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  “You tried to channel, didn’t you?” she asked, nonplussed.

  Swallowing hard, Bradan nodded once.

  She made a sound of disgust.

  “You’ve been a vampire for three days, and you haven’t figured out yet that you can’t channel anymore?”

  “Of course I know that,” he replied, getting back to his feet. “I just… It’s a reflex. I have to get used to it.”

  Her brow furrowed in confusion.

  “I thought you spent most of your life in the Otherworld like your dame.”

  “I did. But I still trained with the Quickening every chance I had.”

  “You trained with Aedan, you mean.”

  “Yes. We were guards. We had to be ready.”

  Her gaze sharpened, silver glinting in her eyes like a blade.

  “So you admit you two knew one day she’d be back and you’d have to fight. He knew when he came to the palace he’d have to break any oaths he swore to me or the king. Didn’t he?”

  Too late, Bradan realized he’d said too much. Ciara had guessed all this before, but he’d just given her confirmation. Deciding he’d said quite enough, he kept his mouth shut.

  “Every time I think I’ve reached the bottom of my anger toward Aedan,” Ciara said after a few seconds had passed by in thick silence, “I realize there’s yet something else I’ll have to punish him for, someday.”

  As much as Bradan wanted to defend his brother, he doubted anything he could say now would help, so he remained quiet as she approached him, and fell back into a stiff posture he’d seen Aedan adopt so often in front of Vivien.

  “Very well,” she said as she pulled the knife free from the mattress. “I will teach you. And we’ll see if you take your duty to your clan and your clan leader more seriously than your brother does.”

  The last was offered with a sly grin. As he followed her out of the room, Bradan could only wonder what she meant exactly.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Apart

  For most of his life, Bradan had trained in combat with his brother. Being part of a fencing club back on Earth had helped, of course, but it was when he visited Foh’Ran that he’d learned to wield a real sword, to attack for more than points on a scoreboard, to defend his very life.

  An old sword master had taught Aedan to fight with a sword in his teenage years, and everything he’d learned, he had taught Bradan in return. Later, when Aedan had joined Rhuinn’s guard, the lessons had been more infrequent but also much more challenging. Fighting against a vampire who used knives rather than a sword, Bradan had learned to adapt to the strengths and weapons of his adversary. It had been what he needed to prepare him to be a guard.

  Being unable to train with Aedan now might have been the hardest part of Bradan’s decision to remain with Ciara—that, and being away from Vivien, of course. Coming home to Foh’Ran, Bradan had had it in mind that all these years of being apart from his brother were finally over. Being wrong was heartbreaking.

  It didn’t help that Ciara was… Ciara.

  Aedan had never said much about her other than the fact that she was a strict task-mistress, and after one day she had proven that. She pushed Bradan to train until he was exhausted and couldn’t move any longer, and then pushed him a little further still. That wasn’t all, though.

  Training with his brother, Bradan had received his fair share of minor injuries and inflicted as many in return. Whatever cuts they gave each other, he and Aedan had always healed one another, Bradan with the use of the Quickening, Aedan with his blood. Ciara had no qualms about drawing blood and didn’t even flinch when—once—Bradan’s knife found her skin. Healing cuts, however, whether they were simple grazes or deeper wounds, was not part of the way she taught.

  “If you don’t want to bleed,” she railed when he mentioned it, “fight better.”

  Tonight, he had five cuts to clean before he could get in bed. Four were superficial and would be gone by morning, but the fifth one, straight across his thigh, was deeper. He knew it’d heal on its own like the other ones would; he and Ciara had been training with steel blades, not silver, which meant that the wound only needed time and Bradan’s body would take care of it on its own.

  As he washed it, however, and wrapped a towel around it, he couldn’t help but wish he knew a channeler in the castle. It would have taken a second of work with the Quickening and he’d have been as good as new, ready to train again come morning. As it was, he was sure he’d still feel the wound tomorrow.

  He was about to get into bed when the door opened without warning and in came Ciara. Startled at the intrusion, he froze and could do nothing more than watch when she closed the door again and sauntered to his bed, dropping her dressing gown to the floor on the way. She wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothing beneath it.

  Bradan dropped his gaze at once. Had he still been human, his face would have been flaming by now.

  “What…” His voice gave the most embarrassing squeak. “What are you doing?”

  Ciara’s laugh sounded like church bells. “What does it look like I’m doing? Surely I don’t need to teach you this, too. Or do I?”

  He heard the rustling of sheets and chanced a glance up, hoping she’d covered herself. She hadn’t. Instead, she’d pushed the sheet down to the foot of the bed as she lay there, her head propped up on her hand, watching him with a predatory expression.

  Keeping his eyes on her face, Bradan cleared his throat.

  “I apologize if I gave you the impression that I wish to share your bed,” he said in a formal tone he didn’t often use. “I am exhausted and wish to sleep, nothing more.”

  When she didn’t move, he added, “Alone, please.”

  She raised her eyes to the ceiling.

  “Don’t flatter yourself, child. I didn’t succumb to your charm. This is part of training a Bloodchild.”

