Page 77 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

Naro was larger than me, but skinny. It was awkward, not difficult, to lift him back into the bed.

Still, Atrius took a few steps forward, moving to help while avoiding the rays of sunshine.

“I’ve got it,” I choked out.

Naro settled back into bed. I pulled the covers up around him. Even asleep, the tremors racked his hands and arms, even the small muscles of his face.

Pythoraseed. A horrible drug. It was worse to see the way it had consumed and destroyed his threads than it was to see it in his body alone.

Seconds ticked by as I stood beside him. Atrius watched silently.

Then, he said, “Come.”

“I’ll stay here.”

“Staring at him won’t do anything.”

There was something in his voice, something tender and a little painful, that made Erekkus’s words float through my mind:

We know what this feels like.

“I’d like to talk to you,” he said. “Business.”

I swallowed thickly. Turned. “Fine.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Atrius led me to his bedchamber. Unlike in Alka, he didn’t take the warlord’s room this time—mostly because Tarkan’s was covered in blood and guts. Instead, he’d chosen a more private, smaller apartment on the top floor of the castle. It was separate from the rooms of his closest advisors and guards. A good example of his arrogance—he was totally unconcerned by potential threats.

When I first met him, I would’ve seen this as a weakness, nothing more than hubris. Now… I had to admit, it seemed like it would take a truly incredible assassin to end Atrius.

This thought floated through my mind before I remembered thatIwas supposed to be this assassin.

The heavy curtains were drawn in Atrius’s room, leaving the chamber dim, lit only by a fire and several lanterns.

After Naro’s explosively emotional presence, Atrius’s wall seemed even thicker than ever.

“You need healing,” I said. “I’m sorry, I?—”

But Atrius just shook his head. He gestured to one of the armchairs by the fire, and I sat.

He went to the table and retrieved a ceramic cup. He held it out to me, and when I just stared at it, he took my wrist, lifted it, and pressed the warm mug into my hands.

“Tea,” he said. “Apparently expensive. Tarkan liked it.”

He didn’t let go of the cup, his hands over mine.

“You’re shaking,” he said.

“I’m tired.”

He did not believe me. But he let me go and took a seat on the other armchair, anyway.

For a very long, very awkward moment, neither of us spoke.

“Drink it,” he said. “You’ve barely eaten or drank in two days.”

I laughed flatly. “You’re keeping track.”

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