A familiar figure emerged from the tent as we approached. She was lithe, wiry, and I recognized the set of her eyes as the wickedly beautiful vampire from earlier who had dropped off the trio’s supper—the nameless Diplomat—before departing.
She gave me the same curious glance as before, saying in a whispery voice, “Should I expect her to be everywhere with you from now on, Stellos?”
I frowned. “Who’s Stellos?”
“Vallan Stellos,” Garroway said.
“It’s not your concern if she is or isn’t, Cordea,” Vallan answered gruffly. He pushed past her without preamble and walked into the tent, forcing the three of us to follow.
“He’s been in a mood lately,” Garroway sighed as we entered. The tent was sparse—cot in one corner, small writing table in another, a closed chest next to the bed.
Once inside, with a modicum of privacy, Vallan spun on Cordea. “Is it ready?”
The vampiress slid gracefully toward the chest and lifted it. “Look for yourself.”
Inside was a plain rucksack, the kind that would typically hold potatoes. When Vallan undid the rope holding it closed, a glint of silver shone on the underside of the chest lid.
Vallan grunted. “Good. And the other?”
Cordea nodded dutifully. “They’re ready as well. I am planning a work shift in fifteen minutes.”
“Make it five. This won’t take long.”
Cordea bowed just low enough to make it respectful but not far enough to make it overly appreciative.
Vallan headed for the tent flap. Before pulling it back he stopped short and turned to me. “You have a choice. Follow me or stay here for your own good and be spared the sight.”
I blinked up at the impassive man. “I’ll follow.”
He grunted. “Don’t cry when I give you another reason to hate me, silverblood.”
There was odd tension in the air as our group—me, Vallan, Garroway—crunched over gravel and loose rocks, making our way toward a squat stone building on the far edge of the camp, away from everything else. It was hardly large enough for anyone to live in. The murmurs of the camp, rustling of the workers, and echoes of pinging hammers and picks on stone drifted away behind us.
The nondescript building looked like a shithouse, and I assumed that’s what it was until we drew closer. I noticed bars on the single window, the numerous locks on the door, and knew it was a prison cell.
We stopped at the door and Vallan wrestled with some keys, unlocking six different places. Over his shoulder, he said, “You’re sure?”
I swallowed hard. My nod was almost imperceptible.
Another grunt from the massive vampire. It seemed a typical response from him.
He swung the door open and we entered the small space. Inside was a single person with their back to us. Short brown hair bowled over their head to their ears. They spun at the sound of the rattling door and stood straighter, defiant.
I noted the slightly protruding chest of the prisoner, the knot in their throat, and the broad shoulders of the interfolk woman. She didn’t seem scared in the slightest, and besides the overly locked door, she wasn’t chained, shackled, or restrained in any way.
Vallan stood in front of her, towering. Garroway and I stood behind him. I fidgeted in front of my belly, unsure what was happening but anxious about it.
Vallan said, “You are Ethern.”
“Ethera,” the person responded in a high voice. “Do not call me Ethern. It was the name I was born with.”
Vallan didn’t argue the point. “You understand what you have agreed to?”
Ethera spoke firmly, confidently. “I do. You vow to make good on your end of the bargain?”
“Won’t matter to you.”
Ethera’s body tensed. So did mine. “Itdoesmatter to me. I’ll haunt you forevermore if you go back on your word, my lord.”
