Oathbreaker: A Dark Fantasy Web Serial-Chapter 18Arc 8: : Patron

Olliard’s false sun faded to a mere ember above the woods by the time we found our destination.

It appeared seemingly from nowhere, the inn. We moved for more than hour over the rough woodland road, and just as our protection began to dim we came upon a crossroads. At that crossroads lay a rotten post, the signage on it worn and unreadable, and above it rose a shallow hill. Crowning that hill at the split in our path was a building with three stories, innocuous in every way save for its size and location, inviting lights shining through its many windows.

“There wasn’t an inn here,” Olliard exclaimed as our group pulled to a stop. “I came this way earlier today, and it was just the trail for miles longer.”

“I called it,” I said, drawing a sharp look from the vampire hunter.

“Called it?” He asked.

“I’m one of its patrons.” Though I put on a knowing manner, the speed of the inn’s appearance did surprise me. The Keeper must want to see me, I thought.

“Wait…” Olliard visibly went on guard, his expression hardening. “Is this…”

“The Backroad Inn,” I confirmed.

By his reaction, the doctor had clearly heard of it. Carus blinked at us, and I guessed by his blank expression he wasn’t privy to why a shadow passed over his master’s face. The rest of the group stared at the inn on the hill with trepidation. They knew what this place was.

I walked my mare forward and used her to block the path as I spoke to the doctor. “We should be fine as long as you’re with me and you follow the rules. Evangeline shouldn’t follow us here, and even if she does, the inn’s master won’t tolerate any violence inside his threshold.”

The lake-colored eyes behind the man’s glasses narrowed. “I’ve been trying to track the Backroad Inn down for decades. I knew there was some kind of refuge for the nightborn, from evidence and rumor, but I’d begun to doubt some of the stories… So it is real, after all.”

I didn’t much like the calculating expression the doctor wore. “You’re a hunter,” I said bluntly. “And this is a sanctuary for the beings you hunt. Can I expect you to behave yourself? I don’t need trouble.”

His reply came smoothly. “I’m no fool, Alken, and not suicidal. I do wonder if they’ll even allow the likes of me inside, though.”

“The inn wouldn’t have appeared if the Keeper wasn’t willing to host you,” I told him. “You’ll have guest right, unless you do something stupid.”

Despite my warnings, it wasn’t like I could leave him outside. The inn’s surroundings were always haunted by predators, and those who remained outside its walls enjoyed no special protections. Besides, I had questions for the itinerant physiker.

I led the group up the path and into the inn’s front yard. There was space to park the cart, and posts to tie our chimera. The layout of the inn changed in subtle ways every time I saw it — the last time there’d been a full stable — but now it seemed slimmed down, even the main building looking older and more worn. Many of the windows were dark, yet strangely it was from those that I felt a sense of awareness, like the lit ones were only decorative, an exterior facade.

A man waited for us in front of the door. Burly, with a sleeveless vest despite the nighttime chill, he possessed thick black hair and a short beard. He lurked in the shadows where a lantern set before the entrance didn’t touch, his eyes glinting, yet he seemed ordinary as he stepped forward.

“Caleb,” I greeted the man. “Didn’t expect to see you guarding the door.”

Caleb Garou scratched at his stubbly cheek. “Took a job as a bouncer. Not the first time, won’t be the last. This is a big group with you, Hewer.”

“Is that a problem?” I asked without heat.

“Nah. Keep’s expecting you, but don’t dally. Lots of movement under the moon tonight, and he doesn’t want us planted long.”

I passed him some silver. “See to it nothing makes a meal of our beasts? But don’t go near my mare. She gets skittish.”

He palmed the silver, casting a bored look over our group that settled on the doctor. Caleb’s lips spread into a lazy smile. “Good to finally have you staying with us, Olliard of Kell. The inn extends its welcome.”

The doctor only showed his surprise in the stiffness of his nod. He’d left his crossbow with the cart, thankfully, though I suspected he hid other weapons beneath his coat.

We moved into a dimly lit but clean taproom. A bar stood near the back, winged by a set of stairs moving up to a gallery level. Round tables were set across the entire space, dimly illuminated by an ensemble of lanterns held in iron frames stylized as irks and devils. A fire crackled in a pit set in the middle of the room, its presence somehow evoking the centerpiece of some pagan ritual.

