He obeyed, each movement slow and stiff. So painfully different than his typical grace. He kneeled at the edge of the bed and leaned against it, his arms crossed over the bedspread.

I sat behind him. Up close, the wounds looked even worse.

I let out a hiss through my teeth. How could I even begin to close these?

“That sounds promising,” Raihn said.

“I just—I’m sorry for what I’m about to do to you.”

“I’m glad your bedside manner is about as delicate as I would have expected.”

I didn’t even crack a smile.

I rummaged through the medical box. Mische had everything in here—disinfectants, needles, string, bandages, even little splints. I pulled out the disinfectant and hoped that it was magically enhanced in some way.

“You want a warning?” I asked.

“Probably not—FUCK.”

His hands clenched the bedspread as I poured the disinfectant over his back.

“I figured you were least expecting it then.”

“You figured right,” he grunted.

I strung the needle, eyeing his wounds. I felt like I was preparing for a whole other trial.

Trials. The thought of the word made my chest clench. Vampires healed much, much faster than humans. But… fuck, how could he compete like this?

“You’ve got to talk to me through this,” Raihn said. “A whole conversation. Then you’ll be in as much pain as I am.”

I choked out a laugh at that, though I quickly tried to disguise it as a scoff.

“I have to stitch you up and talk to you?”

No warning, he’d said.

So I didn’t give him any as I began stitching.

His entire body tensed. The bedspread shifted as he clutched it tighter.

“You alright?” I asked.

“Define ‘alright.’”

“Alive.”

He scoffed. “Glad you have such high standards.”

I didn’t want to ask. But I had to, even though I already hated the answer I knew was coming. “What did they ask you?”

“Ask. You make it sound so polite—fff.” He hissed as I made another stitch. “They wanted to know what I knew about the attack.” His voice took on an exaggerated flat, hard edge, mimicking Jesmine’s. “Was I sympathetic to the Rishan cause? Did I know of the assailants? Had I ever summoned Nightborn demons before? Was I aware of an organized Rishan rebellion? Mostly, they wanted to know if I destroyed the fucking Moon Palace.”

Did you? I almost asked. Vincent’s words echoed in my ears. I had little reason to trust Raihn.

But I didn’t say it aloud. I didn’t because I already knew that the answer was no, and already knew I believed him. Even if Vincent thought I was a fool for it.

“You said you don’t think this was Rishan work.”

“No. I don’t.”

“Why?”

“The Rishan aren’t organized anymore. Your dear father has done a wonderful job whittling them down over the last few centuries. They couldn’t get their shit together enough to do this.”

They. Not we. But then, I hadn’t seen Raihn so much as speak to any of the other Rishan contestants here. Not that that was unusual. Vampires were territorial and unfriendly creatures. Hell, most of the Hiaj didn’t talk to each other, either.

“I told them that, too,” Raihn chuckled, then seized, fingers tightening again. “Didn’t seem to believe me.”

I eyed the wounds before me. No, they didn’t. They didn’t believe him for hours and hours and hours. They didn’t believe him, by my estimation, dozens and dozens of times.

I decided to give him good news, because he probably needed it. “The Ministaer accepted Mische’s withdrawal.”

“He what?” He tensed, as if his instinct was to whirl around to look at me and he had to stop himself.

“Nyaxia must have changed her mind.”

He let out a long, long sigh—so relieved he didn’t even flinch at the next stitch.

“You did this,” he said, finally.

I blinked. He thought better of me than I thought, for him to come to that conclusion so quickly. It was… touching.

“No,” I said. “Maybe they realized it just made the most sense.”

“You’re a terrible actress.” I could hear the smile in his voice. Warm enough to ease the sting in my right hand. Almost warm enough to make me forget the way the Ministaer’s lips felt against my skin.

“We can take her somewhere when the sun sets,” I said.

“I’ll figure something out. Hopefully she’ll still be too groggy to argue.”

Three more stitches. I had to pause to wipe my hands with Raihn’s discarded shirt, leaving smears of red-black on the few clean patches left.

Raihn said softly, as if he didn’t mean to speak, “I haven’t seen her like this in a very, very long time.”

“Her wounds are already starting to heal.”

“I’m not worried about those. It’s…”

He trailed off. In the silence, Mische’s agonized words echoed in my head.

He left me. I called and called and he wouldn’t come.

Only now did it occur to me that she hadn’t been talking about Raihn.

“Do you know what she was trying to do, when we found her?” he said, voice full of quiet wrath. “She was trying to call upon Atroxus. Her magic failed her and she couldn’t get it back. She was there with those demons and that fucking Nightfire begging her god for help. If she died there, the last thing she heard would have been his silence.”

His fingers tightened around the fabric as I made another stitch.

“I told her it would happen. It hurt her every time she used that magic. And I told her, I fucking told her, that one day he would stop answering. That the God of the Sun wouldn’t keep allowing one of Nyaxia’s children”—he spat the term in disgust—“to draw upon his power. But she just…”

The burns on Mische’s arms. Years’ and years’ worth. Suddenly so much made sad, morbid sense.

“How was she ever able to do it?” I asked. “Wield that magic?”

“She was a priestess. Before. When she was human.”

My brows leapt. “A priestess of Atroxus?”

“Mhm. In Pachnai. Came here for some kind of missionary work. Isn’t that something?” A short laugh, cut off with a wince. “Missionaries coming to preach to fucking vampires. And that’s when it happened. Whoever Turned her just left her there to die. Probably figured he had a nice little eternal slave if she lived, and at least got a decent meal out of it if she didn’t. Decided she was too much trouble when she got sick and left. She didn’t even know what he was doing to her.”

I had long ago grown accustomed to the careless cruelty of the vampires. But it still sickened me to imagine what Mische, a foreigner barely older than a teenager, must have gone through.

I thought again of the Ministaer’s mouth on my skin, just hours ago. Thought of a kiss on my throat, and teeth, and pain—then jerked back to reality when Raihn cursed because I jabbed him a little too hard.

“Sorry.” I steadied my hand. “Who? Who was it?”

“I wish I fucking knew. I don’t even know what House she is. She won’t tell me. If I found out…”

He let out a low breath that made all sorts of wordless promises.

Fuck, I’d help.

“The thing that kills me,” Raihn said, “is that the bastard didn’t even know or care that he was taking literally everything from her. Didn’t even give enough of a shit to drag her to civilization before leaving her to die. And now…”

And now the final vestige of her humanity was gone.

“They don’t care,” I said softly. “They never care.”

“No. They never fucking care. And sometimes—” He tensed. Maybe because of the stitch. Maybe not. “Sometimes I’m ashamed to call myself one of them.”

I don’t want to watch you become one of them, Ilana had said to me.

And until now—until this exact moment—I hadn’t even thought about it as giving something up. Not until I heard the ache in Raihn’s voice that had nothing to do with the wounds on his back.

“What was it like?” I asked. “Turning?”