Ah, maybe he was wiser than I’d thought. He was right. If I’d wanted to be gone, the chains would be the last thing keeping me here.
“Very flattering,” I said. Then, “What’s your name?”
“Erekkus.”
“It’s a pleasure to finally meet you formally.” I took another bite, then said pointedly, “Mine is Sylina.”
Since no one had bothered to ask.
Erekkus just stared at me like I was a show animal, unblinking, rubbing his beard.
I gave him a bemused smirk. “Is there something more you’d like to ask me, Erekkus?”
“No.”
A lie. There were all kinds of questions he wanted to ask me.
Then he said, after a moment, “Atrius is giving you a very good deal. I hope you know that.”
Ah. There it was. No question mark there, but the question was clear all the same. He was wondering why his commander was taking this risk for me.
“Atrius,” I said, rolling the name slow over my tongue. “It’s good to put a name to a face.”
It suited him, I had to admit. Felt a little uncomfortable on your lips. The Arachessen believed strongly in the power of names. Mine was given to me after three days of meditation by the Sightmother.
“If you know what’s good for you,” Erekkus said, “you’ll cooperate with him. If the Arachessen are half as brutal as Atrius seems to think they are, you won’t make it another month out there on your own.”
“So you expect me to take the word of the man who’s conquering my country.”
Expect me to take the word of the man who killed my Sister.
I closed my jaw hard at the end of that sentence—because it was too truthful, too real. I stuffed those emotions down before they threatened to reveal themselves.
“Ah, so you are some great loyalist of the Pythora King?” Erekkus said snidely. “Unlike your king, my commander keeps his word. If he promises you protection, he will give you protection. If he promises you freedom, he will give you freedom.”
“And how do you know this?”
Just the right amount of defiance to keep him talking. I wanted to know how this Atrius’s men thought of him.
“I’ve been fighting under his command for centuries,” Erekkus said. “He’s earned my trust.”
“How?”
He scoffed. “I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“It is, if it’s intended to make me trust him too.”
“I don’t need to make you trust him. I’d just as well dump you in the next river and find some other seer who’s far less trouble.”
“I appreciate the honesty.”
I took one more bite of the turkey before deciding it wasn’t worth it anymore.
“I have to ask,” I said, wiping my hands at the edge of my skirt—useless, since I was filthy. “What, exactly, do you intend to do here? In Glaea?”
Erekkus laughed, like I’d just said something very foolish.
“Conquer, of course.”
So blasé. So careless. Like we were just fruit to be plucked.
I didn’t let even a hint of anger slip through my mask.
“But what use does the House of Blood have for a human country half a world away?”
The remnants of Erekkus’s smile faded. His presence went suddenly cold.
“You know nothing about our home,” he said, rising and turning away. “Atrius will be in to see you tomorrow. Prepare yourself for him.”
My mention of the House of Blood had apparently so offended Erekkus that he chose to spend the next several hours standing guard outside my tent instead of in. The sounds of the camp quieted as dawn approached and the Bloodborn slipped back into their dwellings. I did, eventually, allow myself to get some sleep, too. I’d been given a bedroll and more than enough slack in my shackles to rest in it comfortably. I must have been exhausted from the activity of the last two days, because sleep took me more swiftly than I’d been expecting, washing me into a river of dreamless dark.
When I woke up, Atrius was in my tent.
8
I shook away sleep fast, sitting up immediately. Atrius didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He stood just within the entrance of the tent, staring at me. I had no idea how long he had been there.
“I didn’t mean to startle you, Sylina,” he said.
“You didn’t,” I lied. I didn’t react to either his presence or his use of my name. I’d show him nothing.
I rose, drawing myself up to my full height. Even with Atrius across the room, it was clear that he loomed over me. I didn’t like how small I felt around him.
I still could not quite make sense of his presence. Alone in a room with him, it was overwhelming all over again—contradictions that I had never before experienced within a soul, and all of them roiling constantly. This was a man that was never at peace, and yet was so steadfast in his singular cause that he managed to force it all into a tightly controlled box. I had met few people who could hide the truth of their presence so well, even Arachessen.
He approached me, and I had to remind myself not to move away. My instinct was to cringe as he reached out, but his touch against my wrist was gentle and nonthreatening. He unlocked one shackle, then the other.
This close, I could sense his features more clearly. They were rigid and strong, as if carved out of stone, albeit imperfectly—his nose slightly crooked, as if it had been broken and poorly set once, his brow low over deep-set eyes, mouth thin and serious. The scent of snow was overwhelming.
He dropped to his knees. I stiffened as he lifted my skirt and slid his hands up my calf. Mission or no, I’d kick him in the face if he— “I’m not going to rape you,” he said flatly. “I prefer my partners willing.”
He said that, but I’m sure he saved that for the teenage daughters of the homes he burned when he conquered. I’d experienced war before. I knew what it was like.
With him kneeling, his horns were right in front of me. They were black and ridged, curving toward the back of his head, stark against the smooth silver of his long hair. I carefully reached for them with a thread of magic, testing them. They felt foreign and unnatural, like they weren’t of this world. My line of work had exposed me to many curiosities, but none quite like these. How, I wondered, had he gotten them?
He finished unlocking the shackles on my ankles. Then he rose again and offered me his hand.
“Come.”
I didn’t take it.
“I’ll follow,” I said, and took only a step before he grabbed my arm, hard enough that his fingernails—sharp, black claws—dug into my wrist.
“I know the Arachessen are skilled,” he said, “but I have lived your lifetime six times over, and I’ve spent all that time becoming better at killing. If you run or fight, it won’t end well for you.”
His stare was unyielding, hard, cold. When most people stared at me, they seemed to just look at my blindfold, where my eyes would be. But Atrius’s went deeper than that, like he was grabbing my soul itself and turning it to him, making sure I understood.
I didn’t like that. It felt like a challenge, and I, petty as I was, disliked being challenged. Another flaw the Sightmother frequently pointed out.