Page 16 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

The bookseller’s brows rose, but he did not mention the Lady. The news of Andrus’s first bride and her ultimate fate had traveled across the country like lightning. The superstitious Rift-kin would not speak her name until she was safely ensconced in Ravenscry.

“I have paper,” he said, digging under the counter for loose-leaf sheets, and several bound journals. “Look over these while I find a book.”

He puttered off to the shelves while I sorted through the selection. Loose-leaf would be unwieldy. Of the journals, two were too thin. The last one was thick, two inches’ worth of pages, and large enough to serve as a ledger. It was bound with crimson leather, a good omen.

I opened it and looked over the creamy white pages, wondering what Cirrien’s writing would look like when it covered that empty expanse. What thoughts filled her head that she couldn’t send into the world with a breath?

“This one.” The bookseller returned, placing a book on the counter with an air of satisfaction. “Verypopular with the young women around here. A handsome vampire knight and a…”

He trailed off, seeming to realize his mishap, but I laughed. My laughter was a low, grating rasp, but the old man’s look of dismay faded.

“At least she will have a handsome vampire in her fiction,” I mused, and stacked the book on top of the journal. “I would like these.”

He brought out one of the metal pens of Nord design, which was smoother than quills or the glass fountain pens of Serissan import, and a refill of ink. When he’d asked if he was to wrap them, I elected only to have the book wrapped. As soon as the journal was in Cirrien’s hands, I hoped she would begin filling it with words.

As I strolled back through Thornvale’s streets, I felt lighter. The anger had flowed out of me with the laughter, with the notion that soon Cirrien would not be upset with her silence.

I would have to apologize for my outburst of temper.

This was not her fault; even if she had been raised to expect this for the last decade, I knew my appearance would come as a shock to her.

There were only four fiends in Veladar, and none of us had spent much time in the cities. Ancestors only knew what stories had traveled to Argent; had I been more or less hideous than she’d expected?

As I walked past a tavern, I glanced inside, long enough to see the white robes and leather armor of a Silent Brother. He motioned to the barkeep with one hand, his eyes fixed on the bar as he drank.

Wyn still waited outside Cirrien’s door when I returned to the inn. The bloodwitch had found a chair, and she sat reading a book, her spectacles riding low on her nose.

She looked up at me with sharp gray eyes. “The girl has been crying.”

“I know.” Some of the weight returned, settling on me all at once like a mountain slumping over my shoulder.

“Give it time, Bane. Don’t frighten her. To be fair, she is much better than I was expecting. She ate the entire meal she was given. I have high hopes, and none of them involve poppy.”

“Did you think I frightened her on purpose?” The growl slipped into my tone, and I unlocked the door, sidling into the room.

Cirrien had sprawled out on the bed, still in her wedding gown, and was sleeping quietly. The skin around her eyes was puffy and red, sore-looking. I would have to ask Wyn for a salve to soothe it.

Her red hair framed her head like a scarlet halo. My fingers itched.

Moving slowly, careful not to make a single sound, I leaned down. Brushed my fingertips over the gleaming spill, as soft as I’d imagined. Softer.

Cirrien shifted, releasing a nearly-inaudible sigh. I drew away, ears twitching, and set the gifts on the desk before creeping out.

Wyn said nothing as I locked the door once more. I handed her the key, and stepped back out into the night.

The Brother was still sitting at the tavern bar. I took the seat next to him, and spilled a bag of gold in front of his beer. “I wish for you to teach me the signs of the priest’s tongue.”

The monk, vowed to silence, raised his brows, then picked up a gold coin and bit it. He cut one hand in a smooth motion, punctuated with a quick wriggle of the fingers—a question I understood from the supply lines and black markets in the encampments during the war.How much do you want to know?

“Everything,” I answered.

Chapter 5

Cirri

Iopened sore, gritty eyes in an unfamiliar bed, the weight of the previous day falling on me like a sack of boulders as I blinked at the room.

Yesterday I had woken up as a maid in the Silver Cathedral. Today, I was a wife and the Lady of the Rift.

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