I said nothing.
He shrugged the thought aside, blinking back to the present. “Regardless, Master Ashfen will be returning soon, and I have some questions for you, Sephania.”
My muscles tightened.An inquisition? Now?I was starving. “How do you know Skartovius is returning soon?”
“I am his bloodthrall. Our minds speak to each other. Though I am a bit alarmed to say his thought-speech seemed further away and distant than I am used to.” Creases formed in his brow as he made a connection and muttered, “Not unlike my dream . . .”
It was prudent to try and take his mind off whatever existential thing he was dealing with. Garroway being able to communicate with Skartovius via his mind astonished me. It sounded like magic, and it explained some eerie connections between these two—like how Skar had known where to find us that first evening.
I wanted to know more about it; about their bond in general. “If you are his bloodthrall, you were . . . born from him?” I asked quietly.
He shook his head gently after pacing for a few moments. When he sat on the chair at the table, he sat the wrong way, using the seatback as an armrest so he could rest his chin on his forearms. “No. My being a half-vampire has nothing to do with Skartovius Ashfen, lass. Dhampir are born, not turned, but the vampire and human who made me are dead. Master took me in when I was a young ruffian wandering the streets.”
My brow lifted at his tragic tale.He hardly looks five summers older than me. Yet he said he hasn’t dreamed indecades. Just how old is this man?“So, Skartovius islikea father to you, but not actually one?” I pried.
His smile was soft, curling his full lips. For a moment, the darkness that had clouded his features was gone, and my ploy to distract him had clearly worked as he gained a fond, distant look in his eyes.
“No, Skartovius and I are not like father and son. I have retained a semblance of those sweet, familial emotions from my human side. Noblebloods like Skar don’t share those emotions, as Vall has explained to you in harsher terms.”
I chuckled lowly. “Vallan is a surly one.”
“The strength of our bond is powerful because we both have vampiric blood inside us. That is what makes me abloodthrall. An ordinary thrall is what a human slave to a vampire would be. Obviously, a connection between vampires is stronger thana connection between a vampire and a human.” He paused and scratched at his smooth cheek. “. . . Which is what makes it alarming when our telepathic bond weakens for any reason, as it did in my dreams and this evening.”
I was completely absorbed in Garroway’s velvety voice, his simple way of talking. I couldn’t look away from his attractive face—angular and gaunt—as he rambled on. “That’s fascinating. It’s foolish of me,” I laughed embarrassingly, “but I nearly forgot vampires and half-vampires have histories of their own. Humans are taught you are turned into pure monsters, losing all your humanity and stories. Clearly that’s not the case.”
“Everyone needs a boogeyman,” he quipped. “Fullbloods are closer to the monsters your people claim they are. I won’t lie to you.”
I swallowed hard. “I remember the shadowgala, the bodies of my Holdmates wrenched open on tables like animal carcasses for the noblebloods to feed on. It was barbaric.”
He winced. “And only a measure of my kin’s ferocity, lass. You have come to a dangerous, dangerous place, harboring with us.”
I angled diagonally on the bed. “Given what happened to us last night with the attack in Nuhav, I daresay I’m somehow safer with you three than I am with my own kind.” I shook my head, finishing with a mutter. “Can’t believe I’m saying that.”
When I glanced up at him, the shadow from before had returned. He wasn’t smiling, and all the softness was gone. “That brings us back to my initial inquiry, Sephania. No more stalling.”
My distraction could only last so long.
I swallowed hard. “What is it, Garro?”
His eyes narrowed. “Before the vampires attacked us, you were telling me something. I’ve shared my history with you. Now it’s your turn.”
It frightened me. The hard twist to his face, the intense scrutiny that brooked no argument. Sweat beaded under my arms and over my brow. I couldn’t help but croak, “What is it you want to ask me?”
“The way you reacted last night when we saw those three lads. What,exactly, did the Diplomats do to you, Sephania?”
Chapter 36
I wrapped up my gloomy story mere minutes before Skartovius arrived. While I told my tale of the Diplomats—Jeffrith’s murder, Baylen’s cowardice, Dimmon’s assault—Garroway leaned over the back of his chair, chin on his forearms, listening intently.
There was an intense clench to his face as I spoke. He never interrupted or asked questions. He just let me talk, every once in a while tightening when a particularly gruesome bit popped up.
By the end of it, my cheeks were wet with tears. I couldn’t remember crying, and my voice stayed even and deadpan the entire story. But the tears found me nonetheless, unlocked after being trapped deep inside me for so many years.
I realized I had not properly grieved my time with the House of the Broken, the Diplomats, or the Grimsons. All I had ever known was fighting and a nagging sense of indignation, which forever bothered me. It was a need for vengeance I craved. Thefightflared to life then, coming from the depths of my lungs.
Garroway murmured in a clipped voice, “You were a mere child.”
“Thirteen is hardly a child in this cruel world, Garroway.”
