Page 116 of A Steeping of Blood
Matteo looked skeptical. “They’re the Council. I doubt they can be convinced of anything.”
“Oh, but they haven’t met me,” Jin said with only half his usual charm, suddenly wishing Arthie were here. “And then we’re going to get Arthie. I don’t care that she doesn’t want to be rescued. I’m not losing her too.”
“She’s likely in the Ram’s bunker,” Flick said. “The Ram tried getting answers out of me. About the ledger, your whereabouts, and—and Arthie’s pistol, strangely. I tried not to divulge that you were even alive, but it seems she got what she wanted out of me anyway. I knew she would ambush you at the docks, so I was waiting there to warn you, but some good that did.”
“It’s all right,” Jin said softly, and took one of her hands in his, holding it steady as the carriage hit a bump in the road. He clenched his jaw tight at the sight of her bandages. Should he not have given her the brass knuckles and a teapot full of advice?
“I—” He broke off with a cold, hard laugh. “She risked her life to save them, did you know? She braved going back to her homeland to save them, and we made an entire, now-useless journey to have them die the moment we return.”
“The voyage wasn’t useless,” Matteo reminded him gently. “We rescued nearly a hundred vampires. We ruined the Ceylani trade route, and really, we did save your parents. They died as Ettenians, not prisoners, and they got to see that their son is alive and well, even if undead.”
“They died with hope,” Flick added. “Something they did not have for a decade.”
Did they? Jin would never know for certain. He’d lived a decade wishing they were alive, only to see them die.
“They were supposed to help with Arthie’s plan,” he said softly.
“We’ll figure it out, starting with the Council. And if we could free a sanatorium full of vampires, armed with Flick’s findings, we can do the same to the people in that cage, turned or not. Then we will ruin her,” Matteo replied as the carriage turned, and then winced, as if he’d forgotten Flick. “I’m sorry.”
She rested her arms gingerly in her lap. “You don’t have to be. She’s not my mother anymore.”
She was sure of herself and the words. There wasn’t a hint of remorse on her face, not a flicker of sorrow or regret. No, at some point after Jin and the others had left for Ceylan, Felicity Linden had broken free of the mold her mother had shoved her inside. She was her own person.
The carriage rolled to a halt. Night had fallen, and Jin could only hope the Horned Guard minister hadn’t left for the day. Or the Council for that matter, however they worked. The driver opened the carriage door, and Jin was surprised to find them parked in front of a tavern. A shabby one at that.
“Are you sure we have the right place?” Flick asked, eyeing the seedy establishment.
“Spindrift is turning in her grave,” Jin murmured.
THE BROODING TURNIP, a sorry sign read, but the letters were fading. It was small, but even from their spot across the street, Jin could hear the raucous crowd within. He would not expect Matteo to know anyone who frequented the place.
“It’s seen better days,” Matteo admitted. “Shall we?”
41ARTHIE
Laith was alive. He was in a terrible state, but he was alive. Arthie tried not to give the Ram the reaction she was waiting for, but it was impossible. No matter what Laith was now, he had been a part of their crew. He had been a part of Arthie’s life.
Even if she’d shot him and left him for dead—twice. Even if he’d shot her and leftherfor dead in turn.
“Are you proud of yourself for torturing him?” Arthie asked. “Is that what this is about?”
Beside the Ram, Laith let out a quiet snort. The Ram shifted Calibore to her other hand, and Arthie did her utmost not to drop her gaze to it.
There was a bond between her and the pistol, one Arthie, despite her adamance for staying realistic, knew existed only because she acknowledged that the pistol was sentient. It cared for her as she cared for it. The Ram couldn’t replicate such an alliance no matter how she tried. She could barely nurture a bond with her own daughter.
“It won’t do what you want it to,” Arthie said.
The Ram aimed it at her. “No?”
Laith made a sound.
“Oh, what was that?” the Ram asked. “Are you concerned for the girl I put in your charge?” She looked at Arthie. “I don’t care about magic or whatever ridiculous notions you believe it possesses. What matters is its importance to the Arawiyan throne.”
Its importance to the Arawiyan throne was exactly why Laith had come to Ettenia with his now-dead sister. She had been tasked with retrieving the pistol to stave off conquest, for Calibore was more than a gun, more than a shape-shifting weapon. It was one of the many artifacts the kingdom was trying to return to its own coffers, each filled with insurmountable magic, each as integral to the kingdom’s survival as a skilled army was to any other.
The Ram might not care for magic, but it was clear to Arthie what she wanted just then.
She wanted to colonize Arawiya.
