“I’ll help you,” I say with conviction.
“Because you are my bloodsworn?” he asks with guarded eyes.
“Because I want to.”
“Good.” He squeezes my hand and resumes getting dressed.
I slip out of the room, giving him privacy, and take the moment to collect myself. The skyline of Tempost catches my eye out the window and I pause before it, inhaling deeply and letting the air out slowly. My breath fogs the glass, turning it into a more mirrored surface.
Dark, short hair. Dark eyes. Tanned skin mottled with my own scars. It’s still me. Just as much as Ruvan’s mark is between my collarbones. The bloodsworn and the vampir are now a part of me, as much as the smithy is, as much as my mother’s words, or my brother’s training, or the hamlet’s old stories are… They all are me. Yet not one defines me.
I won’t let it. I want to choose every moment, one after the next. I want to be my own woman.
I will be, for the first time ever.
“Are you ready?” Ruvan emerges, adjusting one of the worn, velvet coats I’ve seen him in before. The high collars suit him, I decide. As achingly handsome as ever.
“Yes.”
* * *
We’ve been seatedaround one of the tables in the main hall for hours now. A large, slate tablet that almost fills the entire tabletop is covered with the chalky outlines of my clumsy scribbles of Hunter’s Hamlet.
“And what’s this again?” Ventos points to a shaded swath of earth.
I’d be more frustrated at having to explain myself over and over if my drawings weren’t so terrible and this wasn’t so important. “That’s the salted earth. It shouldn’t pose any trouble…but there isn’t anywhere to hide in that stretch so we’ll have to move swiftly to avoid someone seeing us coming from the marshes.”
“Salt will prevent mist stepping across. You’ll have to run to the next cover.” Winny points to one of the square farmhouses. “To here, and then here…”
We repeat a plan, second-guess it, and change our approach. Everything is carefully debated. It’s exhausting, but necessary if we want to succeed in getting a vampir into Hunter’s Hamlet and all the way to the fortress.
“Let’s break, for now,” Ruvan says with a yawn. His eyes have already lost some of their luster. I don’t know if the others have noticed yet, but it’s enough to worry me. “It’s getting late, and we’re still catching up our strength from our venture into the old castle.”
“I thought you’d never suggest it.” Winny stretches her hands over her head, rising to her toes. “Good sleep, everyone. See you in the morning to do this all yet again, I’m sure.” She yawns and promptly heads to her room.
The rest of them trickle out. But Callos remains hunched over the table, long enough that it’s clear he’s waiting for something.
“What is it?” I ask.
A frown crosses Callos’s lips. “I’m not sure…”
“I know that look.” Ruvan places his elbows on the table, careful not to scuff my drawings with his forearms. “You see something.”
“I’m not sure,” Callos repeats, firmer than the last. “But I think something is familiar. I need to research a few things first.” He rolls his shoulders back, tipping his head from side to side and massaging his neck. He’s been hunched for hours staring at my drawings and hanging on every word with an intensity I’ve never seen someone possess for knowledge before. “I’ll let you know, my lord, whenever—if ever—I find something.”
“Make sure I’m the first to know.” Ruvan squeezes Callos’s forearm and stands. I can’t help but notice that Ruvan has been favoring his unwounded arm more and more.
“I always do.”
“Thank you for all your hard work, dear friend.”
“It’s my pleasure.” Callos’s words are only half true. He does enjoy knowledge and its pursuits. That much I can tell. But the circumstances under which he’s forced to gain the knowledge…it saps any joy he could glean from it. His golden eyes turn to me. “Do you mind if I record everything you’ve written here so we don’t lose it?”
I didn’t realize I had a choice. I look to Ruvan, deferring to the vampir lord.
He gives me a tired smile. “Don’t look at me, he asked you. It’s your knowledge that you’re sharing with us.”
I stare at the map I’ve drawn. Even as bad as my attempts at cartography are…it’s still a detailed rendering of Hunter’s Hamlet—of home. It will be the home of forge maidens, hunters, tanners, farmers, cobblers, and humans standing against the vampir for years to come. I run my fingertips lightly, longingly, over the frame of the slate tablet.
