, and I climb higher and higher, forced to scramble over and under rubble, around bodies and the remnants of bodies.

I’m almost at the top when I see a tiny hand, sticking out from a huge block of concrete. My eyes burn, the unfairness of it choking me, and I move faster, driving forward, fresh rage powering my every lunge.

By the time I reach the highest level, I’m dizzy with fatigue, panting, twisting, lifting the crossbow and aiming it at the guards circling the emperor. Two of them are barely on their feet. Calena has been keeping them occupied.

If I live through this, perhaps one day I’ll thank her.

“Come on …”

I see the moment the guard in the front decides to move.

My finger caresses the trigger, and I wait, holding my breath.

The first guards make it to the halfway point. Two more join him, their swords out, eyes wild.

The emperor steps farther into the arena, giving me a clear shot.

My finger tightens on the trigger. Pure, unadulterated triumph fills my veins.

Neris reaches the emperor’s side, sword in her hand. Her black curls have escaped her braid, and they explode around her face as she marches next to him, her eyes narrowed, intent.

Neris, who makes Maeva blush. Makes her eyes shine. Neris, who came with me to save Leon. Neris, who silently cried next to me when Lucius died, but still took the time to make me feel better.

The urge to fire becomes all-encompassing.

But I know this need. This impulse. I’ve been fighting it since I first made my deal with Bran.

My hand shakes, and my finger twitches. I pant, sweat, shudder … and slowly place the crossbow on the ground.

No. No, I would never kill Neris. Not even if it meant killing Vallius Corvus. This place hasn’t twisted me that much. Not yet.

The emperor disappears into the smoke, and I lose my chance to kill him.

“How is it that you still defy me ?”

Bran’s voice slices through my ears, burrowing into my brain. My neck burns like fire, and I clasp my hand against it, dropping to my knees with a choked groan.

Of course he’s behind this. I should have been watching for him the moment I realized the attackers were the vampire rebels.

Fighting the agony, I manage to raise my head. Slowly, Bran skulks toward me, his eyes slitted. He does something to twist the pain, making it burn even deeper, and I gasp through it, falling to my back.

“Wh-what are you doing, Bran? You said you wanted to give your people the sun. You think anyone will feel sympathy for the rebels after you’ve killed so many? Why risk this?”

His expression turns sly. “Because as soon as the emperor is dead, his son will take the throne.”

I writhe, skin scraping against the stone beneath me. Gods, it hurts. “How does that help?” I gasp. “Rorrik is unhinged.”

A smug smile. “Not that son.”

“Tiernon doesn’t want to rule.”

“Not him either.” The words are dripping with satisfaction.

The worst of the pain eases, but my mind is slow, sluggish, as if a fog has descended, smothering my thoughts before they form.

“Y-you?”

Bran lifts his head, chest puffing out. “A bastard son Vallius never acknowledged, forced to take my place through desperate schemes, instead of receiving what I’m owed. An heir who is sacrificing everything to fight for his people.”

I stare at his face, but for the life of me, I can’t see any hint of resemblance to Tiernon and Rorrik.

“In what world would you be the one who became emperor?”

The Bran I met all those months ago would have looked down his nose at me, slashing out with his words. This Bran turns with a growl, kicking out at the stone wall behind him. The impact cracks the stone.

My hands begin to tremble. He’s losing control. Slowly, I stumble to my feet, the world swaying as I battle vertigo.

The pieces begin to fall into place in my mind. “That’s why you made me wait to target the emperor until the Sundering Ball. Not because of the Sundering itself, but because that was the day the emperor removed Rorrik as his appointed successor.”

Bran smirks. I take a shaky step back, toward the crossbow. The mark on my neck flares as if rebelling at the mere suggestion of doing Bran harm. I can’t kill him while I’m still bonded to him.

I’m all alone. Trapped with a vampire insane enough to work with rebels to attack the emperor’s arena. A vampire sane enough to create plans within plans—all of which have led to this moment.

My only chance is to buy time. “Tiernon!” I call, pushing everything I have into my silent scream. “Tiernon! I need you!”