There weren’t many other guests. Certainly far fewer than I was accustomed to. Those who were present sulked in dark corridors, watching our entry with suspicious eyes peeking from concealing garments. The space seemed unwelcoming, cold despite the fire, the edges of the room lost in a vague patchwork of shadow. I passed by the fire pit, extending my fingers for the guardian spirit inside to take my scent. It did, though more lethargically than normal. The others shuffled through behind me, and it was immediately apparent that my group was the largest present.

Behind the bar stood a thin, handsome man I didn’t immediately recognize. He had dark hair streaked with gray, lean features, and attentive black eyes that took our group in with polite appraisal. He focused on me and spoke in a courteous voice tinged with an unfamiliar accent.

“Alken Hewer. I did not expect to see you again so soon.”

I studied the man, wondering where I’d seen him before and why his voice sounded familiar. It clicked quickly — it hadn’t been that long since I’d last seen him.

“Casimir,” I named the quiet bartender. “I didn’t recognize you.”

The man’s thin lips twitched into a smile, and for a moment his skin seemed to slough away like mist, revealing dry bone reinforced with patterns of silver beneath. The glamour reasserted itself quickly.

“My normal appearance tends to unsettle the uninitiated,” the wight said dryly.

Dead Casimir was one of the mercenaries from the Backroad who’d assisted me during my battle against the crowfriars in Osheim. While I hadn’t known him before he volunteered for that mission, his knowledge of the Lands of the Dead became indispensable when our company was forced to navigate its roads to escape Baille Os. Wights were old spirits, undead from Draubard who’d escaped their subterranean realm in defiance of its laws to walk amongst mortals again. Unlike dyghouls, who were simply souls stuck inside their own corpses, wights tended to be strange and unsettling, more like elves than men.

I liked Casimir. He was a quiet sort, but observant, and without him we might never have made it out of the Underworld.

“The Keep has you serving drinks for him?” I asked. Usually, the inn’s master was the one manning the bar.

“He has been distracted of late,” Casimir said. “And I do not mind it. There are always interesting sorts passing through the inn. He is expecting you in the back, by the way.”

I nodded and turned to the others, who waited awkwardly in front of the pit. Olliard seemed to be taking in the whole room with the same expression he might wear while studying a particularly grim cancer, maintaining his calm and deciding how best to deliver the news to his patient. His apprentice shadowed him. Carus kept his hands in his pockets, his gaunt face seemingly relaxed, though I noted his foot tapped sporadically.

My group stood slightly apart, and while they didn’t look exactly comfortable, they were more familiar with this place. The exception was Lisette, who hadn’t been inside the inn before to my knowledge. She kept close to Hendry and Penric, her fingers lacing and unlacing in a nervous rhythm.

“I need to talk to the Keeper,” I told them. “The rest of you should get a table and some food, reinforce yourselves while you have the chance.”

I caught Hendry’s eye, and he gave me a slight nod. He understood my intent. Watch Olliard, avoid trouble. Lisette had been acting strange ever since her former master showed up, Penric would be busy enough guarding the others from the inn itself, and Emma…

Something in her demeanor troubled me. Her anger earlier in the night seemed to have faded into an aloof disinterest. She hadn’t spoken to me, had barely acknowledged me. I would need to talk to her and sort things out soon. There just hadn’t been time since our reunion at Rosanna’s camp. Even during our journey to the Bannerlands, we’d traveled hard and rested little.

I moved behind the bar and into a hallway lined with innocuous doors. I’d been into this section before and remembered the way, finding the correct door quickly. I ignored the latch, fashioned into a monstrous snout with a suggestively extended tongue, and knocked. It opened after a moment to reveal the pale face of a brown-haired woman in her early thirties, freckled and tall, wearing a beige dress with a low cut.

She wore a stiff expression, almost angry, but when she saw me the woman flashed a smile that revealed distinctly long canines. “Alken! You’re early.”

“Eilidh,” I greeted her. I recalled her eyes being a soft green once, but their color was brighter now, more intense. “Why do I get the distinct impression that everyone knew I’d be here tonight except for me?”

“It’s my business to know when I’m needed,” a surly voice growled from within the room before the vampire could answer. Eilidh’s warm manner cooled and she ushered me in, quickly closing the door behind me. A large, comfortable sitting room waited for me, with a low table set with indulgences and ringed by couches and chairs. A heady smoke curled through the room, and the lighting was even dimmer than the main hall. There were more decorations fashioned in the likeness of capering devils.

