It wasn’t Pesaro who was the savior.
It was he.
Sebastian rose, suddenly more clearheaded, more purposeful than he’d been for years. Even, despite the task ahead, light in the heart.
Victoria awoke when the sun had lowered enough to blaze directly in her face, angling perfectly through the window. She had been so damn tired, her weariness laced with worry over Max-and though she hated to admit it to her companions, she’d been relieved to rest in the middle of the day.
But now they would move on and perhaps reach Midiverse by late tomorrow. Hurry, hurry, hurry. The sooner they finished, the sooner she could get back to Max.
She sat up and looked over the room, counting the lumps on the floor-one-and on the pallets. Another.
Who was missing?
Maybe he’d gone to buy provisions. She rose from her pallet and rushed over to look out the window. The shadows had grown long from the lowering sun, but she could still see the road leading north, empty of any travelers.
As she turned back, she saw the note, pinned to the wall by a knife. The paper was folded in half, with a large
Victoria tore it off the wall and unfolded it, noting the signature-a large, sweeping
She sank onto the nearest bed, the one Sebastian had used, and read it again.
Damn and blast.
Trust Sebastian to write an adieu that would bring both pain and hope.
She folded the paper once, twice, thrice.
Did he know for certain, or was he merely guessing? Or was that simply Sebastian, being wry and amusing?
She’d only recently suspected it herself.
Was she going to lose them both now?
She looked back at the mountain, nearly two days’ ride behind her, purple-black in the distance, with a swatch of sunlight beaming onto it from between a break in the trees.
Nineteen
Sebastian woke just before dawn to find Wayren standing before him.
Or, at least, he thought it was Wayren… but perhaps it was a hallucination. She seemed insubstantial, and she glowed. Perhaps he was dreaming… but at least it wasn’t a nightmare of Giulia begging and pleading with him. Although if it weren’t to be a nightmare, he’d prefer that he went back to the old dreams, where his lover wrapped him in her long, dark hair, and they rolled in a nocturnal bed together… rather than dreaming about an angel.
It just didn’t seem right.
The obnoxious snore next to him told him that the other traveler who bunked in his room was still sleeping soundly. The sun had just begun to peek over the horizon, and he’d be back to the mountain in a few hours.
“Sebastian,” said a voice, and he looked over.
She was still there.
“Am I dreaming? Wayren?”
“I’m here. I’ve come to wish you luck and bring blessings.”
He nodded. Whether it was a dream or not, he felt contentment.
Wayren’s presence in the past had been a source of discomfort for him when he knew he wasn’t being true to his calling or following through on his duty. Now her presence-whether it be real or in a dream-felt like a commendation of sorts, an acknowledgment and a blessing.
“And I came to bring you this. Wear this and don’t remove it, and… it will help.”
Something silver glinted in the dusky light, then plopped onto the bed next to him. A ring, heavy and silver, set with a garnet the size of his thumbnail.
“What is it?”
“It will help you follow through on your intent and keep you strong in the face of weakness. I can do nothing else. The rest is up to you.”
He picked up the ring and slid it onto the middle finger of his left hand. “Thank you.” He then he looked at her. “And thank you for Rosamunde’s papers. They led me here.”
“I knew that they would.” She nodded, her blond hair shifting with the movement. She paused; then he felt the wisp of a touch on his hand, and still wasn’t certain if it was real or imagined. “You’ll do well, Sebastian Vioget.”
And then he woke up.
The silver ring was on his finger, the sun was blazing just atop the horizon… and he was ready to begin his last day of life.
Two hours later, Sebastian stood at the stone crevice that led to Lilith’s hideaway.
He had no trouble gaining entrance to Lilith’s lair once he showed the five rings to her guards and surrendered his stakes. They didn’t attempt to take the silver ring that Wayren had given him, which he wore on his other hand. Sebastian didn’t intend for this little meeting to last more than an hour, and he was arriving at the high point of noon.
He was taken to the same room as before, only a short walk down a twisting corridor made of stone.
The chamber appeared the same, and he greeted Lilith calmly. She sat on her chaise, just as she had the last time they’d met. Today, she wore a gown of black, which made her skin appear starkly blue-white.
Sebastian didn’t see Pesaro at first. When he did, he needed all his strength not to react. Merciful God.
How long had it been? Three days? Barely three days. And look at him.
Sebastian tore his eyes away from the man, faltering for a moment, struggling to hide his shock as he gathered his composure. Never had he seen a man who possessed such strength and power brought to such depths, such vulnerability. Such emptiness in his eyes, an absence of hope-or even comprehension-in his face.
Would he look that way himself after a day? Two days? Sebastian’s stomach roiled, threatening to spill its contents.
Sebastian took a deep breath. He looked back at Lilith, careful not to eye her directly and become trapped by her gaze. He forced himself to ignore Pesaro. Things would be different for him. He would make certain of it.
“Beauregard’s grandson, how kind of you to join us.” Lilith trained the force of her blue-red gaze on him, and though he avoided it, he still felt its staggering weight… and the lure. He struggled for breath for a moment, reaching his hand through the slit of his shirt to touch the
A zip of strength passed through him, followed by another breath of power. He was the grandson of Beauregard.
He was a Venator.
“I’ve come for Pesaro,” he said, then took a little breath to collect himself and his thoughts. He had to handle
