Page 222 of A Vow of Blood and Tears

A year since I’ve seen it, she said, her hands moving almost absentmindedly.All by an accident of fate, and I’ve never regretted a moment of it.

“I would hope not,” I growled, thinking of last night, and how we’d decided that perhaps in five years or so, we’d be ready for children. Not now, not with Cirri’s work and the need to stabilize the Rift, but in the meantime, we were practicing like rabbits.

She turned her head to glance at me sidelong, smiling slightly.I take that back—my only regret was that the inn didn’t have a larger bed.

It had been small, true. Not too small to push her back onto it and spread her thighs, feasting until she shivered apart, but Cirri liked plenty of room.

“It’ll be a week of small beds.” I sighed sadly. “Oh, no. You’ll just have to sit in my lap.”

Her smile grew a little wider, her scent deepening, but what could have proven a very diverting amusement gave way to a serious expression, her brow creasing as the horse slowed.

The gates of Argent stood open, and as they had a year ago, the guards sent us on at the sight of the crest on the carriage. Cirri’s hand tightened on mine.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I asked her. I knew she would say yes, but still I felt compelled to be sure. Even if she changed her mind, decided the lai Darran estates would be hers forever, she knew I would never let her go.

I had accepted what I was, to the degree that I refused to wear a hood or hide my face these days, but my selfishness… that had not changed. She was mine for as long as we lived.

Cirri nodded firmly, her chin raised.I don’t want it. I can’t even bring myself to go there.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Inside?she asked.Of course. I don’t want to face her alone.

She licked her lips, a hint of her nerves, and that was what worried me far more than her desire to offload her inherited estates.

Cirri was rarely nervous about anything these days. She had carved out for herself a role no one else could do. She was heard more often than not; Brother Glyn had remained to teach her language to the rest of the keep, and taught courses for the Rift-kin. She seemed determined to stand up straight, taking pride in her achievements, as she should.

It was only the thought of what lay ahead that bothered her.

Eryan drove the carriage on a familiar route through the city, and once again I had a strange sense of familiarity as he stopped in front of the Cathedral of Silver. I unbarred the door, unfolding myself to full height outside, ignoring the stares as I held out a hand for Cirri.

She took it, brushing off her skirts and looking up at the towers of the Cathedral.

It seems so much smaller than I remember, she said, brows rising with surprise.I used to think it was a marvel of Veladar.

I glanced over my shoulder; the towers were smudged with soot, the rowan in the doorways long-faded and desiccated, the silver bells tarnished.

“They’ve been fading in popularity for some time,” I said, keeping my voice low. “And your name has spread across Veladar. You were one of their own, and now everyone knows you’ve married a vampire and work on our language.”

She looked at me, eyes wide with alarm.What if she thinks it’s my fault? I did belong to the Cathedral—she might think it looks like I turned my back on them.

“I’ll be happy to put her in your place. You didn’t defeat the wargs for the sake of irritating the Eldest.” I snorted in contempt at the idea. “Times change. As we must, so must they.”

Cirri swallowed, gazing at the towers once more, and finally nodded.You will translate for me, please?

It had been months since I’d needed to translate for her, with Brother Glyn drilling everyone on the priest’s tongue. “Of course.”

She had gone slightly pale, but she still strode to the front doors with the confidence she’d developed, and knocked hard three times.

A Silver Sister answered the door, and I was surprised to see that her white robes were slightly threadbare, with a stain nearthe collar. It was a far cry from the immaculate picture they’d presented when I’d come for my bride.

“The Lady of the Rift, Scrollkeeper of Ravenscry, Cirrien lai Darran the Wargbinder, and her husband request an audience with the Eldest Sister,” I intoned, giving a hint of growl to the words.

The Sister went pale, nodded, and dashed off. I pretended not to notice my wife’s stare burning a hole in my face.

“Yes?” I asked, all innocence.

Must you?Cirri asked, aggrieved.What aboutyourtitles?

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