Sitting on the far side of the table was a thin man in a white shirt and burgundy vest. He looked to be on the wrong side of forty, with a long neck and long hair receded into a gray skullet, rashy skin, and though his clothes looked tailored they hung loosely off his thin frame. One of his eyes was milky and blind, the other a flinty gray.

The woman seated by him, on the other hand, was in her prime and striking, with black hair and dusky skin, her athletic build displayed by a loose white dress lacking corset or bodice. She glanced at me with the pale yellow eyes of a wolf, her attention not so much welcoming as unsettling.

“Hewer,” Falstaff rasped.

The man never looked well, exactly, but he seemed particularly drawn as I approached, almost fatigued. He was smoking, and tapped some ash out on a tray as he greeted me. It wasn’t just him, Eilidh, and the woman in the white dress in the room. A younger man with a shaved head and a dark complexion sat in one of the seats, clad in heavier layers of rough clothing. The exposed skin of his hands showed complex tattoos, even up to the fingertips.

“Keeper,” I returned, then gave the black-haired woman a nod as well. “Madame.”

Saska flashed a thin smile at me, but said nothing. She was the Keeper’s business partner — and possibly his partner — and a very dangerous being I suspected to be an escapee from the Iron Hell. I knew to be wary of her, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t be polite. I’d once watched her brawl with an angel, and the angel got the worst of it.

The second man gave me a lazy wave, which I acknowledged. Sans was another of the inn’s regulars who’d journeyed with me through the Underworld. A necromancer, but otherwise human so far as I knew, which made him and me the only mortals in the room.

I considered thanking the Keeper for pulling us off the road so quickly, but decided it wasn’t worth it. Falstaff and I had an understanding, but we also despised one another. Our relationship was one of business, and we were both content with that.

I looked around at the small group gathered inside the private room. “This seems like some kind of conspiracy,” I noted. “What did I miss?”

“Before that,” Falstaff rasped as he took another pull on his smoke, “why don’t you start with why you brought a whole caravan into my inn. That hunter too. I’m not in the habit of letting his sort in, Hewer.”

“Not without making sure he doesn’t walk out again,” Sans muttered as he lifted a cup from the table and sipped. The Keeper threw him a withering look.

“I expected you wouldn’t have drawn me onto your road if you weren’t alright with it,” I said. “Besides, it’s not like he can find the place again if you don’t want him to.”

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Falstaff grunted as he tapped more ash out. “You’re responsible for him, and that’s all I’ll say on it. So what’s hunting you?”

The Keeper was an information broker, a master of secrets, but he wasn’t all knowing. Usually, I’d make him pay for such information, but he’d already earned his leverage simply by hosting me.

“Evangeline Ark,” I told him.

Sans froze with his cup still pressed to his lips. Saska furrowed her brow, and Eilidh shuffled behind me.

I allowed that to sink in as I took my own seat at the table, selecting from one of the drinks on offer and ignoring the Cymrinorean fumes. The Keeper’s half-blind gaze went distant as he did his calculations.

“I hear the Ark woman is practically a demon with the sword, and that she’s terrorized her countrymen into allowing her pretty ass in the Herald’s Throne.” The Keeper leaned back and laid an arm over Saska’s shoulders. “But I can’t see her making the Headsman scurry into a hole. She’s just not in that weight class.”

“Maybe a year ago,” I said after sipping some wine. The relief of wetting my throat after half a night of struggle and tension was a small heaven. “I did almost kill her tonight, but she’s got packs of her spawn hunting us and has the numbers to wear my group down.”

“They could track them here,” Sans told the Keeper.

“Won’t do them any good,” Falstaff said without apparent concern. To me he said, “What happened with the Knights Penitent won’t happen again. I’ve got better security now. And besides, newborn nosferatu are impulsive, they act more on instinct than tactic. The inn’s presence will make them shy.”

“He’s right,” Eilidh told me. “I went through that phase myself not long ago.”

“I’d agree with you,” I said, “but Evangeline is able to act through them. I’ll admit I don’t know much about vampires, but she seems inordinately strong.”

The Keeper frowned. “Elaborate.”

“She was able to talk through her spawn,” I told him. “Puppet them like second bodies.”

Sans leaned forward, his manner becoming more focused. “You’re sure?”

“They were like a hive mind,” I confirmed. “Acted in almost perfect coordination, even throwing their lives away for their mistress. I’d never seen anything quite like it.”

