The Shattered Circle

11. The Gift of Revenge

Naltheme's colorless lips curved into a faint smile as she raised her glass of firewine, the ruby liquid still swirling slightly from the way she had turned it to catch the smell. "I cannot wait until Teth sees you. It will be a rare treat to see her envious for once."

I shrugged, as relaxed as I could be with the reek of blood in the air. Even in the entrance hall, the copper tang was omnipresent. "Envy is Teth's natural state of being."

"I suppose." Naltheme's smile widened into something approaching a grin at the sound of a door opening, a rare display of amusement from the normally emotion-sapped dark apprentice. "Lady Teth, how kind of you to grace us with your presence."

The vampire stalked over. Her smile was sharp and frozen as she looked me over, the barest suggestion of her fangs visible. "You simply must tell me your tailor's name, Aleyr. That dress is...incomparable."

I ran my fingers over the painted silk, tracing along the wyrm's fire as it spilled down my sleeve in silver detail. "Quite a compliment from our resident mistress of fashion." Wisdom with Teth was not to grate against her vanity. As much as Naltheme would enjoy goading her, the vampire was a significant danger, particularly with Hallen's elite units under her command. Much like with the fangwardens, a tipping of power or vengeful strike could damage the Eternal Kingdom.

Such a precarious balance.

Teth's smile broadened, showing her wicked canines in their full threatening glory. "And how diplomatic of the Frostborn."

Tension tightened in the air no matter how relaxed everyone seemed. It was indescribable, Teth's displeasure, more felt than heard or seen. "I have my moments," I said simply. "Shall we enter? It smells as though celebrations have already begun."

"And a wonderful surprise we have for you, Aleyr." Teth's dark eyes flashed with some joy a normal person would have shuddered at, as she gestured to the door to the dining hall.

Naltheme glanced at me, tipping one graceful eyebrow into a questioning posture. I knew what she was asking me: are we safe?

This time, my tone was considerably blander. "You know how I enjoy surprises."

"There is no ambush, Aleyr. Relax, enjoy yourself. I know I intend to," Teth said, releasing some of the tension. She still glanced again at my dress, gaze tracing across the opalescent eye of the silken wyrm. "Come."

The grand dining hall of Lord Rhandiir's estate was a vision of opulence, with grand vaulted ceilings graced by glittering chandeliers and his own personal banners in crimson and white: a fanged skull in honor of the King in Black—and of course his own vampiric self—on a field of red. The tables that stretched along the length of the mammoth room were broad, covered in enough squirming victims to feed a thousand spawn when only a few hundred were present, most relegated to the far end from their sires.

Every plate was gold, where visible beneath the fresh, wet blood that spilled over the dishes and onto the crisp white tablecloth. Rhandiir sat in a gilded, high-backed mahogany throne, filling his goblet from the gushing throat of a young man. He moved with the precise, flawless manners of a gentleman until the moment he simply widened the rip, tearing the captive's head from his shoulders and depositing it onto a plate beside him.

Varys was an absolute mess to the left of Rhandiir, crimson smeared across alabaster skin and spattered on his white hair. He had no such pretension as his sire, preferring to drink straight from a warm throat or a pulsing wrist.

I knew better than to let my emotions show on my face, as much as my lip tried to curl in distaste.

Rhandiir grinned when he saw me. "Lady Aleyr, how wonderful of you to join us! I was half convinced that you would neglect such a public appearance and hide in your fortress of solitude."