Page 44 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

Atrius paused to take all this in. Then turned to look out over the sea, and the other islands of Alka, where stone bridges extended like crooked spider legs to the mainland. The relief rolling from his presence was perhaps the most palpable emotion I’d ever sensed from him when he spotted his soldiers slowly making their way toward the inner city.

He’d lost many. Surely he knew that, too. But right now, it seemed like enough of a victory that he didn’t lose them all.

He turned to those in our little splinter of his group. He shouted a command in Obitraen, then turned ahead and set his gaze squarely on the castle: our final target.

He pointed his sword, and we marched.

Kinder rulers, perhaps, would not have wanted to fight in streets filled with civilians. Aaves and his ilk were not kind rulers. His people, as he’d proven over and over, were just pawns to be used to hold on to his power. His warriors yanked them from their homes as we approached, cluttering the already-difficult paths with terrified bodies who wanted nothing to do with any of this. They flung makeshift explosives, oil-soaked rags, from the windows of the lower levels of the castle, sending the rickety wooden homes up in smoke and burning the smallest of the bridges.

Even with my magic so exhausted, the fear—the pain—ofthose people was overwhelming.

I could not save them. I knew this. I didn’t try—most of the civilians were dead by their king’s own hand before we even reached them, more useful dead than alive to slow us down. Atrius’s men didn’t touch any of them, sheathing their blades as they pushed through the morass of human traps. Yet as we progressed through the city, cutting down the crazed warriors who flung themselves at us from the castle, the number of innocent corpses grew.

Accidental deaths. Inconsequential deaths, in the eyes of men like Aaves. Elderly, women, children. As we pushed through a section of the city that was on fire, I saw a little girl hanging out of a window, body limp, eyes wide and staring straight ahead sightlessly. There was no presence there. She was dead. Freshly dead—her newly-severed thread still trembled with fear.

I didn’t realize I’d stopped there, next to her, until Atrius put his hand on my shoulder.

“You’ll burn,” he said gruffly. “The fire is close.”

And yet maybe he saw all the signs of my anger—the fists clenched at my sides, the tremble of my jaw. Maybe he felt me shaking when he steered me away.

Atrius was not supposed to see any of those things—anything that was real. But I was too furious to even scold myself for it. And when he ducked close to my ear to mutter, “How many more before we can kill him?” I almost laughed out of sheer sadistic glee.

I pointed ahead to the gates of the castle. “We just fight our way through.” I trailed my finger up—to the top of the spire.

Even depleted, it was easy to sense Aaves up there. Disgusting worm that he was.

Atrius glanced back. His pronged approach had worked well—his soldiers were now pouring into every facet of the city, taking over every segment simultaneously. But the downside was that each group dwindled as they needed to split off in more directions. I had been so lost in my bloodlust that, foolishly, I hadn’t realized just how far ahead of the others Atrius and I had gone.

The others in our group still lingered behind, occupying the last of Aaves’s men.

“You want to wait for them?” I asked.

He let out a low chuckle, like I’d just said something unintentionally amusing. “I don’t wait for anyone.” Then, “How many in there?”

“The castle? Many.”

“Too many?”

I paused, realizing what he was asking:Too many for us?

Yes, there were many warriors in that castle. Lots of people who would want to kill us.

But I thought of Atrius and the way he killed like breathing. Considered my own training and the significant trail of bodies I’d left during my journey through this city.

I considered my own fury.

“No,” I said at last. “Not too many.”

Atrius smiled. This was what he wanted to hear.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

The Arachessen were not supposed to feel extreme emotions—infatuation, elation, terror, hatred. These things clouded our minds. They made it impossible to be impartial. Arachessen were encouraged to be passionate, of course—passionate for our Weaver, our Sisters, and our pursuit of Rightness. But our passion was a steady love, deep and calm like the sea on a clear night. We were told that there was nothing more dangerous than a storm.

My darkest secret was that I had always struggled with this.

Atrius and I left the gates of the castle wide open behind us, forging the way forward for his men to follow. But we didn’t wait. We fought our way through the castle. I would barely remember any of it later, because I was lost in the tumultuous seas I had so often been told to avoid—lost, and unashamed at how much I loved it.

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