Everyone in the room traded looks. Sans looked disturbed

“Shouldn’t be possible,” the necromancer said bluntly. “Not for one that young.”

“Vampires become more powerful as they age,” Saska explained to me. She had a voice smooth as velvet, tinged with an accent I guessed to be continental but couldn’t place. “The most ancient of them can project their spirit through their creations as you’ve described, Ser Knight. These elder phages are like a living plague, difficult to destroy, their victims infected with the same darkness that has taken root within them…”

Behind me, Eilidh folded her arms as though cold.

“…But for this Evangeline,” Saska continued, “it should not be so. She is but an infant echo of this darkness, a bud of the power she might become.”

Something about her choice of words rung a bell in my memory. Bud. Another had used that same term once, to describe a friend of mine.

This was the second of several reasons I’d decided to make use of the Backroad Inn. The first was to elude our pursuers, but the second was because the nightborn ran the inn. Falstaff was a former crowfriar, a devil of Hell, and both his clientele and employees included vampire-kind.

I needed to understand my enemy. So I lanced my burn-scarred fingers together and asked, “I have some general knowledge about hemophages. I know they can vary, that not every strain is alike, but I need more knowledge. Anything you can tell me would help.”

Falstaff hummed. “Not really my area of expertise. Sans?”

The necromancer piped in readily. “You’re right that they’re not all alike. You have your typical nosferatu, like our Eilidh here. Most of the stories are about them. They abhor sunlight, are repelled by blessed silver, and sacred gold will burn them. They can’t enter the light of a campfire or any domicile protected by a hearth without an invitation, just like any other undead.”

I’d known all of that. “What about running water?”

“I bathe,” Eilidh said defensively.

Sans shrugged. “That’s an old legend, and it does have some basis in fact. The Onsolain dwell on mountains usually, right? Well, any stream or river sourced from a height guarded by seraphim is full of their blessings — sometimes there are even spirits dwelling in those rivers, either holy or fae — and those do repel the undead.”

I rubbed at my chin in thought. “This all sounds typical for all kinds of undead.”

“True,” the necromancer agreed. “But most of what we know originated with vampires. Their powers, their weaknesses, their behaviors — vampires are the oldest and most hated of all kinds of arisen, and for good reason. While a wight might be driven by bitterness and a ghoul by a base desire to survive, a vampire is a blight. They gorge on the blood of the living, and their very presence can taint the world around them, twist animals and plants into darker forms, cause dead flesh to animate and spirits to go mad.”

The rest of the room had fallen deathly silent. I barely noticed, so rapt was I by Sans’s narrative.

He showed me teeth the color of tombstones in a lazy smile. “Sounds familiar, doesn’t it? You were a paladin. You know exactly what I’m describing.”

I did. “Demons affect the world in the same way.”

“Exactly!” The necromancer gave a sharp nod. “You’ve hit the nail on the head. The original vampires were demonic spirits who possessed mortal corpses. We name the strains after the ancient kingdoms where different kinds first appeared; Nosferatu, Ergothi, Mediiroi,Torslowin, and Antrissai.”

Nosferat, Ergoth, Mediir, Torslowe, and Antriss. All empires which had once blighted the west. Most were gone now, drowned in water or left as graveyards, their past glories broken by the God-Queen’s curses. I knew the names, even if I hadn’t made the connection Sans was drawing in his lecture.

“They were cambions in some cases,” Sans continued. “Half-breeds made when mortals and fiends procreated, or when an ordinary fetus was infected with the taint in the womb. Common with stillbirths and miscarriages, especially in the continent. Dead bodies in areas afflicted by plague or war can be infested as well. Sometimes the old alchemists made them on purpose in a bid for immortality. In each case, there’s a demon at the root of every lineage. That taint gets diluted over time, but it never really filters out.”

He seemed to have more to say, seeming almost enthusiastic about the topic, but suddenly a sound cut the necromancer off. I turned to see Eilidh, still standing behind me, just as she tried to stifle the sob and failed.

Her face ran with red tears. Blood, I realized. It streamed from her eyes. A bit even trickled from her nose. When she saw us all staring at her, she tried to cover her face and spoke in a muffled voice. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I just…”

Saska slid from the couch and glided over to the vampire, pulling her into a tight embrace. The Backroad’s madame stroked Eilidh’s hair like she were a child, shushing her and speaking in a soothing voice. “There there, dear, don’t fret. You are not a demon.”