Can he even reach me in time? The arena is little more than rubble, the seats below us almost impossible to climb.

“I don’t understand,” I tell Bran.

Keep him talking. Keep him talking. Keep him talking.

“Anyone!” I roar, attempting to keep my expression blank.

Bran leans against the wall at his back. “Vallius is furious with his sons. One of them wants him dead so he can take his place, while the other wants him dead so he can be free to live as he wishes. Neither of them shows the gratitude and respect he believes he deserves.”

“And the new law would make it possible for you to take the throne. But I still don’t understand why the emperor would change the rules of succession.”

Behind me, something explodes in the arena. I flinch, but Bran doesn’t react, his gaze still on mine. “He’s considering breeding with his mistress. He understands the mistakes he made by creating one son who rivals him for power, and one who is far too popular among both the imperius and Praesidium Guard. If his sons ever worked together, this empire would be theirs. Thankfully, they hate each other even more than they hate their father. So it will be mine instead.”

“What makes you believe you could hold the throne?”

Bran stalks closer and I skitter away. He swipes my crossbow from the ground, waving it teasingly. “Because unlike my father, I will give the vampires the sun. And in gratitude, they will give me an empire.”

If not for his descent into madness, I might believe Bran could actually do it. Looking at him now … he could never take and keep the throne. His skin no longer has the flawless quality typical of vampires. His veins are visible beneath the surface of his pallid skin, pulsing with a sickly, blue-gray hue, while his cheeks have sunk in, until his cheekbones cast harsh shadows over his face. His eyes once made me shiver when he looked at me with that cold, predatory intensity. Now, they’re bloodshot, encircled with dark bruises.

Bran snarls at my silence. “You doubt me?”

Agony blazes through my body, unrelenting, stealing the breath from my lungs, the strength from my muscles. Dimly, I’m aware of hitting the ground, my head meeting stone with a dull thunk .

He stalks toward me, and the world darkens at the edges, until his face is all I can see. Panic and pain merge, twisting my insides. I can feel the remaining minutes of my life counting down. But Bran has always loved the sound of his own voice.

Just keep him talking.

“Why me?” My voice is little more than a groan, my nerves on fire. “Why choose me to kill your father?”

“I knew Tiernon wouldn’t be able to stay away from you. Not after he spent years sneaking into the Thorn to be with you.”

The worst of the agony recedes, and I swipe at the wetness beneath my nose. Blood. Whatever Bran is doing with our bond … it’s slowly killing me.

Wait.

Sneaking into the Thorn.

Bran’s words make it through the fog in my mind. The day we met, he told me he’d watched me fight. It was one of the first things he said to me all those months ago, and yet I didn’t pay attention, too focused on refusing his deal.

The last time I’d fought before the Sundering was during the Sands. Bran watched me fight. Watched Kassia die.

“You were stalking me before I ever stepped into the arena.”

“No one paid attention to me,” Bran snaps. “But the emperor’s sons? The ones he acknowledged ? They ignored me as if I didn’t even exist. So I followed Tiernon to the Thorn. I watched and waited. For years. Then, when the time was right, I made sure the emperor learned just where his son was disappearing to. And that Tiernon was spending time with a sigilmarked whore who lived in the city’s slum.”

A hollow ache spreads below my ribs. All that pain. The years I spent alone. Tiernon’s torture. All of it, because of Bran.

“Why didn’t you tell the emperor who I was?”

Another explosion in the distance. Bran ignores it. “At first, it was because I wanted to enjoy Tiernon’s suffering. I hadn’t expected the emperor to have his own son tortured—that was a nice surprise. But the true enjoyment came from watching Tiernon pine for you. I’d planned to eventually turn you in to the emperor so I could watch him fully break. And then I realized I could use you for something far more important.”

Sharp, undeniable clarity suddenly grips me. “You never would have kept your side of the bargain. You would have made sure I was caught. How were you planning to get around the bond?”

A vicious smirk. “The bond is irrelevant as soon as one of us is dead.”

“And you’d make sure I was caught the moment I killed the emperor? You would have gone down with me, Bran.”

