Chapter 30

HEMLOCK

O rdell paces the library like a caged animal, whiskey glass in hand. “She could have died,” he says. “She could have fucking died.”

I blink away the image of Orina impaled by the cold one’s claws, her body limp and barely conscious in Ezekiel’s arms, and his screams of rage and pain as he begged her to drink from him.

“Yes, she almost died, but she didn’t,” I remind him. “She’s healing. It could take a couple of days, maybe more, but she will wake up.” Ezekiel is feeding her his blood to speed up the process. She’ll wake eventually; all I have to do is remain calm, act as if none of this is a huge deal so that Ordell can feed off that vibe and not lose his shit. “What I want to know is who stopped the Raven from going to the chapter house.” Atlas swears he ordered a Raven to be sent, but the Raven never arrived at the chapter house. Padma has requested daily updates on Orina’s condition, going as far as to threaten to invade Branwood if we don’t comply. Meanwhile, they’ve gone onto high alert, patrolling the areas around the School of Creation to check for more cold ones, but I doubt they’ll find any because the cold ones have a secret.

They don’t exist on this plane.

Not unless she sends them through.

“How are the triplets coping with it?”

A shadow passes across Ordell’s face. “They told me they fought them off with wooden bats until Orina arrived. A few of the other children confirmed it.” He meets my gaze, and a chill shoots up my spine.

I lower my glass. “It doesn’t mean anything.”

“Doesn’t it?” Ordell says softly.

Fuck. “Then we keep an eye on them. Watch for any…changes.”

“They’ll be twelve in a few months…”

“Then we’ll know…right?”

“Maybe.” He drains his glass and tops up. “I’ve made them promise not to tell their mother.”

“Do you think they’ll keep that promise?”

“They know how upset she’ll be if she finds out that instead of doing the sane thing and running away, they stayed and tried to fight the monsters.”

“Good point.”

Ordell finally folds his huge frame into the armchair opposite me. Good, he’s calming down. This is good.

“After all this time, she’s strong enough to manifest within our borders,” he says.

I’ve been trying not to dwell on that fact, but it’s certainly something that we need to discuss. “How many dead?”

“Five,” Ordell says. “Five souls to fuel her.”

“It means she’s getting stronger. It means we may not have as much time as we think. Maybe we should tell Orina the whole truth.”

Ordell shakes his head. “You saw Ezekiel with her. The way he held her. The horror and devastation on his face…It’s happening, Hem. We just need a little more time. If we tell her, we risk upsetting this tenuous balance that’s somehow been created.”

He’s right. For the first time in seven hundred years, we have real hope of ending this vicious cycle. “Her darkness is in control. I think you’re right. I think that this time she’ll be able to break the curse.”

ORINA

“I’ve always wanted to see the ocean. So vast and endless.”

“And what do you think of it?” Ezekiel asked.

“It’s kind of…flat.”

The sky darkened, and waves began to form until the ocean was churning with life. A cold wind smacked me in the face, stealing my breath and tearing a surprised laugh from my lips.

“Better?” Ezekiel’s voice was tinged with amusement.

“So much better.” I gripped the railing of my balcony and leaned out, face up to the sky, reveling in the kiss of icy air and the mist from the sea. “You’re good at this.”

“I’m good at many things.”

There was no sexual innuendo in his tone, just a weariness that pricked at my psyche.

It was beautiful here, with the beach below my window and the sea at my doorstep, but…it wasn’t real. “How much longer?”

“I don’t know, Orina. Your body was damaged badly. You were close to death. It will take time for you to heal. You must be patient.”

“How much time has passed?”

“Two days.”

“Is that all?” It felt longer, like a week. Maybe more.

“I can slow time down if you wish.”

I looked up at his beautiful profile, at his dark hair threaded with amber highlights from the sun and the smile that played on his lips as he looked out to sea. “How long has it been since you saw the sun for real?”

His smile was tinged with sadness. “I don’t know, but I will remember this. So thank you.”

“Wait…you’re not doing this?”

“The sun?” He dropped his gaze to mine. “No, Orina. The sun is yours, the ocean is mine. We made this vista together.”

My chest tightened and ached. “We did?”

“Yes. I’m beginning to see that together, you and I…we are a force to be reckoned with.”

Warmth unfurled in my belly. “Ezekiel…I…” The questions in his eyes echoed the questions in my heart. Words I wasn’t ready to say. Not yet, so I swallowed them back down along with the lump in my throat. “Will you stay with me until I wake up?”

His smile broke my heart and put it back together again. “Yes, little Silver. I’ll stay with you.”

PADMA

“We’re canvasing the southside of Brimswood today,” Atlas says down the phone. “I’ll keep you updated.”

“Thanks.”

“Any news on Orina?”

“Nothing new. She’s still healing.”

“Kaster’s been…worried.”

“Tell him she’s safe and she’ll be in touch as soon as she can.”