  He didn’t quite see how sleeping with her would help his training in any way, but even if it’d been obvious, his response would have been the same. She was attractive, that much was true, but that didn’t mean he was attracted to her.

  “Well,” he said cautiously, intent on not offending her, “we’re already breaking tradition by having you train me rather than my Maker, and I’m afraid we’ll have to change that part of training, too.”

  Ciara laughed again, but this time it was mocking.

  “Are you saying you'd rather it be Aedan in your bed? Now that would be an interesting spectacle.”

  He refused to even dignify that with an answer.

  “I'm in love,” he started, but Ciara interrupted him with a too-wide grin.

  “With Aedan?”

  No longer worried about offending her, he rolled his eyes at her.

  “Thank you for the offer to train me further,” he said coolly. Walking over to where she had let her robe fall to the floor, he picked it up and held it out toward her, “but I have to decline.”

  For a long moment, she remained still and observed him, no longer grinning, although she didn’t seem all that upset. At last, she slipped out of bed and, rather than taking the robe from him, held out her arm, demanding to be dressed. If it meant she’d be out of his room faster, Bradan was happy to oblige. He opened the robe and slipped it over her arm, then held it as she threaded the second one through.

  “She's your dame,” she said as she drew the belt closed. “Love doesn't factor here. You’ll understand that soon enough.”

  He said nothing as she left, although he knew she was wrong. Love was the one and only factor.

  * * * *

  Vivien ran.

  It was the same dream again, the age-old nightmare she’d had for as long as she could remember.

  In her dream, she ran, and tonight the moonlight guided her, filtering through the woods, casting shadows everywhere, telling her which way to go to get out in the open. She ran as hard, as fast as she could, but it still wasn’t very fast. How could it be when she was so small, when her legs were so short—whe
n the thing that pursued her was so much bigger than she was?

  But no, that wasn’t right. She frowned in her dream, looking at herself without ever stopping to run, thinking that this was wrong. So very wrong. She wasn’t a child anymore. She was a grown woman. A woman who’d been running for exercise for years, building up both endurance and speed.

  As she thought so, she changed. Between one stride and the next, she went from small child to adult, one second barefoot in the cool, wet grass, and the next wearing her running shoes. A feeling of elation flashed through her. Now she could escape. Now she could be safe. Now—

  Something brushed against her back, and she whimpered. It was catching up with her. She was close to the edge of the woods, and she knew safety lay there, but it was so close, too close…

  With a defiant cry, she crossed the last few yards of underbrush and burst out into the open. The moon shone wide and round above her, casting enough light that it was as bright as day so that she could see him, standing straight ahead of her, his hand already outstretched toward her as he urged her on.

  “Run, Vivien,” he called out, and she could have wept at hearing Brad’s voice again.

  But… was it Brad?

  As she grew closer to him, every last inch of her focused on taking his proffered hand, she could see his palm, and the symbol that gleamed like silver in the moonlight. But that was wrong. The tattoo was on Brad’s wrist, not in the center of his palm. It wasn’t Brad, she realized at the same moment his hand closed around hers and pulled to draw her into his arms. And if it wasn’t Brad…

  “Aedan?” she murmured, and opened her eyes.

  With her heart still beating much too fast, she lay there, her legs tangled in the sheets, her eyes fixed on the canopy above her.

  It wasn’t the first time details of the dream had changed. For years, it had always been the same, but since she had come to Foh’Ran, details had sometimes shifted. Night or day, whether she was a child or an adult, even the identity of the man waiting for her outside the woods.

  It had been Brad before, but now she wasn’t sure it had been him—and she wasn’t sure it had been Aedan, either. Aedan didn’t have the QuickSilver tattoo on his body. Then again, Brad didn’t wear it on his palm. In the original dream, the one she’d had since a child, the man’s tattoo was on his palm, though she wasn’t sure who he was.

  That dream, she’d come to think, was probably one of her repressed childhood memories. But what did this dream mean? What was her subconscious trying to tell her?

  She wasn’t sure she wanted to know.

  With a groan, she pushed herself out of bed and walked over to the washroom. The stones were cold under her bare feet, but she couldn’t be bothered to channel and do something about it. Cold water, on the other hand, was a different matter.

  After washing up, she pulled a simple dress from the wardrobe, something that wouldn’t get in the way of her training. She had only a day left before she had to go back to Rhuinn’s castle for the first duel. As she brushed her hair, her reflection in the mirror looked worried already.

  Could she do this without Brad there?

  Or maybe he would be there—on Rhuinn’s side. The thought froze her down to her bones.

  But no, she reassured herself at once. He might be in Rhuinn’s castle right now, but he wasn’t on Rhuinn’s side. He would never be. He would never break his oath, not when it meant so much to him.

  With that thought in mind, she slipped on sandals and walked out of her room, her mind set on going to hunt down some coffee before starting her day. It had to be very early still since Doril hadn’t brought it up.

  When she stepped through the study and into the sitting room, she was surprised to find Aedan there. Usually, he stood guard in the corridor, not inside her suite. He stood in the middle of the room, his hands clasped behind him and his back to her, and she knew what he was looking at so intently on the floor.