He raises one eyebrow. “Not if you were immediately executed. Then, everyone would learn how you worked with that little bitch Calena to organize this attack. Something that’s only too easy to believe after the way you saved her life during your third challenge. Thank you for that truly unexpected gift.”

A numb realization slides over me. Bran may be wrestling with madness, but he’s backed me neatly into this corner.

I’m going to die.

Bran smiles. “I see you’re understanding how this will work. And as soon as everyone learns that Tiernon was your lover? When they learn Rorrik gave you a spot on the imperius? It’s truly disturbing how the brothers worked together to get you close to the emperor so you could kill him. One by one, my witnesses will speak of the brothers’ strange obsession with the novice from the Thorn, and how the three of you collaborated to remove the emperor from his throne.”

And with both the emperor’s sons accused of his murder, Bran will seize power during the confusion.

“Tiernon and Rorrik will never let that happen.”

“They’ll turn on each other the moment you’re dead. Rorrik still hates his brother with everything in him. After all, it was Rorrik who saw you first all those years ago in the Thorn.”

My mouth goes dry.

What? How—

His smile widens. “Vampires are nothing if not possessive. And sometimes we break our toys so no one else can have them.”

“Why tell me this now?”

“Sadly, no one else will be able to appreciate my brilliance. And there’s something infinitely satisfying about watching you come to terms with your death. I thought about this moment each time you looked at me with such disdain. Each time you rebelled against my wishes. As soon as I realized you’d somehow taken your brothers back, I agreed to allow the rebels to strike. By now, Vallius Corvus is either dead or dying. How truly fortunate that I was able to kill you during your escape—directly after you arranged for his death.”

Bran squeezes the crossbow in his unsteady, spasming hands. My heart leaps into my throat. Will I feel the explosion? Or will my death be too quick?

His eyes widen, and he shifts his gaze over my shoulder, firing past me.

I whirl. My pulse stumbles, and then careens, as my instincts scream at me to freeze.

A wyvern hovers behind me, its colossal form blocking the star-strewn sky. It shifts, and the aether bomb from Bran’s crossbow flies beneath it, slamming into the arena behind us. Obsidian scales absorb all light as its membranous wings beat lazily, sending dust and sand swirling through the air to mix with the smoke. It opens its mouth, revealing serrated teeth, and I wait for my demise.

Merciless, yellow-gold eyes glitter with rage as it lets out a roar. The entire arena shudders, and the wyvern turns its angular head. Rorrik’s eyes meet mine from where he lounges elegantly across the creature’s back.

Shifting to the side, I give the wyvern a clear shot at Bran. But it doesn’t take it. Instead, Rorrik leaps from its back, turning to murmur something too low for me to hear.

The wyvern disappears and I jolt. It somehow managed to hide itself completely, turning invisible.

Rorrik prowls toward us. Relief rushes through me, dizzying in its intensity. He’s not Tiernon, but …

“Disappointed, darling?” Rorrik purrs.

I swallow, knees weak with relief. “That is my prevailing emotion when I’m in your presence.”

But not this time.

He snaps his teeth at me with a savage grin. Then he’s strolling toward Bran, an intent look in his eyes.

He could have killed him immediately. He wants something.

Bran lifts the crossbow. Rorrik moves faster than I can track, and the crossbow is suddenly in his hand. “A gift,” he says, looking at it in mock surprise. “Thank you, brother. I’ve always wanted one of these.”

“ You ,” Bran hisses. “You killed Elva. You’re the reason my little hostages were freed.”

My mouth drops open and Rorrik winks at me. Rorrik was the distraction that allowed Tiernon to rescue my brothers? And he killed Elva?

Something wrenches in my chest, and suddenly all I can see is that dark contemplation in his eyes when I told him I couldn’t break Bran’s bond without risking Evren and Gerith.

Rorrik drops the crossbow, and I flinch. But the aether grenades are gone, somehow tucked out of sight.

Rorrik strolls toward Bran, as if he has all the time in the world. The smoke is becoming thicker now, and I let out a choked cough. Rorrik flicks me a single glance before returning his attention to Bran and holding out one hand. “Give me the book and I won’t kill you.”

