“Look at her.” He thrust his free hand towards Mische, listless in the bed within. “She can’t fucking compete. And the Ministaer rejected her withdrawal?”

My stomach dropped.

That was a death sentence. We couldn’t even move Mische up the stairs, let alone drag her into the ring. And right before the Halfmoon trial, when half the contestants would be killed? She wouldn’t survive.

“Nyaxia rejected her withdrawal,” Jesmine corrected.

“Fuck Nyaxia.”

Several of the guards drew in disapproving gasps at this statement.

But this had nothing to do with Nyaxia, and we all knew it. Mische’s withdrawal had been rejected because of her friendship with Raihn. With no clear House association of her own, she might as well be Rishan.

Jesmine’s patience was wearing thin. “If you have concerns, you can bring them up with the Ministaer. Now, let’s go.”

Two of the guards took Raihn’s arms, and it looked like he was considering fighting before he finally conceded. I watched him go, mouth dry.

Jesmine offered me the other parchment. “This one is for you. From Vincent.”

I took it. It held only three words written in perfect script:

Tonight. Before dawn.

I glanced up at Raihn. He looked back over his shoulder only once, and the sheer hopelessness on his face shocked me.

For Mische. That was for Mische.

“He’s handsome.” Jesmine’s eyes followed mine. “You could do worse. Better if they aren’t a rebel, though. Just causes all sorts of trouble.”

That’s not what he is, I wanted to snap. Instead, I asked, “You’ve confirmed the Rishan were responsible?”

“Yes.”

I waited for more, and she gave a low laugh. “How much detail do you really want, Oraya? Aren’t you more familiar than most what they’re capable of? I know you must not remember much of what it was like in their territory, but you want to go there once the trials are over, don’t you? Well, here is your chance. Easier than ever for you to slaughter the bastards without Nyaxia looking at you sideways for it.”

My jaw tightened. Why did it bother me that she knew those things, about my past, my goals for the future? Why did it bother me that Vincent had told her all of that?

“I’m serious, Oraya.” Her voice lowered. “Be careful with him. He’s pretty, but he’s still a Rishan.”

I wanted to laugh in her face. As if I didn’t know better than anyone exactly how wary I had to be around pretty vampire men. No, I didn’t trust Raihn. I didn’t even know if I especially liked him—Really? a voice whispered in the back of my head, at this thought—but I knew he didn’t do this. I knew it with unshakable certainty for one reason, and one reason alone: Mische.

I saw the devastation on his face when we found her. That was love. No one could fake that.

I bit my tongue as Jesmine sauntered off and slipped Vincent’s parchment into my pocket.

I remained at Mische’s bedside until it was time to meet with Vincent. She hadn’t spoken since we dragged her out of the apartment, though her lashes shuddered as if with constant dreams. Her skin was burning hot—especially bad news for vampires, who were usually resistant to infection. I stood over her and dabbed at her with a cold washcloth, washing seeping pus from her wounds. I pulled up her sleeves and frowned at what I saw beneath them. The fresh Nightfire burns clustered around her wrists and hands, which had been exposed that night. But the smooth brown skin of her arms was dotted, too, with old burn scars—countless, all layered over each other. Some were clearly very old, and others much fresher, though not from the attack.

How could she have gotten these?

A mumbled whimper interrupted the thought. Mische stirred, her fingers shaking. I lowered her arm and leaned closer to her. She couldn’t even move her head, and her eyes twitched, like she was trying to open them and failing.

It affected me more than I would have expected it to—seeing her this way. Before, Mische had flitted about like a butterfly, and now someone had ripped her wings off and left her here to wither.

You’ve known her for a month and a half, Vincent’s voice reminded me. And she would have killed you in that ring the moment the Halfmoon was over.

True. And true.

Still.

“What is it, Mische?” I asked softly. “What?”

With great effort, she rolled her head over, revealing her face. Bruises darkened the hollows of her eyes and the corners of her lips with mottled black.

“He didn’t come,” she moaned. “He didn’t answer me.”

Raihn. A strange, unexpected pain twinged in my heart. If he knew that she had awoken and he wasn’t there…

“Raihn is coming back. Soon.”

I hoped.

Her eyelids fluttered, the cracked corner of her mouth tightening in an almost-smile. “Raihn? I know. Raihn always comes back.”

The smile collapsed. A tear streaked her cheek. “I called and called,” she whimpered. “I called and called but he wouldn’t answer. He’s left me.”

“He’s coming back,” I said again, but she just kept weeping, faster and harder until she couldn’t speak—until she couldn’t even breathe.

I hurried to our packs, stacked in the corner of the room, and rummaged through them. The medical bag was well stocked, but not with anything strong enough to help her. Then my gaze fell to my pack. I dropped Mische’s bag, went to mine, and withdrew the last potion I had left. It was mostly empty. Not much remained. It wouldn’t be enough to heal Mische—not even close—but it would keep her alive through the night, and it would sedate her.

Still, I hesitated. This medicine was one of the few that could help me, as a human. I hadn’t healed my own burns yet. And the Halfmoon trial was right around the corner.

Mische let out another agonized sob. The sound cut through me, slicing the last of my restraint.

I couldn’t listen to her like that. I couldn’t.

I returned to her, tilted her head back, and poured in the final drops of the medicine. And I didn’t leave her side as her tear-streaked face smoothed and she fell into sleep, heavy and dreamless as a child’s.

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

I had never seen Vincent like this.

He was waiting for me when I arrived. Even in the shadows, the red on his wings painted his silhouette in crimson. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing his Heir Mark. The wisps of smoke that unfurled from delicate red ink lines pulsed with his heartbeat.

It was unusual for Vincent to leave his wings and his Mark visible, but those things, intimidating as they were, were not what made my stomach clench when I saw him.

Vincent was always calm—cruel when he needed to be, yes, but always elegantly restrained. Now, one look at his face, and I saw a foreign version of him, one that let rage simmer right at the surface of his skin. Normally, his temper was a smooth black sea, a tranquil surface hiding the horrors that lurked far beneath. Now, it shivered with building waves and circling fins.

I had never seen anything but safety when I looked at Vincent. But tonight, something in me recoiled at the sight of him—as if the eight-year-old version of myself insisted, It looks just like your father, but it isn’t him.

Then he turned to me, and his eyes softened, and when his shoulders relaxed with a long breath of relief, mine did too.

No one who looked at me like that could be anything less than my father. And Goddess, I was relieved to see him.

He looked me up and down. “You’re unhurt?”

I nodded.

“You avoided the worst of the attack?”

I caught the truth in my teeth. Sure did, because I was off killing vampires in the human districts with my Rishan partner! That would go over well.