“Aren’t I?” Eilidh sobbed. “I feel like one! I’ve tried to be strong, but…” She looked between me and Sans with a helpless expression. “Even right now, I want to rip into them. I can’t even pray without getting sick. My family wouldn’t recognize me if they saw me, and I…”

Sans looked sheepish. “Sorry, Eilidh. It’s just history, it doesn’t mean that—”

“Doesn’t mean what?” Eilidh spat. “You said it yourself, Sans. There’s a demon in me. I can feel it. Even if it’s weak and old, it’s always whispering. You don’t know! You don’t know what it’s like!”

“Enough, now.” Saska threw an admonishing look at the necromancer. “Enough, my sweet. You need rest, and look! You’ve wasted blood! Let’s go see if Rory is in, hm? You always feel better after seeing him.”

Eilidh spoke in a pitiful voice. “But what if I…”

“I’ll stay with you,” Saska promised. “I will make sure you don’t go too far.”

The vampire sniffled and nodded. Saska led her from the room, closing the door behind them with a quiet click. I stared at the closed door for some time, feeling a creeping sense of unease.

“The young ones are always like that,” Falstaff muttered, seeming unconcerned at the scene. “They get over it, for the most part. Maryanne still has tantrums sometimes, but it’s mostly for show. Like an orphan crying for its mother, even if it doesn’t remember her.”

I turned to stare at him. “What do you mean?”

Falstaff took a drink and waved a hand dismissively. “Their soul, of course. They remember what it’s like to have one, and they miss it, like a man might feel phantom pain from a lost limb. They learn to cope.”

Ah, I thought. There it is. I’d almost forgotten why I hated this man, and why I could never truly see him as an ally.

Sans shook himself and returned to the previous topic. “Well, was any of that helpful?”

“…Maybe.” I shook my head, feeling like an answer simmered in my thoughts yet remained frustratingly elusive. “We don’t know how Evangeline Ark was turned. General consensus in the capital is that one of the Vyke’s allies did it the night they tried to take the Emperor’s keep, but no one who witnessed her transformation survived to tell about it. If the vampire who turned her was particularly old and strong, could it… I don’t know, escalate Evangeline’s own strength?”

“Not how it works,” Sans said. “Not unless she killed her maker and drained him. Besides, the kind of powers you’re talking about the Ark woman having aren’t common. She’d have to be a progenitor, a true vampire like in the bad old days. They’re still around, but only in the far west. Urn’s a fortress, Alken. Vermin might slip through, but we’re talking about nightmares of the ancient world, from even before the Choir arrived.”

The Keeper was unusually quiet. I watched him for a moment, considering, then decided to out and say it. “One of your other patrons was in the city during the summit, Falstaff. He meddled throughout that entire affair, even put Karog in the tourney for his own ends. He’s the only one I can think of who might have made such a monster out of Evangeline Ark.”

I lowered my voice and leaned over the table. “I want another meeting with Count Laertes.”

Falstaff stared at the table, seemingly relaxed, and waited for the space of several breaths before answering. “No.”

My fingers curled into a fist. “Keeper—”

“The answer’s no, Hewer.” The inn’s master lifted his cup, almost as though in a toast. “You’re one of my patrons now, just like him, and I can’t well make a precedent of putting my benefactors at one another’s throats. What if you try to kill him? What if he blames me?”

“I just want a conversation,” I insisted, not sure if it was a lie or not. If the wizard was responsible…

Falstaff shrugged and sipped from the cup. “The rules are different for you now. Besides, the Count has done me many favors since I took over the inn. What have you done for me, besides bring me trouble and cost me earners? Don’t think I’ve forgotten that Catrin fucked off because she got tied up with you.”

The ready reply I’d started to muster turned to ash in my throat. Falstaff watched me over the brim of his cup, looking satisfied at the anger on my face, then turned abruptly casual.

“Speaking of, I’ve got something for you. Just came in a few days back.” He produced something from inside his vest and tossed it onto the table. It spun once as it slid, stopping just barely short of falling off the table’s edge.

It was a letter. Plain, without any seal that might mark it as the missive of a nobleman or guild.

A letter.

I stared at the Keeper without taking the envelope as what he’d said sunk in. “You’re telling me this is—”

“Don’t ask me,” the man said with a sneer. “I’m just the middle man. And before you ask, I didn’t open it. My word on it, for what it’s worth to you.”

I managed to pick the letter up and place it on my knee with a steady hand. I didn’t open it. That would be for later, in private.

