The Damned (The Beautiful #2)(87)

And if something happened to Celine, Lady Silla would not be forgiving, even if Arjun was the son of her friend and general.

“I have something worthwhile,” Arjun said. “I can offer you a month of service by a son of the Vale, to begin after the next harvest moon.”

“Whose son?” the dwarf king said, his fingers steepled before him.

“The son of General Riya, leader of the Grey Cloaks.” The din arose once more at the mention of the name. Arjun was not surprised. His mother was infamous throughout the land. Beloved and hated in equal measure. The best huntress in the Vale. The best killer of Wyld beasts who dared to cross into the summer lands.

Bastien grabbed Arjun’s shoulder. But Arjun did not flinch.

“A year,” the king bargained.

“One month,” Arjun replied.

“Six months.”

“Six weeks.”

The king laughed. “Make the promise, son of General Riya. And I will hold you to it, as your kind never fail to honor a promise.”

“In exchange for our safe passage from the Ice Palace of Kur and its immediate surroundings, I, Arjun Desai, son of General Riya, promise to return in service to the lord of the Ice Palace for a period of no more than six mortal weeks following the next harvest moon.”

The dwarf king laughed harder than he’d ever laughed before. “Now be gone before I change my mind.”



* * *





As soon as the strange trio of newcomers left the castle, the dwarf king and his court of feasting minions began to blur and shift. In a sudden gust of wind, they vanished, leaving behind two lone goblins, among them the smallest one with the blue face and the carafe of wine. The blue goblin hoisted himself onto the iron chair and contemplated the recent happenings.

“Do you think they will return?” the other goblin asked, his yellow eyes wide.

“Most assuredly. They are far from finished with the Wyld. And the son of General Riya made a promise.”

The other goblin sighed. “Maybe he will be the one to save us all.”

“Or maybe it will be the girl,” the blue goblin replied with a knowing smile.

“Do you speak in jest, Sunan?” the goblin with the yellow eyes pressed.

“Never, Suli. I never jest about the future.”





BASTIEN





I have not spoken in almost an entire league.

Anger and disappointment swirl inside my chest. I fear that if I breathe life into them, I will lash out at those around me. My actions today have placed two people I care about in a dangerous world of perpetual night, populated by bloodthirsty monsters. And for what?

Nothing, it seems.

I should have known better than to fixate on such a far-fetched dream. But I cannot prevent the sorrow from settling inside my chest. From clenching my dead heart in an icy fist.

What if Sunan still existed? What if he could unmake me?

What would I have done then? What price would I have paid?

I think back on everything I’ve learned about myself since the night I woke on the table in Jacques’ as an immortal. If I had not died and been made into a vampire, would I have continued to see the world as I always had, or would I have opened my eyes?

My mother once said that it was easy for a man to be kind and generous in times of plenty. The real measure of a man was what he did and said in times of difficulty.

My mortal life was a life of plenty. One in which I rarely paused to consider anything outside my immediate sphere. My sight was set on the future before me. A future my uncle had laid out since my birth.

As I walk behind Arjun and Celine, my mind drifts to the day I was expelled from West Point for attacking another cadet, who had brought about the accidental death of a friend. I was happy to leave the military academy. I thought my path righteous. I remember telling my uncle that if those in power refused to punish someone for wrongdoing, it was my responsibility to do it in their stead. I don’t regret avenging my friend. But I do regret the way I did it.

Before I became a blood drinker, not once had I stopped to reflect upon that time in my life. Had I not been made into a vampire, I would never have sought out Valeria Henri. Perhaps I would have continued down the same path, toward the same future. One of power and wealth and influence in the city I loved.

I would be who I always was. Sébastien Saint Germain. Heir to New Orleans’ largest fortune. A richly entitled boy who became a richly entitled man.

What you are has no bearing on who you become. Kassamir said that to me several weeks ago. I think back on that night often.

Perhaps it is not what I am that matters. Perhaps it is who I am.

I glance ahead to where Arjun and Celine walk through the darkened wood, the snow crunching beneath their feet. My ethereal brother, who has offered himself in service to a mad dwarf king to save our lives, and the girl I love, who would not be in this frozen wasteland if it weren’t for me.

Why did I think Sunan would offer me salvation?

Fitting to discover that my dream was nothing more than a mirage in a desert.

I have learned much in the last few weeks. I have come far, but there is a long way to go.

Do I possess the fortitude to chase the better version of myself, even if that better version is not human?

“The silence is driving me mad,” Arjun announces as we continue trekking toward the bridge along the border between the Vale and the Wyld. A faint mist has gathered on the outskirts of the forest, collecting near our feet and along the river.