Page 64 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

“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 shiftedintensely 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 tunneled under Foria, and left many similar ruins beneath their land. Hakkon, for all his blind worship of an insane cannibal god, was smart enough to realize that neither our soldiers, nor the Forians, were willing to follow them underground, not even to drive them out. Ancestors only know how far and wide they’ve spread since first invading the earth.”

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 tunnels east. And while we haven’t found any sign of the Fae themselves, we’ve found enough signs… enoughleftoversfrom their reign to make it a risky prospect.”

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 Serissanconvert. 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.”

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