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She shook her head and lifted her shoulders in a shrug. I took that to mean ‘he’s well enough’.
“If you say so.” I leaned onto the table and straightened when it let out an ominous groan.
Cirri smiled at me, finishing her soup. I was glad to see her eat, instead of picking away like a nervous bird. She cut into a slice of ham, popping a bite into her mouth and chewing as her eyes roved over me.
It took conscious effort to keep my shoulders relaxed and my claws from ticking on the table under her scrutiny. I had shifted intensely for the tracking; I knew my snout and nostrils were more pronounced, my ears longer, my limbs rangier. But there was no disgust, just curiosity.
She signed something I couldn’t quite read, and when she saw my reticence, she resorted to what she had done in her first night of my presence: forming letters on the table with one finger, pausing between words.
T-E-L-L. M-E. A-B-O-U-T. Y-O-U-R. D-A-Y.
Then she gestured to me expectantly, her gaze locked on mine.
My lips twitched; it felt almost like being a real couple, a normal one.
The kind we could have been if I’d been born in a later time, if Visca had never found me dying, if I’d chosen to remain as I was, instead of clamoring to become a hero of the war and win a throne…
“It’s rather boring,” I started, and she gave me one of those easy-to-read looks. This one clearly said ‘don’t keep me waiting’.
“Very well. I suppose my day really started forty years ago, when Thurn Hakkon first rose to power in the Forian Army’s ranks.” I mused over that, remembering my first sight of the man on the battlefield, with his scarred face and mad eyes. “Not as a commander of men, but of wargs. He was instrumental in King Radomil gaining a foothold in your people’s lands, bringing his packs over the border and hunting your kind. Our spies still haven’t uncovered where he came from, or how he became a warg in the first place. He survived the war, unfortunately, and though Radomil has declared worship of Wargyr anathema and peacetime between us, not even he has power over the god’s followers. So, Hakkon lived—and he took the surviving members of his cult underground with him.”
Cirri took a bite of a strawberry, not even looking at what she was picking up to put in her mouth. She leaned towards me, listening intently; I had to admit it was gratifying and thrilling to have the complete attention of such a woman.
“You see, the Fae of the Rift also tu
Cirri paused to spell out another question.
I. T-H-O-U-G-H-T. T-H-E. F-A-E. W-E-R-E. D-E-A-D?
This time my smile was crooked. “They are—at least in Veladar. We lived in the Below for five centuries; long enough to clear what they left. But in Foria? We’ve made incursions along the border, following the tu
She nodded, clearly ruminating as she selected another berry.
“But the wargs are similar to my kind,” I told her. “Strong, fast, with heightened senses. Humans entering the Below would almost certainly be killed within days, but wargs… like us, they have a greater chance of carving out their own territory. So Hakkon took his wargs, and they’ve burrowed deep since then. But he’s not content to live Below forever. He still takes in new worshippers, converting them to wargs, and he sends the unlucky ones to us, over the mountains and into the Rift, to spy and search for weak points… and to kill whichever unfortunate Rift-kin they come across.
“I was tracking one such today. A young one, once a woman. She had the taste of the south in her scent,” I mused, thinking over the fresh sweat trail she’d left. “Possibly a Serissan convert. But Hakkon likes to use the young ones for his deeds—they’re not as quick to question his motives, and they’re easily replaceable for him.”
Cirri’s fingertip, moving over the table, was stained purple from the berries. There was a hint of trepidation in her eyes.
D-I-D. Y-O-U. K-I-L-L. H-E-R?
“No,” I said softly. “I had the chance to follow her—the scent trail was clear—but no. I didn’t want to follow her over the mountains. She was one lone warg, and she killed no one and crossed paths with no one directly. Only the scouts saw her. I took that to mean she was bait.”
Cirri nodded slowly.
“If there’s one thing Hakkon would love, it’s to lure me, Wyn, or Visca over the mountains and into the eastern plains. Despite Radomil’s disavowal of him, Hakkon knows one thing: none of the Four Lords are permitted to cross the Forian border without the king’s express permission.” I smiled humorlessly. “The king knew his wargs were outmatched when we joined your people and became fiends. So he washed his hands of them, declared them outlaws, and forged the peacetime treaty with us—which states that we are not welcome in their lands, so long as they are unwelcome in ours. Not even the other three fiends would go to war with Foria again, if I were to cross into that territory and explicitly break the treaty. No one would avenge us on Forian soil. So I allowed her to go.” I paused, and raised my shoulders in a shrug. “There wasn’t much to it, although I’d be happier if Hakkon himself finally grew the stones to meet me face to face. ”
I-S. T-H-A-T. I-N. T-H-E. A-C-C-O-R-D-S? Y-O-U. C-A-N-N-O-T. G-O?
