The Serpent and the Wings of Night

Only one ignored the feast completely. A dark-haired man moved about the room frenetically, circling the tables. I recognized him—I’d see him looking around, a bit panicked, before the Ministaer’s speech. Now, my suspicion from earlier became a certainty. He was clearly looking for someone, and growing increasingly frantic when he couldn’t find them. After three quickening laps around the table, he ran out the door, pushing roughly through two Shadowborn who scowled after him.

A few minutes later, a feral, animalistic roar sliced through the air like shattering glass.

Every head snapped up. Hands went to weapons. My own gripped the hilts of my blades.

My first thought was that it was some sort of monster. That they’d lulled us into a false sense of security with this meal and figured they’d pick off a few more of us before the trial tomorrow.

But no, it wasn’t a monster that came barreling back into the dining hall—it was the dark-haired man, howling, face mottled with sheer rage. I realized that his screeching actually formed words: “My brother! They killed my fucking brother!”

His wings were out now, outstretched, the feathers many different shades of brown-black.

…Just like the wings of the Rishan man who’d been covered in Ilana’s blood.

And when this man spun around, his eyes wild, I realized they looked just like the ones that had stared into mine last night as I slowly sank my knife into his heart.

I stiffened.

“Who fucking did it?” the man howled. “You think you can kill an Ajmai and get away with it? Which one of you bastards did it? I’ll fucking kill you!”

No, you certainly will not.

I almost—almost—wanted to confess to it.

To my surprise, Ibrihim was the first to move, rising from his chair with his palms up. “Easy, brother. We don’t need any more death before—”

“Brother?” the man snarled. “You’re not my fucking brother. My brother is dead.”

The group of Bloodborn sniggered amongst themselves, and I thought surely that would be the thing to send this man on a murderous rampage. His mouth contorted into a sharp-toothed snarl, his fists quaking. But just as he was about to lunge—at whom, or what, even he didn’t seem to know—a deep, smooth voice came from the far corner of the room.

“Oh, please. It isn’t any of our fault that your brother was such a fucking idiot he got himself killed before the tournament even started, Klyn.”

The voice was oddly familiar.

The man—Klyn, apparently—whirled. Heads swiveled. The source of the voice took a long, long drink of blood. It was difficult to see him—we were seated at opposite corners of the room, with four rows of people between us—but I glimpsed a broad form and wavy, dark hair with a red sheen, which rustled slightly as he threw back his head to drink, unperturbed by the fuss.

When Klyn’s gaze fell to the man, he seemed to forget the rest of the room existed.

“You,” he breathed. “Raihn fucking Ashraj. You hadn’t gotten over that thing in the outer city. I should have known we shouldn’t have trusted—”

The man—Raihn—set down his goblet and laughed. It was a low sound that slithered through the air like a snake.

Klyn turned purple. Perhaps he was senseless with his own rage, but he was still a vampire, and that meant he was strong and fast. He crossed the room in several graceful strides.

“You did this!”

And just as quickly, Raihn was on his feet, meeting him halfway.

I drew in a sharp inhale.

The man I had seen at the feast. I recognized him right away, because here, just as he had at the ball, he stood out as markedly different than any other vampire. Everything about him seemed rough and unfinished, right down to the way he held himself—with an untamed, threatening ease, stark in contrast to elegant vampire beauty.

And when he stood, I realized all at once why his voice had sounded so familiar. There it was: the bloody bandage wrapped around his thigh. Right where, say, a short human girl might have plunged a dagger when trying to break out of his grasp.

Fuck.

Even across the room, I could see that his knuckles were white as he gripped Klyn’s wrist, seizing the sword mid-strike.

“You think I killed your brother?” Raihn said. “Me?”

“Don’t fucking toy with me, Raihn. I know you did it.”

“Oh, I didn’t kill your brother.”

Raihn’s eyes—rust-red—slipped right across the room. Landed right on me.

And he smirked.

Goddess fucking damn it. I didn’t expect to have to fight my way out of a pack of vampires before the tournament even started, but I would do it if I had to.

I started to rise, my hands going to my swords.

“This is ridiculous, isn’t it?”

I nearly jumped halfway across the room. I spun around to see a slender, curly-haired woman leaning against the wall beside me, rolling her eyes.

The very same woman I’d seen at Vincent’s party the other night.

“We should be saving our energy,” she sighed. She glanced at me like she expected an answer.

I said nothing. Mostly, I wanted to ask her what she was doing here. She didn’t exactly seem like the tournament-to-the-death type. But I could barely tear my gaze from the scene across the room.

Now, Klyn was inches from Raihn’s face. “Yes, you did! I know you did!”

“No,” Raihn said calmly, “I did not. Wish I had, though, because he was a repulsive asshole.”

“He was,” the girl agreed, beside me. “The worst.” She leaned close and whispered, “You did it, didn’t you?”

“I—what?”

“You did it. Right?”

“I—”

Across the room, Raihn said, “And I’m warning you, right now, not to go for that sword again, Klyn.”

“Oh, no,” the girl muttered.

Klyn went for his sword.

SMASH.

Klyn’s body hit the wall with enough force to send two of the grand antique paintings crashing to the ground, their wood frames splintering under the force of the impact. Raihn pi

Half the people in the hall had now gotten to their feet, watching wide-eyed. Everyone held their breath, waiting for the answer to the question no one was voicing: Would he do it?

Klyn’s attitude had changed dramatically in the last five seconds. “You can’t kill here,” he croaked. “You heard the Ministaer. He said you can’t kill until the trials.”

“Oh no,” the girl said again, not seeming all that distressed.

We were all thinking the same thing. Thinking of the Ministaer’s cryptic words. I knew someone would test the boundary. I just didn’t know it would happen so soon.

Raihn smiled.

“Oh, I can’t?”

The blast shook the room. I gasped, the air yanked from my lungs in one dramatic pulse. Pitch black consumed me, followed by blinding white, followed by a coughing fit as I found myself blinking hard, shaking away goosebumps.

Sun fucking take me.

Everyone gaped at the rust-eyed man, jaws hanging, questioning what we’d just seen.

Raihn let Klyn’s very, very dead body slide down the wall into a wobbly, boneless heap on the ground.

Silence. No one blinked. Raihn looked up, as if waiting for Nyaxia to strike him down. Five seconds passed, then ten, then thirty.

“Hm,” he said, at last. “Well, I suppose that answers that.”

He sat down and resumed eating.

The girl sighed. “So dramatic.”

I couldn’t bring myself to speak. That was fucking Asteris.