Page 133 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

My brow furrowed. Atrius’s jaw tightened.

I couldn’t shake the strange numbness in the threads, the unnatural silence that felt like cotton stuffed into my ears, but I still followed when Atrius crossed the throne room, his steps firm and long, sword ready.

The Pythora King did not move or speak.

And we were several strides away from him when I realized why.

“Atrius,” I choked out, just as he lifted his sword and drove it into the king’s chest, piercing through layers of purple silk and hair-mottled skin.

The king slumped a little. His eyes, which stared blankly into the middle distance, fluttered.

Atrius stood there for a long moment, gripping his sword, eyes narrowing first in confusion, then realization. Perhaps he, too, was noticing all the other marks on the king’s body—a slash or three at his throat, tears in his chest, a brutal mark, perhaps from an arrow, right over his heart.

The steady—unnaturally steady—rise and fall of the Pythora King’s shoulders said he was not dead.

But he was certainly not alive, either.

He was a breathing corpse, and we weren’t even the first people to kill him.

Atrius stumbled back, yanking his sword free. The thick, purplish substance that stained his sword and globbed at the open wound only vaguely resembled blood.

“What in the—” he muttered.

A familiar presence fell over me like a long shadow.

Suddenly everything felt very cold.

Suddenly I was very, very afraid.

In a single abrupt movement, I stepped in front of Atrius, pushed him back, and bowed my head.

“Sightmother,” I breathed. “It’s such a relief to see you.”

I tried to make myself believe it—make every single one of my threads vibrate with my love for her, my gratefulness.

“I wish I could say the same,” the Sightmother said, emerging from the darkness to stand beside the Pythora King, a single casual hand on his shoulder.

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

Iwished I could communicate with Atrius wordlessly. I wished I could tell him to put that damned sword down,right now. Because I knew he was confused, too, but all he knew was that I was a runaway Arachessen and this was the Sightmother, and he had promised to protect me.

If he tried to protect me, he would die.

I held my hand out behind me, a single splayed palm that I prayed told him clearly,Stop.

And what did it say that a childish part of me, the part of me who had been raised by this woman, couldn’t stand to see Atrius kill her—or the other way around?

What was she doing here?

I hadn’t asked for backup. They certainly hadn’t indicated they would give me any. But perhaps I had been wrong when I’d interpreted my unanswered call to the Keep as a sign that the Arachessen had discovered my betrayal.

Perhaps she had changed her mind.

Perhaps she had come here, knowing we were coming for the Pythora King and... and killed him before we could.

It didn’t make sense. But it was the only scenario I could string together.

I was normally good with words, good with playing differentroles while thinking fast. But my confusion slipped to the surface now, despite myself.

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