“Yes, rule,” he muttered. “There’s more to go. Let’s get down there.”
Somehow, it had never occurred to me that Atrius’s ultimate intention was to rule Glaea—as in, actually govern it, its people included. I didn’t know why he wanted this kingdom, but it had never even crossed my mind that being a decent ruler to the humans that lived here was a possibility. I knew what life was like for humans in Obitraes—to say that humans were second-class was putting it kindly, despite some minimal protections. I imagined his intentions for the humans of Glaea were likely more of the same, at best. Anything otherwise was… confusing.
The citizens of Alka were, of course, as terrified as I’d predicted when Atrius’s soldiers shepherded them out of their homes and into the streets. But Atrius didn’t keep them long. His speech was brief and straightforward.
“People of Alka,” he said, voice calm despite its booming volume over the Alkan skyline. “Your king is dead. I claim this city-state in the name of the House of Blood of Obitraes, in the name of our Dark Mother, Nyaxia.”
I stiffened. It was the first time I’d heard Atrius mention Nyaxia directly. Yet he didn’t dwell—his voice remained flat and matter-of-fact. He was no charismatic orator.
“You may be frightened for your lives and those of your families,” he went on. “Do not be. We will not harm you. We are your protectors, not your enemies. We do not tolerate violence against us, but otherwise you will not be injured or punished. You will not be removed from your homes. You will not have your possessions taken from you. You have no need to be afraid.”
The Alkans were, of course, very afraid. It didn’t really do much good to be reassured by a blood-soaked vampire warrior with horns.
But Atrius seemed to think that his deed was done. He stepped away from the balcony after that—no grand finale, no inspiring words of wisdom, no great declaration of victory. It was almost funny how little fanfare there was.
That was that. Atrius returned to the castle, the soldiers ushered people back to their homes, and the night wore on.
Discarding the bodies of the warlords in the castle was easy. Finding those of all Atrius’s lost warriors was much more difficult. When the tide went out again the next night, Atrius sent men through the tunnels in an attempt to drag out the bodies of those who had drowned during the invasion. The remains were laid just beyond the boundary of Alka’s rocky inner city, where Atrius’s army had set up their camps.
There were many of them. I watched the lines of bodies grow, though I found myself looking for every excuse to be away from the fields where they were being kept.
Later that night, nearing dawn, Atrius’s men gathered along the rocky shore. We lined up along the cliffs before the bodies, each wrapped in scraps of fabric that had been dyed deep red in messy buckets of makeshift stain. Only Atrius stepped closer to them. He was silent. We were silent. No one breathed. No one spoke.
Atrius’s presence was still—and yet, when I pressed closer to it, reaching for what lay beyond that wall, I felt such deep, mournful sadness.
I drew away fast after that, like a finger from a flame, surprised by the intensity of what I’d just felt.
Atrius showed none of it. He walked along the line of bodies. One pass, then two, then three. And finally, he turned around, and Erekkus handed him a torch. The wrappings had been drenched in accelerant—the bodies took to flame quickly as Atrius knelt before each one, offering them a sendoff in the fire. And then he stepped back and he watched them burn.
For a long time, we all watched.
An hour later, the soldiers began to disperse, solemnly turning away and returning to their duties. Then more and more trickled away, until Erekkus did, too, nudging me along with him. Dawn was near. They had to return to their tents.
Only Atrius remained.
He stood there alone before that wall of fire until dawn kissed the horizon, and only then, reluctantly, did he turn away.
18
“He wants you.”
I woke up only moments before Erekkus stuck his head into my room. Atrius and some of his leadership had moved into the tower—now cleaned and devoid of dead warlords—and I, important as I was, was among the chosen few to accompany him. Apparently I’d missed a real bed, because all I wanted to do was sleep.
“Knock,” I grumbled. “I have a door now.”
Erekkus said, “He’s in a fucking sour mood. Good luck.”
“What does he want?” I pushed the covers back and half-rolled out of bed, not very gracefully.
“Hell if I can figure it out,” he muttered.
A breeze rolled through the window, making me suddenly very aware of my clothing—a nightgown that was once owned by one of the warlord’s concubines, and definitely looked the part. I’d just been so happy to see clean clothes. I didn’t much consider that anyone might see me in it.
I crossed my arms over my chest.
“Tell him I’ll be there after I get dressed.”
Erekkus, noticing my dress, snickered a little.
“Don’t be indecent,” I huffed.
“I don’t think I’m the indecent one here.” Then, “I don’t think you want to keep him waiting. He was very insistent you come now.”
“But—”
“That little thing will probably put him in better spirits,” Erekkus said breezily, turning away. “We can dream.”
“What the hell are you wearing?”
The first words out of Atrius’s mouth when I walked through the door.
I gritted my teeth.
“I heard you were very eager to see me,” I said sweetly. “I didn’t want to keep you waiting as I changed.”
“Close the door.”
I did. Atrius had claimed the warlord’s chambers, of course, though it was almost funny now to witness him among all this cheap finery. He was sprawled out in a velvet armchair near the fireplace, a gaudy purple thing marred by cigarillo burns and several very suspicious-looking stains. His limbs skewed out limply. He was shirtless, the fire playing over the lean furrows of his muscles.
It wasn’t the first time I’d seen Atrius half-dressed. More than his appearance, I was startled by his demeanor. Everything about him, from his stance to his expression to the few flashes of emotion he allowed to slip through his walls, reeked of utter discontentment.
He eyed me.
“You look ridiculous,” he snapped.
“What, you don’t like it?” I made a show of flouncing the little lace-lined silk skirt. “Shocking, since Aaves was clearly a man of great taste.”
“Don’t let any of the soldiers see you in that. Come here.”
The words were cold and clipped. Erekkus wasn’t joking. Atrius was in a sour mood.