I blow a raspberry, shoulders sinking. “I guess it shows me that, despite my best efforts, I was right: There’s no room for love in this dark, bleak world.”
She pouts, as if trying to show emotion but utterly failing. There’s a soullessness behind the eyes of every vampire I’ve met that is uncanny and frightening. Their humanity has been vacated, replaced by utter depravity and darkness—which is why my Loreblood is such a fascinating treasure for them. Because with control of the Loreblood, you have control of the masses. With the ability to sever a thrall’s connection to his or her master, reform the threads of that bond with myself, it makes me an existential threat to the survival of the Olhavians.
Madame Kleora lifts the parchment in front of her and blows on it to dry the ink. She sets it down with the bulky stack of pages and lifts a blank one, flattening it on the table in front of her.
Lifting her quill with her deft, fine fingers, she dips it in the dwindling inkwell. “For what it’s worth, child, I have enjoyed this evening spent with you.”
My brow furrows as I watch her set the tip of her pen to the top of the page. “What’s this? The story is done.” I glance to the blue-gray sky out the circular window. “Dawn is approaching.Overseer Verant will be here soon to drain me and put an end to my miserable existence, no?”
“He will.” Kleroa inclines her chin. “Any minute now, I suspect. We are not quite finished, however. The chronicle needs an ending.”
“All good stories do.”
“There is one small aspect you’re missing, Lady Lock.”
I tilt my head curiously, tapping my fingers on my knee. “Mistress?”
“The note given to you by the Grimson dress-lover.”
“Antones? What about it?”
“What did it say?!” she snaps and slams her fist on the table, baring her teeth angrily in a sudden outburst. She quickly composes herself, sitting straight like the tantrum never happened. “You failed to elaborate on that.”
I click my tongue, frowning. “Eh. Unimportant, given my situation.”
“I’ll be the judge—”
Heavy boots sound on the winding staircase behind her. My heart plummets to my stomach.
Bregsitch makes his appearance in the doorway, swinging it open with a grunt. The lumbering vampire walks in, stealing Kleora’s attention.
“Ah! There you are,” she coos over her shoulder. “I was starting to get worried. You’ve been gone hours. Thought the sun might see you before I do, and we don’t want that, now do we, my sweet?”
Bregsitch grunts and stands beside her. When his muscled arms cross over his chest, he stares down at me with narrowed eyes. For the first time I think there might actually be a brain inside that flat head of his. “Took time to make the rounds, mistress.”
I blink up at him through the haze of my drunkenness, having completely forgotten he had left at all. “Good to see you again, Breg.” I smile at the brute.
“And?” Kleora asks hurriedly, now keeping her pen poised on the paper for a different subject. “Don’t keep me in suspense, Bregsitch. What did you discover of the elusive Sister Jinneth?”
“Nothing, mistress.”
Kleora pauses, her body stiffening. A twitch of rage pulses through her jaw as she keeps her eyes trained on her empty page. “Excuse me, my sweet?”
Bregsitch’s giant shoulders lift and fall. My assumption that there’s a brain in there falters. “Went to Grimsons, nothing. Diplomats don’t exist anymore. Chained Sisters.” He shrugs again and looks down at his knuckles, which are bloody and bruised. A knot of rage coils in my belly.
“The Chained Sisters, Bregsitch?” Kleora patiently murmurs.
“They just laughed at me and looked over at a painting of a naked fat lady when I said ‘Jinneth.’ I didn’t like them laughing at me, mistress.”
“Of course not, my sweet.” She pats him on the arm and he retreats back a step. Her piercing gazes turns on me. “Interesting, how such a figure in your legendary tale could simply become a whisper in the wind, Lady Lock.”
I run my tongue over my teeth, keeping my mouth shut. “Yes, itisinteresting, isn’t it? Certainly makes for a great chronicle . . .” My voice lifts and twangs. “. . . Yeah?”
Silence falls over us. Moth wings on a window. Water drips in another room of Sutlis Spire. Time slows.
“No,” Kleora breathes in barely a whisper, leaning forward threateningly. “You’re lying.”
I let out a deep breath, wondering how best to explain it. Then I break into a smile, unable to contain it any longer, shaking my head. “There have been times in my life where I’vebeen a broken woman, Madame Kleora. Where I have beenquitemad and lonely. Even times where I took to talking to myself because I was the only person who’d listen. The only person I trusted.”
