It was nearly a full day before the Nightfire was extinguished and the demons disposed of. Whoever had launched the attack had been very strategic about their
entry points. They came in through the southern entrance of the Moon Palace, which was the quietest and least protected. The greenhouse had been easy to breach, and the plants provided fantastic kindling for the Nightfire. Now nothing remained of it but shattered glass, all buried beneath the remnants of the tower that had collapsed above.
Four contestants had been killed in the attack—two within the lost tower when it fell, one ripped apart by a demon, one consumed by Nightfire. If I’d stayed in the greenhouse instead of going with Raihn and Mische, I would have been among them.
Mische survived, barely, though she still teetered on the edge of death. And she wasn’t alone. Several others had been burned—one of them so badly that he just lay in a state of semi-consciousness and moaned in pain. He no longer had a face. I hoped, for his sake, that he either died or recovered enough to do the deed himself.
Those with injuries so bad they couldn’t fight put in requests for withdrawal to Nyaxia. In the hushed silence of dawn, we gathered in the great room. The only sounds
were the whispered prayers of the injured as they slit their hands and dripped their blood to their parchment pleas, asking the goddess for permission to withdraw their candidacy. Raihn and I did this for Mische, too; she couldn’t get the words out herself. Later, the Ministaer and his acolytes moved solemnly through the room, collecting those bloodstained pieces of parchment. They instructed us to remain in the Moon Palace, reminded us that the Kejari would go on as planned, and told us to await further instruction.
That was it. So we all settled back into what was left of the Moon Palace, and we waited.
At sundown the next night, Vincent addressed the House of Night.
He did it from the castle balcony, overlooking the inner city. He commanded attention across all of Sivrinaj. Magic painted his visage to the sky in ethereal strokes of light. The first two buttons of his jacket were undone, revealing his Heir Mark. His wings were spread. His crown peeked through tendrils of blond hair like the platinum spires of a star.
The message was clear: Vincent was the Nightborn King, and anyone who challenged him would pay dearly for it.
He didn’t speak to his people, but to his enemies.
“I have only one thing to say. The Nightborn are not cowards. We do not take kindly to acts of war. And make no mistake, this attack is an act of war.”
His voice rang through the sky, everywhere at once— inescapable.
“Do you wish to unseat me? Try. You are not the only one who knows how to kill. You have opened a door you cannot close again, and you are not prepared for the horrors that I will pour through it. Horrors that will spare nothing, as you have spared nothing. Horrors that will not spare your wives or children. Horrors that will not spare
your food or your homes. And horrors that will not spare you.” A sneer curled the corner of his lip, revealing the lethal point of his teeth. “Not even when you beg for death.”
He lifted his chin. Even rendered in ghostly silver, the Mark on his throat seemed to burn, as if he and it alike had been seared into the night itself.
“I hope it was worth it, Rishan rebels.”
 |
JESMINE CAME to the Moon Palace later that night. She brought with her a slew of Nightborn warriors, who shadowed her like deadly ghosts.
We had found another room by then—a much smaller chamber on the first floor, at the center of the Moon Palace, which was both easier for Mische to access and more central in case other parts of the structure collapsed. It wasn’t nearly as grand as our previous hideaway, but it was safe and secure. Raihn had even managed to recover some of our possessions from what remained of the eastern tower. His first priority had been Mische’s bag of medical supplies. When he’d dropped the remnants of my pack before me, too, I’d been casually grateful. But later, when I was alone, I had nearly wept when I tore it open to find Ilana’s scarf still intact, albeit a bit singed.
When she arrived, Jesmine pounded on the door with two booming knocks; not a request, but a demand. Raihn answered it, and she gave him a cold, critical look that started at his feet and slowly moved up his body.
“Yes?” Raihn said coldly.
“Come,” she said. “The Nightborn King has summoned you.”
Dread simmered in my chest as I joined them at the door.
He was made for this, Raihn’s voice echoed.
I hadn’t witnessed Vincent in wartime, but I’d certainly witnessed what he was like when he was protecting what was his.
Raihn didn’t move. “Why?”
“Your king commands it.” “He’s not my king.”
I tensed. Raihn didn’t blink. Jesmine was still and silent
—a predator preparing for a strike.
