Page 52 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

But a sudden silence fell, the raucous shouting and conversations coming to a halt.

Bane remained behind me, one hand braced on the chair back, as a village priest of the Light, wearing white robes and carrying a gnarled staff, came to me. The Rift-kin watched as he placed a crown of primrose on my head, and pulled out a gnarled iron lump on a cord around his neck.

The priest smiled at me, and pressed the cold iron to my forehead. Long moments passed; he finally took it away, and I kept my hands in place, though I wanted to rub the spot.

“She is human,” the priest announced, and the Rift-kin seemed to release a collective breath of relief, some of them lifting their mugs to Bane before draining them.

“Now the worst is over,” Bane murmured to me, taking the larger seat at my side. “All you have to do is drink and be merry.”

I pulled out my slate once more, hiding it in my lap under the table. I wrote in small letters and tilted it towards him surreptitiously:Are they still that afraid of the Fae? They’re long dead.

I erased it as soon as Bane read it, not wanting to insult our hosts.

“They’re as dead as it gets, yes. Those of us who lived in the Below made sure of that.” Bane’s teeth flashed. “But there is a long, long history in the Rift, between all of our kinds. Ravenscrywas the last of the four keeps to be built, if only because the Fae that remained after their great migration fought long and hard to keep the Rift, and its people, in their possession. If there’s one thing we can all thank Liliach Daromir for, it was the eradication of their kind.”

I considered that, watching as more men came to offer their congratulations to the Lord of the Rift. Odd to think that our once-greatest enemy, the Blood Empress, had done us a good turn, even if she hadn’t meant to.

Odd to think that humans and vampires, brutal enemies for centuries, were entirely united against a common foe both then and now.

Bane sent off another well-wisher with thanks, leaning in towards me once more. “But as to your question, yes. The Rift-kin have greater reason than anyone else to still fear the Fae. Some of them believe Wargyr himself was once Fae; I’m not so sure of that. But much of the folklore here is entirely true, in all its ugliness.”

Are there any books on such lore?I wrote, and Bane nodded. “I’ll have the steward bring them out for you.”

Having never been anywhere but Argent and the lai Darran lands in my life, I knew so little of the Rift that it was a little appalling I was now half of its ruling duo. Why not choose a woman of this valley, who grew up on its soil and knew its lore, to become the Lady?

Writing quickly, I posed the question to Bane, who let out a small laugh.

“Please, my lady.” He touched a hand to his mouth. “The men know and trust me. The women have never… quite taken to me. And if not for that, very few of the Rift-kin are of pure Veladari descent.”

I glanced at Bane, studying his strange profile, the almost muzzle-like tilt of the lower half of his face, the flared nostrils, the swiveling ears. I was growing almost used to it.

But I did notice that women did not approach. The men had no problem walking up to Bane, congratulating him on his marriage, offering me tight smiles—they weren’t unfriendly, but word of my silence had spread, and they covered their awkwardness with head nods before sidling away.

Not for the first time, I felt entirely invisible—much like the ornament I really was. My only purpose was to sit at Bane’s side.

I craved to ask the Rift-kin about their history, the lore of the valley, and thought I found my chance as Bane enthusiastically discussed the rebuilding of defensive walls with one of the soldiers, a man he was clearly familiar with. A younger man, not appearing quite old enough to have served on the front lines of the Forian War, eyed me sidelong as they spoke.

I attempted to write out a question, hoping to establish a rapport with someone, since the women wouldn’t come anywhere near our table, and I wasn’t quite willing to leave the comfort of Bane’s presence.

But as I considered how to phrase it, chalk in hand, the man slid away, striding off towards the kegs.

Very well, then. I would be content with quiet.

“We can have the shipment made within the next year, but we don’t have enough men in the new quarry yet,” Bane was saying as I wiped my slate clean. “No one is willing to re-enter the old mines—”

“Of course not, man,” the soldier said with a snort. “Not unless they want the faeries comin’ for their souls.”

“The Fae are dead, Gilam.” There was a hint of impatience in Bane’s tone. “And the walls are far more important against living wargs, who hunt in the here and now.”

“Riiight…” Gilam drank deeply, beer dripping into his beard. “Except for the old ghosts. You know their ghosts still haunt the ground. I seen them myself.”

Bane let out an inaudible sigh, and I sat close enough that I felt his shoulders slump from the futility of the argument. For the first time, I really appreciated exactly why Visca had scoffed at the Rift-kins’ superstitions.

Unfortunately, with the Rift-kin unwilling to speak, I had no idea what to suggest that might put their fears of Fae ghosts to rest.

I laid my hand over Bane’s, and he took a breath, and tried another argument.

My attention wandered from thoughts of quarries and haunted mines, listening in on other conversations. Many of the guests were already plenty drunk, with the kegs flowing like water; I watched the young man who had walked away refill his mug, standing with several other men who were clearly deep in their cups.

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