“Why, yes,” Olivier said. “Do try to keep up, Grace. I told you before. When I left with Sidorio, he sired me.”
“No,” she said, firmly. “You didn’t tell me that.”
“Did I not?” He shook his head, then shrugged. “Fancy that. Well, I suppose I’m not thinking as clearly as I might. Understandable, perhaps, under the circumstances.”
Grace nodded but reflected that Olivier was thinking very clearly indeed. She was fairly confident he was playing mind games with her. Did he want her to think he was a dhampir, or had she framed that thought for herself? Whichever, it seemed she now had her answer—he was a Vampirate, converted by Sidorio, even though he had referred to himself as a Nocturnal.
“You know, of course,” Olivier resumed, “how the Alliance has installed a Nocturnal on every pirate vessel, to work with the pirate crew on attack strategy and so forth.”
Grace nodded once more. This had been Lorcan’s idea—one born out of the effectiveness of his own joining of forces with Cate.
“Well,” Olivier continued, “there you have it. I was assigned to Jack Fallico, captain of
“No.” Grace found herself shuddering at the brutality of Lola and her crew. Worse still was the thought of how close she herself had come to being one of their pack.
“I’m bored with all this talk of me and my dreary journey,” Olivier said now, though he never seemed bored when talking about himself. “Much more interesting to talk about you and how you’ve changed beyond all recognition from that wide-eyed little girl I led across the mountain, foraging for berries.”
“It wasn’t that long ago,” Grace said. “A few months at most.”
“It was a world ago, Grace,” Olivier said. “And I speak as an immortal when I say that. Time passes rather differently for us.”
“I know,” she said in an impassioned voice, once more irritated by his superior tone. She realized he was staring at her curiously now. “I know,” she said, rather more gently. “I’ve been around Nocturnals and Vampirates for some time myself.”
“Indeed,” Olivier acknowledged. “You know, I was a little jealous of you when you first arrived here.”
“Yes, I realized that,” she said.
“In some ways, it’s your fault that I betrayed Mosh Zu. I was always his favorite before you arrived on the scene.”
Grace was surprised by his candor but infuriated by his attempt to implicate her in his rebellion.
“You said we were ‘in-betweens,’ ” she reminded him. “You always implied we had a particular bond.”
He looked at her with obvious disdain. “Oh, I tried to bond with you, because those were my instructions. But, really, I had my own work to do and—to be honest—it was so tiresome having to stop and explain everything to you.”
Grace bit back her anger. This was not at all how she remembered their time together.
Olivier nodded. “Remember when I showed you how to make the elder salve for your ailing boyfriend?”
She nodded.
“And look at you now. I expect you could knock up a vat of the stuff in your sleep.” Before Grace could think of an appropriate response, Olivier continued. “I’m impressed, Grace. It’s clear that Mosh Zu’s faith in you was more than justified, though I don’t say that easily. You do have the makings of a healer.”
Grace had allowed most of his barbs to wash over her, but she had too much pride to let this one pass. “I
Olivier nodded. “Yes, yes, I’ve heard the feverish whispers that you are Mosh Zu’s second-in-command these days. And I’m grateful to you, I truly am.”
This paltry offering was clearly as close as he would come to thanking her. He had turned away from her. His hand stretched toward the muslin drapes around his bed. He pushed back one of them and peered out at the ward. Holding the curtain open, Olivier turned back to face Grace. “This is quite a setup you have here. Tell me, how many patients do you treat each night?”
Grace shrugged. “It varies,” she said. “Last night was particularly busy—though we’ve had worse. Sometimes the bell just keeps going and we don’t get much rest between arrivals.”
Olivier nodded and looked once more through the gap in the curtain before letting it drop. “Does Mosh Zu know that I’m here?” he asked.
Grace paused. “Perhaps, though I haven’t seen him myself since I healed you. As I said, it’s been a busy night and day and we’ve all had a lot to contend with.” She paused. “But, when I see him later, I’ll be sure to tell him.”
Olivier shrugged. “As you wish. Just don’t get your hopes up for a bedside reunion.”
Grace couldn’t help but smile. Olivier was so eaten up with bitterness, and more egocentric than ever. “We’re in the middle of a war, Olivier. I’m just here doing a job. You were brought to me on a slab, on the verge of oblivion. I caught you and brought you back. You must rest now, and, in a matter of nights, you should be well enough to go on your way.” She smiled, sensing that at last she had gained the upper hand. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I must check on my other patients.”
Olivier nodded. “I’ve taken up enough of your precious time, I know. Besides, I’m tired now. It was intriguing to catch up with you, but, as you say, I need my rest.” With that, he closed his eyes and turned his bandaged head to the wall.
Grace’s eyes lingered on him for a moment. Then she turned to make her exit from his stifling cocoon. As her hand reached out to the muslin, she couldn’t shake the feeling that he had somehow engineered this return to Sanctuary. To have done so, he would have had to inflict those injuries upon himself or, more likely, had others do so. It seemed inconceivable, but where a mercenary like Olivier was concerned, you just couldn’t apply normal rules.
What could his reasons be for undergoing such physical punishment? Could he still be working for Sidorio, despite his story to the contrary? Was he some kind of spy?
As she strode through the center of the ward, her path bordered on either side by other cocoons of white muslin, Grace found herself back inside Olivier’s vision. Once more she saw him waiting for her to depart, then crouching down and reaching for that book. Could it be that that slim, cloth-bound volume was still here at Sanctuary, hidden under the counter on which she and her fellow healers created their healing potions? Had Olivier endured all this to come back and reclaim the book? If so, it must be extraordinarily powerful. She couldn’t let it fall into the wrong hands.
11
CAMP DECIMATION
VAMPIRATES’ TRAINING CAMP,
