Page 67 of Break Her Heart
August stood slightly in front of me, like he was trying to protect me. “No. He hasn’t gotten to me yet.”
Varric grinned. It was all gums and rot. Then he looked at me, his pale eyes seeming to search for something beneath my skin. “I remember you.”
I hesitated. “You do?”
“Who could forget those emerald eyes?” he rasped, leaning forward as if trying to peer deeper into me. His expression twisted, almost lucid for a heartbeat. Then his tone darkened, teeth bared in a grimace. “Those poisoned,evilspheres in your head.”
I squinted at Varric, trying to place what it was that unsettled me so deeply about him—beyond the rot and the madness. Had he come across me on one of my hunts?
My stomach twisted as I turned to Benedict, who stood behind us. “Why hasn’t anyone killed him? Taken him out of this misery?”
“Everyone is afraid to get too close to him,” Benedict said. “Afraid they’ll catch whatever madness is in him.”
I folded my arms. “I could always set the room on fire.”
August turned sharply, eyes wide. “Yes, Winnie. Let’s burn a room in a castle full of vampires and hope no one else goes up in flames.”
I shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the worst thing to happen.”
Benedict gave a quiet chuckle but stayed where he was, hovering a safe distance back.
“Varric,” he said clearly, drawing the vampire’s attention. “We’ve come to ask about the Blood Moon.”
Varric twitched, glancing around the room like a bird spooked from its nest.
“Do you know the spell that is used to bring Carrow back?”
He shook his head violently, and for a second I thought he might lunge at us.
Then, with a guttural rasp, he said, “The blade wields the soul. For one to leave, you must sacrifice another.”
August sucked in a sharp breath beside me.
“What did you say?” I asked, barely above a whisper.
Varric didn’t respond. He just began rocking, clawed fingers scratching rhythmic nonsense into the stone floor.
But August was already turning to me, his expression stricken.
“At the dying of the blood, he will rise not by voice, but by hand. The blade calls him home,” he repeated, his voice barely audible.
The words dropped into the space between us, heavy as an iron weight.
“The blade wields the soul. The blade is used as a…” I waved around the room. “A holding cell for him until it is time to take over a body.”
He looked at me, something grim flickering behind his eyes.
I dragged in a breath, the dungeon suddenly colder than before. “We need to narrow it down to the blades that can… hold things within it.”
Benedict glanced at August, and something unspoken passed between them.
“You might be right,” he said quietly.
August said nothing, but his clenched jaw was answer enough.
We were running out of time. But maybe—just maybe—we finally had a chance.
Before either of us could speak, Varric’s body tensed like a wire pulled taut. His eyes locked on me again, but this time they burned with hatred.
