“And just what am I hunting?” I ask.
“What you’re made to hunt.”
“But the blood oath—”
“The blood oath prevents you from harming me, or anyone loyal to me. These vampir are not loyal to me. They’re not loyal to anyone. They are the monsters your guild made with their curse.” Ruvan’s eyes narrow slightly.
I ignore his accusatory gaze. “How will I know the difference between those loyal to you and these ‘monsters?’”
“It won’t be hard to tell the difference,” Lavenzia answers.
“They have the withered and sunken faces we originally possessed.” The look Ruvan gives me is pointed, as if he is trying to emphasize that how I originally saw him was a result of this curse and not his own monstrosity.
Sounds like the vampire I know. “Simple enough, then.”
We continue through the castle. Winny runs point for our group, staying ahead. Her hair, pulled back, is a streak of gold.
It’s as she slips into the darkness ahead that I notice everything in this first room is dark. There are no light sources. No candles. No windows.
I stop, turning. Blinking. “What the…”
“What is it?” Ruvan asks. They all halt, taking a step closer.
“I can see.” The finer details are diminished. But I can see the stone walls and crumbling tapestries. I can see the condensation that weeps from the sagging beams of the roof and drips like blood to the floor. “How?”
“It’s the bloodsworn magic,” Ruvan answers as if this should have been obvious and plain when it is very much not to me. “You have powers of the vampir within you.”
“But I’m not a—”
“Vampir, yes, we all know.” He sighs tiredly. “But our essence has been linked, a pathway opened between us. Some of my abilities and insights have been given to you and in turn, yours to me.”
I wonder exactly what those “abilities and insights” are that I gave him. Can he forge? Can he actually steal my face? Or does he know something more intimate? This is not the time or place to ask and I’m happy to avoid the answer for now.
“Useful,” is all I say, and we continue forward.
I pause again, briefly, when I first see black blood.
It appears as drips, then smeared handprints on the walls. Then the corridor opens up. I can see the ghosts of combatants dancing, dried blood painting an outline of a battle long since over in this cobwebbed banquet hall. Turned-over tables and smashed chairs litter the floor, a confetti of debris.
“Good, it’s still clear,” Winny says under her breath, barely audible.
“What do you see, Riane?” Ruvan startles me by asking.
“A fight took place here.”
“Obviously. I want you to break it down for me.”
“Pardon?” I meet his eyes.
“How many enemies were there?”
“Is that relevant?”
Ruvan’s stare becomes more intense, probing. It ignites panic in me. He is suspicious. I knew it. I’m suddenly recounting everything I said and did. What was I thinking, forging weapons? Hunters don’t forge. But maybe he doesn’t know that? Maybe this is merely a test of my abilities and not stemming from suspicion.
“I want to know what you see,” he insists.
“Do we really have time for this?” Ventos grumbles.