Atlas is silent for several minutes. “He sent a Raven to Branwood asking if he could visit and hasn’t heard back.”

I’m not surprised. “Ezekiel is extremely protective right now.”

“You mean possessive.”

“Yeah, that too. Ordell and Hemlock have been keeping us informed of her progress. None of our Ravens were replied to either.”

“I’ll let Kaster know. Speak soon.”

“Yeah.” I hang up and reach for the next file on my pile. Being on desk duty while everyone else is out canvasing for missing persons is no fun. But we have a rota, and it’s my turn. My gaze drifts to the package on Orina’s desk.

It arrived two days ago. The cleaning supplies for the damn teapot she’s obsessed with. What if I clean it for her and have it on her desk for when she returns? A welcome back gift? Maybe cleaning it might reveal some clue as to which case it relates to and solve that problem too, although I’m beginning to wonder if it’s related to any case here at all. We’re down to our last box of files waiting for input, and none of them mention a teapot as evidence.

The teapot is hidden at the back of Orina’s desk. Super grimy. But the cleaning solution is the best on the market. I don latex gloves, grab a cloth, and set to work making small circular motions across the ceramic. The dirt comes off reluctantly, but I’m careful not to apply too much pressure. There are hairline cracks on the ceramic beneath the grime. I’m not sure how long I work, minutes, maybe an hour, but the world melts away, and the task takes over until there’s nothing left to clean but a small patch just under the spout.

I add more product and swipe at the area. Once, twice, crack !

I’m thrown backward, chair and all. I hit the ground with the back of my skull, and the world dims, then blooms with purple mist.

“What the heck?” I scramble up and away from the smoke that’s eaten my desk and the teapot and back toward the exit.

Something moves inside the smoke, and my heart leaps into my throat. I make a grab for my blade in the rack by the door and swing to face the smoke just as a figure leaps out of it and pins me to the wall.

Strong hands gripping my wrists, eyes like amethyst flame bore into mine. They narrow then flare, raking over me hungrily.

“It’s you,” he says.

My body reacts to his voice by softening, grip slackening on my sword. He releases my wrist to cup my jaw and leans in, his mouth mere inches from mine.

I bring the hilt of my sword down on his temple and knock him the fuck out.

ORDELL

It’s been a week since Orina was injured. A week of her sleeping and healing, and one week of no Ezekiel because he’s spent every moment locked in his quarters watching over her.

So when Ingrid informs us that Ezekiel has requested our company for dinner tonight, we oblige, curious to know what he wants to talk about. But after thirty minutes of small talk, as Ezekiel lays out his plans for the security of the School of Creation and his potential ban on turning humans, I can tell Hem is getting more and more agitated.

Neither of us care about the politics of this territory because by the end of the year, none of it will matter.

Finally, Hem snaps and asks the burning question. “Why are we doing this?”

Ezekiel arches a dark brow. “This? Talking?”

“Yes. Talking and this dinner.”

Ezekiel sighs and sets down his goblet. “The past few weeks have been…trying on us all but particularly on my watcher. Miss Lighthart saved my honor at Dracmore, and I owe her a debt, one which I plan to repay with peace. Peace in Dracul and here in Branwood for the remainder of her year assigned to me. She is my watcher, but you are hers, and therefore it is important that we…get along.”

Hemlock makes a soft choking sound.

Ezekiel rolls his eyes and shakes his head a little. “I will curb my appetites, and Miss Lighthart can relax in her duties as they pertain to me.”

Is he trying to cut the amount of time he spends with her? “She’ll still need to accompany you to events.”

“There will be no events,” Ezekiel says. “I will retire to the north wing, and the year will pass without further mishap. You will ensure Miss Lighthart’s safety.”

He’s doing this to protect Orina. He doesn’t want her getting hurt again. He’s curbing his bloodlust, his primal instincts for her. My heart feels like it’s expanding. This is real. He has feelings for Orina, which means?—

“Your Majesty.” Matthew hurries into the room. “A…gift has arrived from House of Spirit. An apology for the incident that took place at the School of Creation.”

Ezekiel frowns. “What kind of gift?”

“Veins, your grace.” Matthew indicates the door as four people shuffle in. Three men and a woman stand with their heads bowed in deference.

Hemlock tenses beside me, and I follow his gaze to the woman, whose face is obscured by curtains of thick dark hair.

Ezekiel exhales wearily. “I have no use for veins. Send them back.”

“No.” The woman steps forward. “Please, Your Majesty. If you send me back, then my family will starve. Please allow me to serve you.”

There’s something about her voice, a familiar tone and cadence. My gut grows tight.

Down the table, Ezekiel stills. “Look at me,” he says softly.

The woman slowly raises her head to reveal a heart-shaped face and large gray eyes, misty with tears, and my pulse stalls.

It’s her.

The only woman who can save Ezekiel.

Which means it’s not Orina.

It was never Orina.

How did we get it so wrong?

Orina’s story continues in Reap the Night