I knew Raihn was worried and angry and tired, but he was also being a fucking idiot. I wanted to rip him away from her and tell him so.
“His life belongs to Nyaxia as long as he remains in the Kejari,” I said.
Jesmine seemed to realize I was there for the first time, her catlike violet eyes drinking me in with a glint of piqued curiosity, like I’d just said something very interesting.
“The King is well aware,” she said breezily. “Contestants will be returned to the Moon Palace with their lives.”
Contestants?
I peered over her shoulder to see that warriors moved about the great room, some headed down hallways to other apartments, others returning to the entrance with prisoners in tow. Angelika was among them, her arms gripped behind her by two Nightborn guards, strong features stone-set in fury.
They were taking the Rishan and Bloodborn contestants. And yet Jesmine, my father’s highest-ranking general, came here personally to get Raihn.
All these pieces snapped together in my mind to form a gruesome picture. I looked at Raihn just as his gaze darted to me, heavy with the same realization.
“The Rishan didn’t do this,” Raihn said to Jesmine.
She smiled. It was downright hypnotic. Surely that smile had brought men and women, mortals and immortals alike, to their knees.
“Oh, no one is accusing you of such acts. But this is wartime, understand. And the Rishan have a history of such atrocities. The Nightborn King cannot take risks.”
“No,” I said, before I could stop myself. “He’s my ally.
The Halfmoon trial is two days away. Tell Vincent that.”
“Vincent is well aware.” Jesmine, again, smiled sweetly. “He will be back in plenty of time for the Halfmoon. Don’t worry. Now, come.” She beckoned to Raihn as if he was a dog. “You must understand the urgency.”
His knuckles whitened where his hand gripped the doorframe.
“I’m not leaving my friend,” he said. “If the king wants to drag me out, he can come do that himself.”
“We can drag you out if that’s how you would prefer to go.”
It was no bluff. If he didn’t back down, I was about to see him beaten and removed from the Palace unconscious. He was good, but he wasn’t good enough to take down an entire Nightborn army by himself.
My heart had quickened—surely both of them could sense it. I pushed closer, standing beside Raihn in the doorframe. “No one here appreciates the fucking threats, Jesmine,” I snapped, then turned to him and lowered my voice. “I’ll get you out. And I’ll take care of Mische.”
He searched my face, unconvinced. I could feel Jesmine’s stare, too. I realized that she was looking at my hand, which rested on Raihn’s forearm. I didn’t even remember putting it there.
I pulled away. Raihn said through his teeth, reluctantly, “Fine.”
Jesmine smirked in satisfaction as he stepped past her into the hall.
“Oh, I almost forgot.” She reached into her pocket and produced two folded pieces of parchment. She handed one to him. “The Ministaer wanted this delivered to your friend.”
Skeptical, Raihn took the letter and unfolded it. His face went white.
“What is this?” he choked out. “Is this a fucking joke?”
Jesmine’s mouth twisted ruefully. “From experience, I know the Ministaer does not make fucking jokes.”
The parchment crinkled, quivering with his rage.
“Look at her.” He thrust his free hand towards Mische, listless in the bed within. “She can’t fucking compete. And the Ministaer rejected her withdrawal?”
My stomach dropped.
That was a death sentence. We couldn’t even move Mische up the stairs, let alone drag her into the ring. And right before the Halfmoon trial, when half the contestants would be killed? She wouldn’t survive.
“Nyaxia rejected her withdrawal,” Jesmine corrected. “Fuck Nyaxia.”
Several of the guards drew in disapproving gasps at this statement.
But this had nothing to do with Nyaxia, and we all knew it. Mische’s withdrawal had been rejected because of her friendship with Raihn. With no clear House association of her own, she might as well be Rishan.
Jesmine’s patience was wearing thin. “If you have concerns, you can bring them up with the Ministaer. Now, let’s go.”
Two of the guards took Raihn’s arms, and it looked like he was considering fighting before he finally conceded. I watched him go, mouth dry.
Jesmine offered me the other parchment. “This one is for you. From Vincent.”
I took it. It held only three words written in perfect script:
Tonight. Before dawn.
I glanced up at Raihn. He looked back over his shoulder only once, and the sheer hopelessness on his face shocked me.
