Page 42 of The Ashes and the Star-Cursed King

“I think Alarus is much more than a corpse by now. I think his remains, whatever they are, have spread throughout Obitraes.”

“What makes you think so?”

He smiled. “I found some. In the House of Blood.”

I didn’t even have words. My lips parted and nothing came out.

“Teeth,” he added, answering the question I was too shocked to ask. “Just a few.”

Teeth?

I choked out, “And what the fuck does one do with the teeth of the God of Death?”

“Not much, perhaps. But we could do a lot with his blood.”

“His blood.”

This was ridiculous.

“Yes,” Septimus said simply. “I suspect that some of it remains in the House of Night, and that it could be very, very useful if found. And I suspect your dear old father knew that, too.” He leaned across the table, long fingers intertwined, smirk slowly spreading into a grin. “I think he knew it, and he harnessed it, and he hid it. And nowyouget to find it for us.”

I stared at him for a long moment. It was so ludicrous I couldn’t even find words—this idea that Vincent, ever practical, ever logical, might have once searched for fuckinggod blood.

“Do you actually want me to justify this with an answer?” I said.

“The Nightborn King once had a bit of a reputation. An affinity forseers.” Septimus placed a long emphasis on the wordseers. The meaning of it wasn’t lost on me.

Nyaxia’s magic offered little in the way of seering, though it was said some Shadowborn sorcerers could do something close. So when vampires were interested in magic beyond Nyaxia’s capabilities, they had to work with humans who followed other gods—usually Acaeja, the Goddess of the Unknown, and the only god of the White Pantheon to have a somewhat civil relationship with Nyaxia.

Some Obitraen kings through the years kept pet seers, whether of Acaeja or some other god. There were many useful things a king could do with such magic. But I couldn’t imagine Vincent being one of those rulers—a vampire so desperate for power that he’d throw coins at some gray magic wielder. He wasn’t especially religious, but he was also nothing if not loyal to Nyaxia and the power that she gave him.

“I still don’t understand what you’re asking me to—”

“We aren’t asking anything,” Septimus said. Downright politely, which made me even angrier. “If Vincent found this god blood, he no doubt would have safeguards in place to make sure that only he could use it. Which means that we need you.”

This was all fucking outlandish. I didn’t know why they bothered asking me.

I crossed my arms, lifting my chin. “I refuse.”

“Step back and look at this situation, Oraya,” Raihn said. His voice was cold, calm—unlike him. He leaned closer, his palms pressed to the table. I couldn’t look away from his eyes, rust-red.

“You betrayed the King of the House of Night,” he said. “You told the Hiaj general to attack the armory that night. You acted against your own kingdom. That’s not a small thing.”

Acted against my own kingdom.

Those words, and the haughty tone in which he said them, pissed me off.

I rose, slowly, and leaned across the table to match his movements, looking straight into his eyes.

“Is ittreason,” I spat, lip curling, “to act against a usurper? Or is that just an Heir defending her crown?”

Raihn’s mouth twitched, just a little. “Good question, princess,” he said. “Depends on who wins.”

There he is,I thought.

Thiswas real.

Then his smirk disappeared, that mask of rage back. The mask of the Nightborn King.

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