Bran’s smile is a nasty taunt, and he opens his jacket, revealing the red book I saw the day he badgered me with my brothers. “You mean this?”

Rorrik moves .

It’s so fast, I trip backward, almost falling from the upper level. Bran twists, his teeth exposed, barely staying out of Rorrik’s reach.

Dropping to my knees, I slide off the marble bench and to the level beneath us. Even an accidental hit from a vampire could easily kill me.

Bran lets out a hiss, and I watch as he lunges to the side, still attempting to outmaneuver Rorrik, who looks bored.

They move so fast, I only see them each time they stop, in new locations across the upper level.

Bran is so much older. But Rorrik’s power is immense.

Another bomb hits the stands beneath me and I clutch the bench as the marble cracks with impact. The vampires pause, just feet away. I need to get out of here while they’re distracted.

I inch back.

“Uh-uh,” Rorrik says, his eyes on Bran. “Stay where you are, little rabbit.”

I grind my teeth but stay put. I know just how dangerous Rorrik is in this mood.

“F-fine.” Bran holds out the book, hand trembling. “Take it.”

Rorrik snatches it, and … I’ve never seen this look on his face before. It’s a look of awe, as if he’s suddenly gotten something he has longed for but never truly expected to hold.

His gaze lifts to Bran, who goes white.

“Arvelle,” Bran hisses, meeting my eyes over Rorrik’s shoulder. “If you let him kill me, my rebels will hunt you until the day you die.”

Rorrik’s eyes meet mine in silent question. I trace a finger over the spot on my neck that has caused me so much pain and give Bran a grim smile. “The bond is irrelevant as soon as one of us is dead.”

Thud.

The sound is sickeningly familiar, and I flinch.

Bran’s body falls to the ground, and Rorrik drops Bran’s heart next to him, carelessly wiping his hand on his black tunic.

Pain sears my neck, making my eyes water. But it’s a cleansing pain, and the moment Bran hits the ground, my thoughts sharpen. My impulses become my own. I still want the emperor dead, but the need to kill him is no longer all-consuming.

“You said you wouldn’t kill Bran if he gave you the book.”

Rorrik’s gaze sweeps over me, dripping with condescension, as if I’m a harmless, doe-eyed fool. “I lied. Move closer to me.”

He just tore out yet another heart, but I comply. Rorrik gives me an approving look that makes me gnash my teeth. But he’s already shifting his attention to a blur in the distance, moving toward us. The smoke clears, and a vampire approaches, close to the spot where I was just standing.

The same vampire who escaped the day Rorrik killed Lucius. The vampire I noticed at the top of the arena.

His thin lips are spread in a tight smile, displaying his fangs in an obvious threat. “Finally, you die, traitor.”

The vampire sprints toward Rorrik, an aether bomb in his hand.

My vision narrows until all I can see is Rorrik.

“Shouldn’t you be off terrorizing someone?” Tiernon growls.

Rorrik’s eyes meet mine. “I thought I was.” Warmth spreading through my stomach at his teasing tone, my lips almost curving despite my fear.

My heart slams into my ribs as the vampire lunges.

Rorrik’s icy gaze on mine as he stares at me like the thousands of spectators are invisible. “Do you feel powerful in this moment, little rabbit?”

Time slows to a crawl.

Rorrik leaning close, his eyes intent. “Do you truly believe people are just one thing? Entirely good or entirely evil? Is it really just that simple for you?”

I hate Rorrik. But I don’t want him dead.

The revelation shakes me to my core.

My silver dagger is suddenly in my hand as I throw my body in front of Rorrik’s. He rocks forward in surprise, his hands slamming down on my shoulders.

My dagger slides into the rebel vampire’s heart like a warm knife through butter. He stares at me, bewildered, and my throat swells shut as I watch the life go out of his eyes.

“No!” Rorrik roars, echoing my thought. He catches the aether bomb in one hand, pushing me away with the other. For one long moment, he stares down at the vampire.

He whirls on me, teeth bared, and I back up, my knife dripping blood.