A hand squeezed my heart painfully as I watched him smile and turn aside from one of them, his expression carefully neutral, his black-and-gold eyes guarded.

It was strange how they could be repulsed by him so deeply, and yet so intensely relieved that they would keep him as their overlord. It made me wonder exactly what Bane had been like during the war… what he had done to earn such trust.

I was also bothered that my presence had been anticipated, and yet none of them seemed to want to speak to me, despite my presence in the room. If any further confirmation was needed that I was simply a figurehead to fulfill a role, this was it. But why had Wyn kept me from them?

I motioned to Visca, a tentative movement that I cut off abruptly. I had left my journal in my chambers; with a glass in hand, I didn’t have it in me to mime my questions. I needed to begin carrying at least a few scraps of paper with me, or find a new slate, until they understood the basic gist of what I was saying.

But Visca saw my gesture, and tilted her head. “Let’s make a mess, what do you say?”

And I was left with the option of either hovering around the pillar alone, or following her to the far side of the room, where a long table had been pushed against the wall and piled with platters of cakes and tidbits, and servants were keeping the wine and blood flowing.

Visca pushed a platter aside, leaving an expanse of bare, polished wood, and gestured to one of the servants. “Let’s get a bowl of sugar over here, right quick.”

The human woman blinked at her, opened her mouth, then snapped it shut and scurried away. Five minutes later, we had a large bowl of sugar, which Visca dumped on the table unceremoniously.

“And there we go. I don’t suppose you can write in Nord, can you? I was never much for reading Veladari, but I’ll give it a shot.”

With a wide smile, I put my empty glass aside and smoothed the sugar over the glossy table, making a clean slate for myself, and used my fingertip to inscribe the harsh, geometric figures of Low-Country Nord: You were born in Nordrin, weren’t you?

Her request wasn’t surprising; her thick, curling crow-black hair and sky blue eyes gave away her heritage, vampiric perfection or no.

Visca watched me write in her native language, her own smile broadening. “I was, yes. Pure Nord, here. Your lord himself is half Nord, half Veladari, we think. A bit of a mongrel, at any rate.”

I smoothed my hand over the sugar, wiping the question away, excitement humming through my veins at finally being able to have an actual back-and-forth conversation. I had so many questions…

What did Wyn mean? Why keep me from the other people before we were wed?

I had to spell Wyn’s name phonetically, inscribing my runes carefully.

“Oh, there’s a couple of very long stories about that.” Visca arched a black brow. “But we’ll condense it: lots of screaming and fighting. Two of the girls tried to escape before the vows, and one was aided by several rather misguided members of the human nobility who thought they would prevent the wedding and keep Owlhorn in human hands. The silly fools went and got themselves executed for treason, and the girl ended up right back where she started. Wyn’s tactics might not be very kind, but we decided it was best to avoid all the noise and fuss this close to the deadline.”

I couldn’t fathom trying to escape. The security of our country relied entirely upon having vampiric allies at the ready, the Four Lords battle-hardened beasts who would fight to the last breath to keep the Forians outside our borders. Even if I had begged the maids or human soldiers for help with such a thing, I had a feeling I would’ve ended up before that bloody fountain in chains, if that’s what it took.

I doubt the Rift-kin would allow me to escape. They seem quite relieved to have Bane as their ruler.

“Indeed. But then, you’ve got to remember, most of the soldiers in this valley were right there with him on the front lines. He didn’t come in and claim Ravenscry, sight unseen; he earned their trust and loyalty over many long, hard years.”

He must be a vicious warrior, I wrote. Did the other lords not do the same? To earn the peoples’ trust?

Visca laughed, soft and low. “They were there too, but much of the Rift was the battlefield. The other keeps sent armies, but Bane was the only one who was in his home setting, from start to finish, rebuilding the homes of his people and ensuring the supply lines to the villages weren’t cut off. Lord Andrus did earn quite a bit of respect, I’ll say; the Vale is the Rift’s closest ally, and more of their soldiers came north. But Voryan, now Lord of the Moor, had to scrape up the soldiers from Wolfspaw’s holdings, and Wroth was fighting a battle on two fronts: both the humans of Owlhorn, and the Forians in the Rift.”

I watched her as she spoke, catching the flickers of irritation in her eyes.

It seems it was a thankless task for them. 

She shrugged, but there was a stiffness to the motion that belied her casual words. “Yes. But we’re not unaware of our history; we knew that to walk under the sun again, we would be fighting tooth and nail. The Forians provided us with the opportunity to prove ourselves reformed from the Red Epoch, and we believe we’ve done so, quite admirably; each Lord has been vigilant about ensuring the new laws are upheld. Humans need not fear us when we can make powerful allies.”

I considered this as I smoothed the sugar, and watched the Rift’s courtiers sidelong; plates of cake were being demolished, and Bane was listening to two human men, their velvet campaign coats decorated with medals, with what seemed to me to be long-suffering patience. I caught the flash of amber as his eyes flicked towards us, again and again, longing in them.

I hesitated before writing out my next question, wondering if it was a cruel thing to ask.

What was it like underground? In the depths?

Visca’s smile froze a little as she read it. “A blighted nightmare hellscape I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy. The Fae left cities under there, you see. Mostly ruins now. Sometimes other things that didn’t have the courtesy to die when they should’ve. When our people were driven under, we learned that the wolves were not the only predators in the world, much to our dismay. Most of the elders died in those early years to the things the Fae left behind. There’s not a vampire alive now that actually lived in the time of the Red Epoch. We lost a lot of our history, our customs, our own knowledge, thanks to Daromir’s utter cock-up of her reign. Most of that wedding ceremony is cobbled together from old memories and hand-me-down tales.”

I wiped the question away and paused over the blank sugar, considering. There was so much to learn, but from the shadow in Visca’s eyes as she spoke of the five-hundred-year exile to the underground, it was a painful topic for many of the vampires.

How did you find Bane, then?

“On a hunting excursion,” she said with a snort. “I left the Below to replenish our, ah… food supply, and went hunting in southern Nordrin hoping for some fat sheep. I found our lad instead, bleeding out of his guts and on his last breath. He went down like a hero to kill a warg, and he came back as one, too.”

I watched Bane shuffle among the guests, a giant among men. He towered head and shoulders over them, those long, wide ears moving independently to catch every hint of sound—and one of them was swiveled directly towards us.

I smiled. Bane, eavesdropping. Visca followed my line of sight and grinned. “Although I could tell you some embarrassing stories. Not everyone is graceful when they first rise.”

He glanced over his shoulder, ridged brows drawn together in annoyance.

“Would you believe he came from farming stock?” she asked. “The hero of the holds, a farmer. What a waste that would’ve been.”