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I send a prayer of gratitude to the gods. For the letter from Blaire and for this… book. An actual confirmation that she is alive.
Trust me, Rhianelle. I have a plan.
And she always does…
When I was abandoned and alone in Astefar, she was there for me.
I miss the gleam of mischief in her eyes, her string of curses when she’s mad. My mind swirls to the moment I first met her in the forbidden forest.
I was so hungry. The starvation was enough to lure me to one of the temples of Arawynn near the forest. Dozens of poor children had lined up for their rations at the monastery.
My eyes had fallen immediately on the girl with dirty blonde hair clad in a light brown rag. Her face was smudged with dirt but she has a fishtail braid just like my sister. I instantly wanted to be her friend. But I was hungry. Survival came first. The girl left her ration carelessly near the shrubs.
So I stole her bread.
If I kept running, I might just make it. I knew if I entered the woods the girl would not follow me. No one would dare venture on the outskirts of Astefar, let alone the dark forest itself.
I dared a glance over my shoulder. The girl was still chasing me like a mad hound.
My legs failed me and I fell down to the ground. The girl beat me over and over. All I could do was cover my head. I didn’t cry. I knew that stealing is wrong.
It was only when she started leaving with the bread that the tears begun falling from my eyes. The girl stopped halfway. She placed half of her loaf on the boulder before leaving.
Blaire was skinny and malnourished herself. But she continued giving me half her ration every day until the temple lost its benefactor.
I miss her.
I lost a sister once, I’m not going to lose another one.
Trust me, Rhianelle. I have a plan.
Yes, I trust her. I wipe the fresh tears streaming down my cheeks to walk back to my room as promised.
The thought of seeing Svenn again evokes a strange sensation in my chest. We barely had a meaningful conversation this past week, but it still feels nice to have someone to return to.
I take a shorter path to the courtyard through Lord Wesley’s orchard. There is something about the air that makes me shudder despite the thick wool. My instinct sharpens to the presence behind the trees.
I know the lord promised his compound to be safe, but you can never be too careful. I sneak silently and hide behind the bushes.
Air stalls in my lungs the moment I see the figure sitting on the boulder, basking underneath the sun. Svenn is more beautiful than any words can describe.
I study every inch of his striking features as he settles there as still as a marbled statue, his face solemn and captivating. He is every forbidden fantasy come to life, an enchanting masterpiece.
Nightwalkers turn to ashes in daylight, but Svenn is a Strigon, the True Sire of all vampire kind.
He looks more devastating than usual, clad in the dark suit Lady Deirdre tailored for him. It fit his chiseled features perfectly.
I touch my chest.Calm down, heart.
I’m not stalking him or anything. I’m trying to see if he’s responsible for the killings. Ninety-eight dead bodies are no small number. I know it in my heart that it’s not him, but I still need to prove it to the others.
I chew my lower lip as I watch him.
Specks of light baste him from the thinning clouds. He raises his hand to the sky like he’s trying to reach for the sun. There’s a deep longing in his eyes, a yearning for something he can never have. Seeing this vulnerable side of him stirs a deep emotion in my heart, a place he shouldn’t have access to.
That night was a mistake. I will never touch you that way ever again.
Svenn has made it perfectly clear that I am a stain in his life. I remember the malice and contempt in his face when he sees the Rhunhraefn etched on my skin.
