Claire blinked at me. “Why would he need that kind of protection? I mean, he is a vampire, right?” She stopped abruptly and stared at me, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. “Oh, listen, Dory, when I said I hate all vamps, I didn’t mean, you know, the good ones—”
“Svarestri,” Heidar hissed, in a tone so unlike his previous cheerful ones that I looked around for a moment, expecting to see someone else. But I saw only dark leaves against a deep gray sky, and heard only sheeting rain.
Then, like the shadow of a shark just beneath the surface of the sea, fluid and dangerous, a shape appeared out of the vines. A gust of wind tangled my hair, carrying a scent like cold midnight that chilled me to the bone. A second shiver of darkness joined the first, then another, and then two more. It looked like we had company.
Chapter Twenty
Like a cold current in a warm sea, something parted the rain. I could sense everything going on around me with preternatural clarity: the scurrying of hoofed and clawed feet as Radu’s terrors found something scarier than themselves; the rhythm of my own nervous breathing; the slight sucking sounds of light footsteps sneaking up behind me. I felt poised on the crest of a wave about to break.
“Get her out of here!” I told Heidar. “I’ll slow them down.”
“You’ll do no such thing!” Claire was at her incandescent best. “I can help—”
I put a hand over her mouth and glared at Heidar. “Do you have a hearing problem?”
“You cannot win,” he said hurriedly. “They—”
“Did I ask you that?” I grabbed him by the arm, hard enough to bruise. “If she dies, I’ll rip your throat out.”
He drew himself up, spine straight, and fixed me with a level gaze. “If she dies, I will already be dead defending her.”
I nodded. “Good answer.”
“Dory!” I’d passed Claire to Heidar, who was too busy drawing a sword out of the sling across his back to muffle her. “You always do this! Other people have strength, too.”
“Take her and go!” I snarled. Heidar silently passed me the sword, threw Claire over his shoulder and disappeared into the vines. I didn’t see any of the dark shapes break off to follow them, which was both reassuring and a concern. Did they have others posted around the estate, to catch them unawares?
Then something dove at me out of the boiling sky. I lashed out at it instinctively, going on hearing rather than sight, and Geoffrey’s head rolled to the ground at my feet. I nudged him with my foot, and anger raged in the still-living eyes. A master-level vamp could heal a wound like that, given half a century or so of excellent care. But Geoffrey wasn’t a master, or at least, he sure didn’t fight like one. A second later it didn’t matter anyway. A booted foot slammed down on his skull, cracking it like a walnut and grinding it into the mud.
I jumped back, sword high. And looked up into pewter-colored eyes that shone with power like flickering starlight. Recognition was instantaneous, and I dove for him, but the sword literally jumped out of my hand and flew to him. I stumbled as a wall of cold slammed into me, so sudden and so chill that I had trouble breathing.
The Fey examined the weapon with a small smile. “The sword of kings, in the hands of a half-breed whore.” The voice was low and musical, and strangely beautiful. “How… disturbing.”
I managed to get to my feet, although the cold seared my skin like a branding iron. I glanced around, but there was no way out. In every direction, moonlight glimmered off pale faces.
“Do not be concerned.” The Fey spoke to me, but his eyes were on the weapon. He tested it experimentally, gracefully slicing the rain. The clear surface glowed in the dim light, reflecting lightning along its razor edge like a warning. “Once, long ago, this blade took the head of a Svarestri king. I would not dishonor him by using it on you.”
The burning chill was leaching my heat quickly. If I didn’t do something soon, I’d freeze where I stood. But considering the odds against me, conversation seemed the best chance to give Claire time to get gone. “You should maybe use it on whoever set you on this wild-goose chase.”
“What do you mean?” He was still more interested in his new toy than in me. I decided that was insulting.
“I mean, dumb ass, that I may be a half-breed, but I’m not a witch, I’m not a null and I am definitely not a six-foot redhead.”
The Fey’s head snapped up at that. “What?”
I bared fangs at him. “See these? Not standard-issue witch equipment. I’m a dhampir.” I grinned. “You’ve been chasing the wrong girl, genius.”
I guess he decided that the sword wasn’t so holy, after all, because the next second, it was underneath my chin. “Where is she?”
“Why? You want to pay homage to your future king? ’Cause it’s a little early.”
“The half-breed son of that Blarestri buffoon can never rule, and neither can any child he sires on another mongrel.” The sword point bit into the skin of my neck. “Give me what I need and you may live through the day. Otherwise…”