Page 137 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

I knew that he was talking about a future in which we didn’t have to worry about spilled juice or what we would eat tonight, or where we would sleep, or whether tomorrow might finally be the day thatone of Tarkan’s guards got us. But for some reason, the truth of that statement made a nauseous feeling coil in my stomach.

I shivered, suddenly cold.

“Yes,” I said. “That’ll be good. I can’t wait.”

Naro turned around and looked at me. His smile faded. His stare lingered for a long time, like he’d forgotten what he was about to say.

Then he replaced his lopsided grin and handed me the cup again. “But not now, alright?” he said. “And when it happens, you can’t forget this. None of it will matter if you forget this.”

I took a gulp of pineapple juice, relishing the sweet sting of it on my tongue. “This?”

“Who we are right now.” He rustled my hair, and I scowled and pushed his hand away. “Remember that, Vivi, alright?”

I didn’t like Naro talking to me like this. It was too sentimental of him. It made me feel like something bad was about to happen.

I stuck my toes in the sand and wiggled them around.

“Alright?” he said.

“Alright,” I said.

And it wasn’t until I agreed that the uncomfortable feeling came over me—the feeling that I had just lied to the most important person in the world to me. That not only would I not remember these times, I would one day crawl over rocks and sacrifice my body and give up my name allto make sure that I forgot, to erase this version of myself from existence.

A sudden panic fell over me. I should have said more to him—I should have given him the promise he really wanted. But when I turned to him, frantic, Naro was gone. The skyline of Vasai was in tatters. And the cup of pineapple juice was now full of rancid black blood.

I awokein the Salt Keep.

The familiarity of the place hurt now. All the smells and sensations. My body recoiled from it.

The memory of what had happened in the Pythora King’s castle came back to me immediately.

The Pythora King.

The Sightmother.

I barely made it to the washroom before I emptied my guts, not that there was much to hack up.

I let myself stay there, leaning against the basin with shaky arms, for exactly ten seconds. Ten seconds to feel the panic and despair and fear.

That was all I could afford here, in the Salt Keep, where not even emotions were private.

That was all I could afford when there was work to do.

I straightened and washed out my mouth. Then I stripped off my clothes—still the dirty ones from my journey to the Pythora King—and left them in a pile on the floor.

I needed to think.

The Sightmother wouldn’t leave me alone long. Did the other Sisters know what had happened? The insecure part of me feared they did—what if everyone had always known, and I was the only one who never guessed it?—but my logical mind knew the answer had to be no. Information in the Arachessen was carefully controlled and even more carefully doled out. It was rare for anyone to know much of anything about other Sisters’ missions.

The sickening implications of this made my stomach lurch again, and I had to pause to swallow down another wave of vomit.

A knock sounded at the door.

I knew it was the Sightmother.

This was not the time to keep her waiting. And nakedness didn’t mean much to Sisters anyway, all things considered. Still, I was very conscious of how exposed I was when I went to the door and opened it.

The Sightmother took me in. I wondered if she sensed my unease, even though I was careful to hide it.

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