Raphael was doing something beyond cruel.

The newly made vampire would die.

This one would suffer.

Monsters.

“Break his neck now,” he ordered. “You won’t like it if I’m the one who takes my time, savoring his death.”

Tears streamed down her face as she lifted Crowley’s body. He was unconscious, but his lids flickered. Was he aware in this state?

Snap!

Janessa wailed.

The hatred that had fogged over me cleared with the sound of her screams. Suddenly, I didn’t feel any more righteous anger.

I just felt sick.

“Get out.” Raphael’s voice was low and deadly, then he lifted his chin to address the room. “Everyone, out.” He nudged the corpse, which was already decomposing to sand, with his foot. “And someone take this trash with them.”

I vomited.

Demos forced me out of the room with the rest of them and led me to a back chamber. I didn’t want to see Raphael in this state, but since I’d made a point of going, there was no way I could just leave now.

The room was directly behind the throne room, an office of some kind. Raphael walked in a moment after us. He looked wearier than I’d seen him, but he straightened when he saw me notice.

“I’m sorry you had to see that.” A brusque apology.

“Why?” The word made the bitter film of my sick coat my mouth once more. The taste seemed to coat my entire body.

He frowned. “I couldn’t allow that to go unpunished. Not when they tried to manipulate their king, and certainly not when the cost of that was abuse of a youngling.”

I shook my head, my arms crossed tight over my abdomen. The entire room stood between us. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t… I don’t even disagree, really. If what you say is true, then death is certainly deserved. But why give them hope? Why make her be the one to do it? Why draw it out into a spectacle?” My voice rose as I spoke until I was near shouting.

“Because this is what they understand.” Raphael didn’t shout back, but his voice boomed through the room. “This is what vampires learn from. This is what stops them from doing worse. I stop them, little viper. You might not like what that looks like, but it must be done.”

“This may seem brutal, but it’s not unusual for our culture,” Demos added. “We’re a bloody, brutal people. There’s no use pretending otherwise.”

I swallowed down another argument.

They were violent. Not just violent, but cruel, sadistic. Only controlled by someone stronger, crueler, as Raphael had shown.

“What did you come for?” Raphael asked. Then he turned to Demos. “Why did you bring her?”

Demos shrugged. Unlike me, to him, the execution was just another day. “She said it was important. For that translation she’s doing.”

The grimoire. The passage I’d finished translating.

This is the book of the necromancer. The witch who alone serves Anagenni, they who control all who have perished. Through the goddess’s will, the necromancer has dominion over bone and blood, soul and spirit. The undead bow to the necromancer. One witch is gifted to the world every two hundred years with Anagenni’s blessing. They alone can right the balance.

The undead bow to the necromancer.

Vampires. The necromancer, if they were real, could control vampires. The one creature that might be able to control them, and the grimoire was the key to their power.

Raphael had to suspect. But if I confirmed it, he might destroy the book.

“I…” I thought as fast as I could—the one strength I had over vampires was I could lie. I needed one Demos wouldn’t call me on. I couldn’t deny I’d come about the translation. “I decided to work from the back since I was having trouble at the front, and I found a spell I thought might be interesting.” The best lies were rooted in truth. When struggling with the first passage, I had worked on a few of the spells. “It called for some ingredients, and I thought if we collected them, Amalthea could try to use it. Maybe the magical trace would help her find whoever it belongs to.”

It wouldn’t work, of course. The grimoire wasn’t a simple cookbook anyone could take a page from.

Raphael gave me a long look, as if trying to understand why I’d propose such a stupid idea.

A drop of sweat slid from the back of my neck down my spine.

“Amalthea can’t use the grimoire, unfortunately,” Raphael said.

Demos sighed. “I could have guessed as much. You should have told me that was your important news. I’d have saved you this headache, and you could have trained.”

I resisted the urge to wipe the perspiration from my brow. “My apologies. I’ll keep at it.”

But I wasn’t sorry I missed training.

I wasn’t sorry I’d seen this.

OceanofPDF.com

Chapter Forty-One

I had avoided the alcove ever since Titus found me there. I missed the music, but a naïve part of me hoped that if I simply didn’t encounter the spymaster again, he’d ignore me. He’d rightfully pointed out that if I told Raphael or anybody who he was, that would open more questions about how I knew, and those weren’t questions I could afford to answer.

And now that I’d decided not to tell Raphael about the grimoire passage I’d translated, I was keeping even more secrets.

So, yes, I was naïve to think Titus would simply leave me be. And perhaps a little bit stupid.

Amalthea had offered—more like insisted—we go out to the second level and visit some of her favorite shops. She had offered to meet me at my rooms, but I offered to meet her closer to the tunnel that led to the lower level so she wouldn’t need to trek all the way from court to my chambers.

“Waiting for someone?”

I swung around, expecting to see Titus. Instead, the only thing I saw was an empty hallway.

“You’re a hard woman to get to these days, Samara Koisemi.”

Titus’s voice came from my left this time. Still, nothing. Disguise magic, then. The most potent disguise magic would allow the caster to become entirely invisible. As the king’s spymaster, Titus would have access to all the best cards.

Titus was a witch. Likely a powerful one— could have risen to power in the Storm-blooded King’s court. But what kind of magic he had, I couldn’t be sure. Likely not disguise magic, since otherwise he would have used it more liberally. Not knowing a witch’s magic was dangerous, especially when that witch was threatening you.

“Amalthea will be here any minute,” I said. “You should go. I have nothing to say to you, except I’m not a threat to your mission.” Whatever it was.

“Oh, Samara. And here I thought you’d be interested in hearing the king’s offer to pardon you.”

I was unable to stop myself from flinching at his words. “What?”

“Oh, did that get your attention?” Titus said coyly. “Home, Samara. Pardoned, with enough money to start your own household in Ulryne. You could go home.”

He was suddenly very, very close. I couldn’t see him, but I could smell his breath. I wrinkled my nose.

“Why would the king do that?” He’d been the one who sentenced me as a child.

“Yes, what could make up for treason on two counts? What service could you give the Crown that would let His Majesty overlook the fact you helped a vampire break out of Greymere?”

I could give Titus the Black Grimoire. I’d have to escape after, but giving Titus that tool could be enough to earn a pardon.

It would be a betrayal, however. And as much as Titus might technically serve the Crown, I didn’t trust him. Not with that.

The pardon though? There was a very strong possibility it was a real offer. A tempting one.

“Righting that wrong would be a start,” Titus finally said when it became clear I wouldn’t answer. “Destroying the scourge of our kingdom. You’d be hailed as a hero, Koisemi. Your family name would be known for centuries for your bravery. You wouldn’t just be pardoned, you’d be welcomed in court.”