“That, and much else.” I gave her a twisted smile. “The Blood Accords mostly pertain to my kind.”
S-U-C-H. A-S?
“Well.” I cleared my throat. “We must maintain our numbers in perpetuity. No more than five thousand vampires across Veladar, at any time. If one of us falls, we may hold a lottery among the willing humans to accept a new vampire into our ranks. More than five thousand… and perhaps the scales of power would tip too far in the other direction. We must become better guardians this time, rather than the tyrants of the Red Epoch.”
Cirri dipped bread into her soup, tapping her finger as she thought.
W-H-A-T. A-B-O-U-T. F-I-E-N-D-S?
“No more than four. If one of us dies, another vampire will volunteer to attempt the transformation. But… we’re reversions, in a way. Atavistic relics from another time. Not even my people wish to have any greater number of fiends walking around. It was the past vampires like myself, the caste of highblood royals that chose to go fiend, who pushed the atrocities during Daromir’s reign and caused our downfall. After the torments of exile, we’ve collectively agreed to avoid such a thing again, not only for your people, but for mine.”
Her frank gaze was disconcerting, but there was no hatred or judgment in it.
H-O-W. D-I-D. H-U-M-A-N-S. G-E-T. T-H-E. B-E-T-T-E-R. O-F. F-I-E-N-D-S?
I laughed despite myself. “A swarm of ants could gnaw a lion down to the bone within hours… were they driven with single-minded rage and vengeance. Human slaves hoarded silver. They created the Arks—great ovens filled with rowan, even the smoke of which is poisonous to us. And they rose up all at once, as a single, widespread foe bent on liberation.”
Cirri raised a brow.
“Not that your people are ants,” I added hastily, and she smiled. “I could bring you a copy of the Accords if you’d like, and I’ll give you the history behind each agreement.”
She nodded enthusiastically, beaming at me, and my heart stuttered in my chest.
“I’d like to hear about your day, though. I’ve been speaking too long.” My voice emerged gruffer than before. I was fascinated by this woman, who got excited over dry history and political agreements.
She gazed at me for a moment, then put her hand on my arm. Every sense immediately honed in on that small area, the warmth of her hand, the lingering roughness of her calluses, the faintest hint of her pulse, even her scent: roses and skin musk.
And then she took it away, pushing her plate back and rising from her chair. She beckoned to me, touching my arm again, and I was helpless to do anything but follow her, a spreading shadow in her wake.
To my surprise, she led me to my own door, pushing it open and stepping inside.
After our wedding night… I hadn’t believed she’d want anything to do with this room. But she had not only slipped in to leave her journal, she simply walked in now, with me at her back.
I followed with almost tentative steps, wondering if she was only trying to collect her journal before wishing me good night, but she closed the door behind me.
And locked it.
I hovered near the door, unsure of where to go. The bed? No, that was too blatant, a barely-veiled invitation. The desk chair? Ancestors, that thing was barely hanging on by a splinter, and I didn’t want to crush it and end up in an disgraceful pile of wood at her feet.
I remained where I was, lurking in the shadows as Cirri found her journal on my bed, right where I’d left it—and plopped onto the bed herself, kicking off her slippers and drawing her feet up, opening the journal on her lap.
She pushed a cloud of hair out of her face and reached into her bodice, pulling out her pen and uncapping it, then looked up at me.
Cirri patted the bed, brows raised.
I crept forward as she turned to a fresh page and began writing, forming letters with military precision. As I sank onto the soft mattress—not close enough to touch, unless I raised an arm, not far enough to make it seem like I was trying to create an uncrossable gap between us—she pushed it towards me.
There wasn’t much to my day, either, she’d written. I spent most of it sitting. Also—and I’m not asking to be killed by a warg, don’t misunderstand me—but I think I would’ve preferred to go tracking with you. Miro might be the finest artist in the Rift, but his company leaves something to be desired.
I read it, and she quickly took the journal back, adding in: I’m sorry, I don’t mean to complain. You’ve given me more than I ever could’ve asked for already.
“Oh, don’t apologize,” I breathed. “I took you from your life; I don’t want you to apologize for anything.”
She tucked her hair behind her ear, twisting the pen in one hand before putting it to paper again. I can’t say I enjoy sitting for this, but I’ll do it if you wish. I suppose it will make a good memory. But I am incredibly excited to read through the Accords with you. There’s so much to our shared history we aren’t taught anymore, not with the wargs about.
There was an odd look on her face as she wrote, something indecipherable.
Something almost sad… although I couldn’t quite see what would upset her.