Later. Figuring out the implications will have to wait. The rest of them will be waking soon. I tidy the smithy of all the evidence of my experimentation, returning the remaining ingots to the office and shutting it tightly. I keep the forge hot, however, and set about to sharpening the covenant’s blades as I told them I would when we first returned.
It’ll be suspicious if I’m seen having worked all night with nothing to show for it. Luckily for me, sharpening the weapons takes a negligible amount of time since they were so recently honed. I have them laid out on the table and my dagger hidden when I hear footsteps approaching.
I’ll tell them of the dagger, of course…but I want to tell Ruvan first. It will be like a peace offering given how we last parted. I shiver, recalling the feeling of his presence in and around me. I can’t wait to see his reaction. He’ll be proud. He’ll be—
I’m disappointed the moment I can tell the footsteps don’t belong to him. I know that he has yet to wake—I can sense him still asleep from how calm I am. There’s not the restless energy permeating my world that feels like it’s wound up like unleashed lightning whenever he’s around.
The footsteps are too light for Ventos but too heavy for Winny. Too noisy for Lavenzia. I make a game of trying to guess who it is and settle on Callos. I’m wrong.
“You’re up early,” Quinn says.
“I never slept.” I ease away from the table of tools. It’s not my finest work, but anything done in haste will be lacking. And they won’t be able to tell the difference. I hope. “I got a bit sidetracked.”
“I see.” Quinn inspects the weapons. Boldly, he runs his thumb parallel to one of the blades.
“Careful, they’re freshly sharpened. I would hate to have to explain to Ruvan what happened to his faithful attendant.”
“If I wanted to kill myself on a silver blade, I would’ve done it long ago.” Quinn eases his hand away.
“Quinn, may I ask you something?”
“Only if I may ask you something in return. One for one.” He brings those haunted eyes to me.
“Deal. What exactly is the ‘long night?’” The way they speak of it makes me think it’s more than the curse.
“The long night began after the curse was laid.” He crosses over to the window and looks out over the setting sun. I can see him wince slightly, but he stands in the sunlight anyway. As if in defiance. “The curse took hold quickly in our blood. Vampir abandoned the other townships and cities across the mountains for Tempost. They came looking for a cure, but only found more death in our main stronghold.”
I cross to the window as well, standing next to him. But he continues to look past his reflection and into the city beyond. He seems to be staring at a specific point in the distance—a large building with an arched roof and four bell towers on every corner.
“So many lives were lost during the proverbial sunset on our people. The lykin to the north, northwest of us, hunted our kind mercilessly when they became the Succumbed. As the curse worsened, the lykin became more…proactive in their culling of our people, claiming it in the defense of all of Midscape.
“It all happened so quickly that there wasn’t even time to send out request for aid…even if we had, I doubt the packs of wolf-beasts would have allowed any goodwill and supplies to pass. They had seen what we had become and were determined not to allow any of us to escape.”
“So the long night is a metaphor for this dark time the vampir face?”
“I believe that’s two questions.”
I side-eye him. “It’s still just one. It doesn’t count as additional questions if you’re being cryptic and I’m seeking clarity. They’re follow-ups.”
He chuckles softly, but the levity doesn’t reach his eyes. “The long night earned its name from how we postponed the curse.” He has my undivided attention now. “The vampir conducted a blood ritual unlike any the world had seen. The high lords and ladies, advisers, right and left hands of the last of the king’s bloodline, entered into a final pact. They gave their lives to create the long night, the great slumber, a chrysalis that the remaining vampir could hide within.”
“Chrysalis…like a butterfly’s cocoon?”
He nods. “You have the idea of it.”
I think of vampir by the hundreds, slumbering upside down like caterpillars. Waiting to awaken once the curse on them had been lifted.
“The stasis halts the progression of the curse. It keeps us from becoming Succumbed or worse. But it doesn’t cure us. The moment we’re awoken from our slumber, the curse spreads once more.” There’s a long pause. I’m not aware of just how long until he turns to face me.
I’m pulled back to reality from my thoughts. I can feel the expression on my face. My lips are tugged into a frown. My brow is furrowed. I try and force my expression to relax, but it only makes the lump in my throat worse.
“It’s all so…sad.”
Quinn’s eyes dart to me, widening slightly, brow furrowing. He clears his throat. “The plight of the vampir is a tragedy. We suffer quietly, alone. Our people were never a far-reaching one like the elves or fae. We never possessed the inherent, bodily strength of our closest brethren, the lykin, or the deep magics of the sirens far to the north. We were weak before the blood lore—only confident in interacting safely with those beyond our mountains around the full moon. And just when we found strength, it was stolen from us.” He stops his musings with a confounded expression. “I know what I want my question to be.”
“Yes?” I’m startled by his sudden shift. The increase in intensity.
“What you just said about the vampir, that our suffering brought you sorrow, did you mean it?”