“You and your group are welcome to stay here the night,” the Keeper continued as he set his drink down half-finished. “You’ll have rooms — business has been bad ever since the Inquisition raided us, so I’ve got the space. Be gone by morning, unless you want to end up at our next location.”

He lifted an eyebrow, but when I shook my head he shrugged. “Is there anything else? Don’t expect much. You’ve got privilege here, but you’ve yet to hold up your end.”

When we’d worked out our deal before Baille Os, he’d offered me the inn’s cooperation in return for my patronage. As the Headsman of Seydis, my word held weight. Falstaff wanted his establishment acknowledged as neutral ground by the Accord, and he expected me to protect it should the Priory or any other group test that status again.

If I wanted the Keeper and his people on my side, I needed to be on their side. Not always an easy dynamic on my end, especially considering they preyed on people.

“A night’s rest will do,” I agreed. “And privacy. I need to talk to my group without listening ears.”

“I’ll pass the word,” Falstaff said easily. His mismatched eyes narrowed, and I realized he was staring at the boneless lump of fur lying limp on my shoulder. “Is that who I think it is?”

Before I could come up with some deflection, Vicar’s eyelights blinked to life. “Hello, brother. You may as well gloat. I know I would, were our positions reversed.”

Sans stared blankly at the animated pelt. Falstaff just sniffed.

“Vicar.” He spat the other devil’s name like it were venom. “Last time you were here, I lost people. Don’t think I’ve forgotten that. You are not welcome, and should anyone try to get even for that night, I won’t stand in the way.”

“Best he keeps his muzzle shut then,” I said, directing my words to my companion.

“Even so,” the devil said lightly, and his burning eyes blinked out.

“Bastard,” Falstaff muttered. “I’m surprised you spared him, Hewer.”

So was I, but that wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have just then, especially not with that man. I stood and started walking towards the door, but Falstaff stopped me just as my hand touched the latch.

“It wasn’t Laertes,” he blurted. When I turned to look at him again, he sighed. “Couldn’t have been. He’s a Power, for sure, but he wouldn’t have diminished himself to turn a tourney knight into a new Dark Lord. I’ve also never heard any rumors about the Arks being great occultists.”

“If she wasn’t made by another vampire,” I said, “and she wasn’t born as one like Catrin, then that leaves the other origins Sans mentioned. Alchemy, which I think is also unlikely considering she was lying on her death bed at the time, or…”

“Possession,” Sans confirmed.

“I slew the demon that was present in the Fulgurkeep that night,” I told the two men.

“Hasur Vyke was said to be a binder of demons,” Falstaff said. “Maybe his brats brought others from their castle? Maybe one of them crawled into Evangeline’s carcass just as she breathed her last?”

“I would have sensed that,” I argued. “My powers—”

“Can be tricked,” Sans told me. “My like have been doing it for centuries. Do you sense anything from me right now?”

I shook my head. Sans grinned his tombstone grin. “Yet I’m tainted, aren’t I? So’s the two pretty lasses who just walked out. Why do you think demons would want to hide in dead flesh in the first place? It’s camouflage, paladin. It masks their presence and confuses your powers.”

Just like how Yith used Kieran to ambush me, I thought. Of course.

“If Evangeline is hiding a demon in her,” I said as I ran through the ramifications. “If she’s the first in her own line of vampires, then she could employ the kind of powers we’re talking about?”

Sans sucked in a breath through his teeth. “It would have to be a really scary demon. Most fiends who bother to hide in corpses do it because they’re weak, and those wouldn’t pose much more of a threat to you than any other bloodsucker.”

Something on at least the same caliber as Yith, then, or even stronger. It would have had to be inside the Emperor’s palace that night, biding its time and then fleeing before the battle concluded… which didn’t track, if it were a minion of the Vykes.

Besides, Evangeline’s first act after her transformation was to murder her rival. She seemed herself during our confrontations. Her ambition and bloodlust were dramatized, true, but she still seemed to be working towards the same goals as when she’d lived.

Something wasn’t adding up. Rysanthe went missing in this country, but she wasn’t hunting vampires. It couldn’t be coincidence Evangeline was at that monastery, the same one where Rysanthe was trying to track down the leader of the Brothers of the Briar.

It was all connected somehow. I needed to solve the puzzle, and quickly. I had a bad feeling that some greater evil was at work in the Bannerlands, and it wouldn’t just wait for me to find and slay it.

Another damn ticking clock.