Blood & Shadows

Twenty-Three

Looking at Vrythien, I see a shade of myself in Razeth's care. As I stare down at him it's as though I'm gazing into a reverse looking glass. All those times he brought in a girl from Outercity pleasure houses to beat me flash through my mind. Only It's so much worse. I'm not a stranger staring down at some tortured unknown.

The shadows grow thick, and greedy tendrils swirl outward, dancing on the air like smoke from shoddy tallow candles. That cold, empty place deep inside of me opens up as I turn my attention to Ezrath.

"Don't," Vrythien half chokes on the near-silent word, his voice breaking thick with sorrow. This is the other half of him, the part he hates others knowing exists. That dark blood is smeared around his mouth and he no longer holds that carefully curated countenance.

"How dare you presume to order your betters, boy," Ezrath snarls. Immediately, Vrythien cowers back from Ezrath's tone alone, pressing himself further against the floor. He lowers his forehead into the smear of foul blood so that he's doubled over, an act of prostration. "As you can see, he's no longer in the coffin. Take Trysten and go before I lose this rare moment of goodwill. Perfect as you are, you're beginning to try my patience. He. Is. Mine. Your shadows can protest all they wish. Now run along, I believe you have a spell to cast?"

It takes considerable effort to leave and pull back that hungry power. Ezrath stays behind, and as I leave, Vrythien's screams and deep sobs echo behind me, rending my heart. Once back in Ezrath's room, I open a portal and take Trysten with me back to the estate to my room, where I wish to hide for the rest of my natural days.

Trystan sobs on the marble floor as I pick up a pillow from my bed, place it over my face, and scream into the down.

I can't save Vrythien.

Ezrath is a terrible power. My father only had respect for the terribly powerful, and he had a great deal for the vampire. Once my throat aches so much, I can hardly breathe, I throw the pillow away and pull the coverlet off the bed, and lay it over Trysten. He's bleeding but he'll heal. The beauty of elven anatomy.

"He bought me..." Trysten chokes out.

"Yes, but you're mine now." Oh, it sounds so right and so very wrong coming from my lips. "You can either leave or become a footman or something."

He shakes his head, holding the cover to his pale chest, hiding his nakedness and the ruined flesh of his back.

"I've only ever been a courtesan."

"And? I was the heir to two of the grandest houses in Saelis's Watch, and Razeth kept me a prisoner for a decade. Things change, but whatever you need, my house will provide." I dip my head slightly and begin walking for the door.

"You're leaving?"

"Yes. The moment I stop moving forward is the moment I fall apart."

Foregoing the trappings of my station as a sorceress and Lady of a noble house, I dress in a simple black heavy velvet gown and a fine black cloak with black wolf fur edging it. I walk through the city for no other reason than trying to outpace the pain of hearing Vrythien's screams and the heart-aching helplessness of knowing there's nothing I can do to stop his pain. I'm powerful, but Ezrath is a Vampire High-Lord. He could break my fingers and my jaw before the thought to use my powers fully formed in my mind.

Before long, I find myself at the temple of Cerys. There's a statue of the sun maiden just inside of the gates with a shining golden crown of sunlight. Priestesses mill about in their heavy winter garb, shapeless dove gray and cream masses that scuttle about aimlessly like a gaggle of geese. None so much as look in my direction as I make my way through the pale cream granite halls. Each and every footstep echoes as I make my way to the inner sanctum where the High-Priestess is likely to reside.