Lothaire

36

She heard Hag and Lothaire arguing, their voices indistinct.

But Ellie couldn’t respond.

When she’d disappeared with Lothaire, she’d suddenly found herself transported to a freezing land, then abandoned amidst black, leafless trees that seeped blood. The “blood forest” he’d rambled about? Off in the distance, she’d spied the most haunting castle she’d ever imagined.

Then horned demons and Cerunnos had surrounded her. It was one thing to read about walking serpents, quite another to be captured by them.

The things she’d seen . . . things that couldn’t be right.

And the things she’d heard, the hints about Lothaire’s torture.

He’d told her he’d been buried alive for six hundred years. When in the grip of a grueling nightmare, had he unconsciously returned to his . . .

grave?

She’d only meant to recede a bit, to let Saroya suffer that horrible scene. But when the goddess didn’t rise, Ellie had fallen into this stupor. She remembered little after that, had only remotely perceived yells, swords clanging, Lothaire’s unholy roars.

And now Ellie couldn’t snap out of it, couldn’t speak. He’d sat her upright in a chair, but she couldn’t move from it.

“Vampire, I warned you of this!” Hag cried as she tucked blankets around Ellie’s shoulders. “Mortals can break.”

“Then mend her!”

“How could I possibly know how to treat a mortal for shock? She’s catatonic!”

“I don’t give a fuck, you heal her!”

“Why would you take her to Helvita? What did you expect? You’re lucky she didn’t die from the elements.”

“I sleep-traced. Must have grabbed her.”

No, I grabbed you. Like an idiot.

“It doesn’t matter, Hag!” Every word booming louder, Lothaire snapped, “Now, stop being a silly bitch and fix her!”

“I didn’t think you cared about her mind, only her body. Correct? Saroya will be unharmed by this, vampire. So you can relax.”

Good point. Why did Lothaire care at all?

“Silence! Let me think!” In a vague tone, Lothaire muttered, “I remember someone who went through this. Must recall who. Goddamn it, who was it?”

Both of them began pacing, talking at the same time:

—“He wants me to fix a human being! Should I reach for the whiskey? Or perhaps a Band-Aid?”

—“It was a male. He suffered this very thing! Who the hell was it?”

Then Lothaire said, “I remember!” and disappeared.

Hag sounded like she’d begun rifling through some spell book. “Elizabeth, the vampire will be killing mad over this. As he is unlikely to punish himself, you must wake!”

Must I? Ellie didn’t think she wanted to live in a world like the Lore. Where a father would bury his son alive for centuries. Where monsters dwelled. The forked tongue that slithered across my cheek . . .

At the memory, her thoughts grew quiet once more. For how long she didn’t know.

Suddenly Hag snapped, “Who is he, Lothaire? Is this some kind of a joke?”

Another male was here?

A deep voice said, “Name’s Thaddeus Brayden, ma’am. But you can call me Thad.”

Lothaire had snagged the boy straight out of the front yard of Val Hall, saying, “Need your help to fix Lizvetta.”

The Valkyries had shrieked, “You can’t take him! Leave him be, vampire!”

To which Lothaire had eloquently responded, “Go fuck yourselves!”

“Can you please explain what’s happening?” Thaddeus asked Hag now. “Mr. Lothaire isn’t making a lot of sense. And, uh, whose blood is all over him?”

When the fey glanced at Lothaire, he nodded, trusting the boy. To an extent.

Hag said, “This girl is new to the Lore and has just been amidst a Lore swordfight. Lothaire won, but she saw Pravus creatures.”

Realization dawned on Thaddeus’s face. “Gotcha. That’s all it took for me to clock out.”

And Thaddeus was a Lorean, even if he hadn’t known he was at the time. Elizabeth was a mortal. She’s so weak. Weak!

What if he never saw her stubborn gaze again? Felt her passion? You were going to end her anyway, his mind whispered. She might be my Bride, but she cannot be my queen.

Struggling to control his tone, Lothaire said, “Then what did it take for you to clock in, Thaddeus?”

“A few weeks, and the care of a nice Valkyrie and a fey.”

“Weeks!” To Hag, Lothaire said, “It’s back to you, Venefican.”

She peered down at her spell book as if willing it for an answer.

“Uh, just a suggestion, Mr. Lothaire,” Thaddeus began, “but shouldn’t you be, like, holding Lizvetta or something?”

If I took her in my arms, I’d squeeze her so desperately, too hard.

“Wait!” Hag cried. “The ash vines help mortals as well. I could clear her mind with the potion I’d intended for you.”

“Excellent idea, Hag. Only one problem—there were no fucking vines to be found!”

“There is one other source. I hadn’t bothered to mention it because it’s so impossible—”

“Tell me!”

“Nereus.” She said no more.

The sea god. “He owes me a blood debt.” But fearing Lothaire’s arrival—no doubt assuming I’ll come for his firstborn—Nereus had recruited guards to protect his lair, some of the most ruthless immortals ever to live. “Hag, get started on the potion once more.”

“But how will you get past his sentries to collect your debt?”

“I likely won’t.” And with that, Lothaire traced to the edge of a mountainous, perpetually storm-tossed coast to confront a god.