For Mische. That was for Mische.
“He’s handsome.” Jesmine’s eyes followed mine. “You could do worse. Better if they aren’t a rebel, though. Just causes all sorts of trouble.”
That’s not what he is, I wanted to snap. Instead, I asked, “You’ve confirmed the Rishan were responsible?”
“Yes.”
I waited for more, and she gave a low laugh. “How much detail do you really want, Oraya? Aren’t you more familiar than most what they’re capable of? I know you must not remember much of what it was like in their territory, but you want to go there once the trials are over, don’t you? Well, here is your chance. Easier than ever for you to slaughter the bastards without Nyaxia looking at you sideways for it.”
My jaw tightened. Why did it bother me that she knew those things, about my past, my goals for the future? Why did it bother me that Vincent had told her all of that?
“I’m serious, Oraya.” Her voice lowered. “Be careful with him. He’s pretty, but he’s still a Rishan.”
I wanted to laugh in her face. As if I didn’t know better than anyone exactly how wary I had to be around pretty vampire men. No, I didn’t trust Raihn. I didn’t even know if I especially liked him—Really? a voice whispered in the back of my head, at this thought—but I knew he didn’t do this. I knew it with unshakable certainty for one reason, and one reason alone: Mische.
I saw the devastation on his face when we found her.
That was love. No one could fake that.
I bit my tongue as Jesmine sauntered off and slipped Vincent’s parchment into my pocket.
|
I REMAINED at Mische’s bedside until it was time to meet with Vincent. She hadn’t spoken since we dragged her out of the apartment, though her lashes shuddered as if with constant dreams. Her skin was burning hot—especially bad news for vampires, who were usually resistant to infection. I stood over her and dabbed at her with a cold washcloth, washing seeping pus from her wounds. I pulled up her sleeves and frowned at what I saw beneath them. The fresh Nightfire burns clustered around her wrists and hands, which had been exposed that night. But the smooth brown skin of her arms was dotted, too, with old burn scars— countless, all layered over each other. Some were clearly very old, and others much fresher, though not from the attack.
How could she have gotten these?
A mumbled whimper interrupted the thought. Mische stirred, her fingers shaking. I lowered her arm and leaned closer to her. She couldn’t even move her head, and her eyes twitched, like she was trying to open them and failing. It affected me more than I would have expected it to— seeing her this way. Before, Mische had flitted about like a butterfly, and now someone had ripped her wings off and
left her here to wither.
You’ve known her for a month and a half, Vincent’s voice reminded me. And she would have killed you in that ring the moment the Halfmoon was over.
True. And true. Still.
“What is it, Mische?” I asked softly. “What?”
With great effort, she rolled her head over, revealing her face. Bruises darkened the hollows of her eyes and the
corners of her lips with mottled black.
“He didn’t come,” she moaned. “He didn’t answer me.” Raihn. A strange, unexpected pain twinged in my heart.
If he knew that she had awoken and he wasn’t there… “Raihn is coming back. Soon.”
I hoped.
Her eyelids fluttered, the cracked corner of her mouth tightening in an almost-smile. “Raihn? I know. Raihn always comes back.”
The smile collapsed. A tear streaked her cheek. “I called and called,” she whimpered. “I called and called but he wouldn’t answer. He’s left me.”
“He’s coming back,” I said again, but she just kept weeping, faster and harder until she couldn’t speak—until she couldn’t even breathe.
I hurried to our packs, stacked in the corner of the room, and rummaged through them. The medical bag was well stocked, but not with anything strong enough to help her. Then my gaze fell to my pack. I dropped Mische’s bag, went to mine, and withdrew the last potion I had left. It was mostly empty. Not much remained. It wouldn’t be enough to heal Mische—not even close—but it would keep her alive through the night, and it would sedate her.
Still, I hesitated. This medicine was one of the few that could help me, as a human. I hadn’t healed my own burns yet. And the Halfmoon trial was right around the corner.
Mische let out another agonized sob. The sound cut through me, slicing the last of my restraint.
I couldn’t listen to her like that. I couldn’t.
I returned to her, tilted her head back, and poured in the final drops of the medicine. And I didn’t leave her side as her tear-streaked face smoothed and she fell into sleep, heavy and dreamless as a child’s.
