Page 82
“Well, that explains how sickly he looked,” Blake remarked. “The black veins Kage saw, right?”
“Right,” I said excitedly, still skimming. “Nyxaris damaged his wing that night, and he recorded the injury. Severe tearing to the base of the right wing. Significant damage caused by the Avari dog.”
Blake snorted. “I guess that’s Kage.”
I flipped through the next few pages. “He’s been tracking his wounds obsessively. Like he’s afraid of what they mean.”
“So he’s not invincible,” Blake murmured. “Thank the Blood-maiden.”
“The Bloodmaiden,” I repeated. I frowned. “He thinks she’s connected to the Veil.”
“What?”
“There are notes here, about the Veil,” I said, my heart rate increasing. “He wants the Veil brought down. He’s been working with Marcus and Catherine.”
Blake was frowning. “How? The Bonewood is on the other side of Sangratha.”
“I don’t know, but clearly they have some way of communicating. This doesn’t make any sense.”
“Power over other worlds without dragons? Of course it does.”
“But he also thinks what they’re doing to the Veil is … damaging him somehow. Hurting his ability to shift even more.”
“The black veins? Is the Veil feeding that corruption, just like we see in infected highbloods?”
“That’s his theory, too,” I said, reading faster. I flipped to the next page. “Shit.”
“What is it?”
“This is just a record of experiments he conducted on prisoners. He was trying to analyze the source of the plague.” I read on in case there was something useful. “He believes the plague was caused by the Veil. It doesn’t follow a normal pattern of infection. It comes in waves, and there are random occurrences that can’t be traced back to a bite or anything like that. He thinks it’s magic-based, not biological.”
“Didn’t you say Florence theorized the same thing?”
“She did,” I said absent-mindedly. I put down the stack of papers and picked up something new, a worn notebook encased in leather.
“I found a journal of Viktor’s once in the Black Keep,” Blake commented. “The old bastard must have notes and files all over the place.”
“Guess that makes sense when he’s been alive hundreds of years,” I murmured. “Lots of time to make notes.”
“Pendragon, you get what this means, right?” Blake spoke with reluctance.
I looked up at him.
“Viktor didn’t take Florence because he’s strong,” he said quietly. “He took her because he’s weak—and desperate. He thinks he’s running out of time.” Blake hesitated, like there were words on the tip of his tongue but he didn’t want to say them out loud.
“He wants to soul-bind her and use her body. I know.” Saying the words was excruciating. “But these notes …” I looked at the pile. “He’s meticulous. He’s methodical. He believes in experimentation. He’s a scientist.” I hated to think Florence and Viktor had something in common. I wanted to dismiss Viktor as simply a madman. He was certainly a lover of pain and brutality. But despite how insane his plans might seem to us, there was at least some logic and method to them. “He won’t move too quickly, because if he fucks something up it could cost him his life. And we know he values that more than anything.” Blake nodded. I took a deep breath. “So we might have some time.” I closed my eyes.
“You mean,” Blake said slowly, “time while Viktor is … experimenting on Florence?”
I clenched my jaw. “And probably torturing her. Basically, yes.”
Blake ran his fingers through his hair. “Fuuuck.”
“We’re leaving here as soon as I have an idea of where we should go,” I said distractedly. “I think this is a journal. You should get some sleep.”
“I think that’s easier said than done.” But he closed his eyes and leaned back in the chair, stretching his long legs out. “Whose journal?”
“Not sure yet. Probably Viktor’s,” I mumbled. But the handwriting was different. I flipped through, checking some of the dates. They went back about fifteen years. I started reading.