  Could he see Brad’s dying body there, blood pooling under him, the same way Vivien did every time she walked through this room?

  He started at her approach and turned to face her, offering her his customary bow.

  “Blessings, Dame Vivien.”

  “Good morning,” she said, and couldn’t bear waiting to ask, “Is something wrong? Is it about Brad?”

  Aedan shook his head.

  “Nothing’s wrong, and I have not heard from him, no.”

  “But you can… feel him, right?” she insisted, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around herself. “Through the bond? You can tell if he’s all right, can’t you?”

  A pained look crossed Aedan’s eyes.

  “He’s fine,” he murmured absently. “He’s not… happy, but he’s fine.”

  She wanted to say something, say she was glad he was okay, sad that he wasn’t happy, thank Aedan for telling her, or ask him to tell her if anything changed, but her throat felt too tight, and she couldn’t manage to say a word. Without thinking, she went to the closest armchair and sat there, her gaze finding the very same spot on the floor Aedan had been staring at.

  “Sometimes,” she whispered, “I’m almost sure I can see his blood there. Or him. I was so sure I’d lost him, and then you gave him back to me, and now I’ve lost him again.”

  “You haven’t lost him. He just wants to be sure he won’t hurt you. When he trusts himself again, he’ll come back.”

  She looked up at him, wishing he sounded more convincing.

  “How long did it take you to trust yourself around humans?” she asked.

  For a few seconds, Aedan seemed flustered. Finally, he glanced away with a muttered, “I don’t remember.”

  Vivien’s throat tightened again. Did Aedan truly not remember, or did he not want to tell her? What if Brad needed months, or even years before he could control himself? What if Rhuinn killed her long before Brad was ready to return?

  The thought threatened to paralyze her. She pushed it away, closing her eyes tightly for a few seconds.

  “Dame Vivien, I’m…”

  Aedan fell silent when she opened her eyes again. He’d stepped closer and his right hand fell back to his side as though he’d been raising it toward her.

  “Your new guards,” he said after clearing his throat. “They asked… They want to swear the oath to you. Formally join the QuickSilver Guard.”

  As soon as Aedan pronounced the word ‘oath,’ Vivien let out a quiet groan. She’d suspected this might happen, but she’d hoped it wouldn’t be so soon. She was as reluctant as ever to have anyone swear their life to her. It still felt strange, even if she realized it was a cultural thing and she had little right to tell anyone their view on the world was wrong.

  “They’ve only known me for two days,” she protested. “For all they know I’ll lose my duel tomorrow, and the next one too, and what will happen then?”

  What would happen? She’d tried very hard not to think about it, but the possibility was there that she would lose. If she did, her possessions would be forfeit, her life would be in the hands of Rhuinn, but what about the people who followed her?

  The question was enough to twist her stomach. When she’d decided to challenge Rhuinn, her guard, as far as she knew, amounted to one person only: Aedan. He had supported her decision while knowing better than she did what would happen if she failed. But if she allowed more people to pledge themselves to her…

  “Dame Vivien.” Aedan set a knee to the floor in front of her and looked up at her with a slight shake of his head. “If I may, you can’t let yourself think like this. They believe in you. So do I. But it’s about more than that, too. If they bear the QuickSilver mark when we return to the palace, others will see it. It's still all about appearances.”

  She understood what he meant, but she still didn’t like it. Back on Earth, she’d been studying Political Science with a distant hope that she’d one day help make the world a little bit better, possibly as part of a non-governmental organization. And here she was now, set
to duel a king to challenge his right to rule and assert her own birthright, with the people who supported her swearing what were, in essence, feudal oaths straight from the Middle Ages…

  It was the very antithesis of what she’d wanted to be, what she’d hoped to do, but she couldn’t see what else she could have done to veer from the path she was on. Rhuinn needed to be deposed and the High Families didn’t seem inclined to oppose him in the open.

  Who would do anything if not her? And how could she have any impact without support? If she couldn’t prove she could draw guards to her, why would anyone else want to join her cause?

  Swallowing her protests, she yielded.

  “All right,” she said, stifling a sigh. “I’ll let them swear if that’s really what they want. We can do it later today.”

  Maybe pushing it back a few hours would allow her to get used to the idea…

  She was about to stand when she realized Aedan still hadn’t moved. Kneeling as close as he was, he blocked her way.

  “Is there anything else?” she asked, unable to silence the weariness in her voice. It felt much too early to deal with all this.

  “Dame Vivien, I…”

  Aedan swallowed before he finished. His eyes were caught between a chilling metallic blue and icy silver. He gave a tiny shake of his head that seemed as much for himself as it was for her and stood, retreating out of her way.

  “Nothing else,” he said, and while Vivien had a feeling that wasn’t the truth, she didn’t want to push the issue now. Whatever it was, she’d hear about it soon enough.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Oaths

  Vivien had never felt as uncomfortable in her life as when she stood in one of the reception rooms, with Olric and Savel kneeling in front of her, listening as first one then the other recited the QuickSilver Oath to her. She tried her best to look appreciative rather than distressed at the thought that these two men she barely knew were pledging to give their lives to protect hers, but she wasn’t sure she could control her features quite that well.