#and he even he told Columbus to pound sand!!!!! why do you want to claim him tf!!!!!

[momo-de-avis]

I am eternally amazed at how sensitive the portuguese are at the subject of colonialism. The idea that we practised some sort of soft colonialism is so ingrained in our minds people will be fighting for their lives to defend this idea (which, btw, is still a remnant of Salazar's propaganda). Brazil's colonialism is such a hyper sensitive topic you can see the vein popping on the neck of the average Zé when someone even lightly mentions accountability. I dead ass remember my 7th grade teacher telling our class that Brazil's colonialism consisted of "jesuit priests playing music, which enticed the natives" and that was it (flutes too, to be precise, for some fucking reason) and everyone has just blindly believed this and refused to accept the actual horrible history we're a part of. Portuguese people will be fighting for their lives on technicalities. Say "The portuguese invented the slave trade" and Salvador over there will jump from under the table to explain that akshually african people were the ones to sell their own people as slaves!!! And askhually, slavery goes back for centuries!! You know what they mean, you know what needs to be discussed here, but my boy Salvador is on a mission. He doesn't even care that he's regurgitating fascist propaganda that was entirely built on ahistorical facts that specifically sought to promote colonialism and imperialism as a progressive idea, no, none of that matters. It matters that we are miserable people who will perpetually long for the past, look back on something utterly atrocious and willingly ignore the brutality of it, because we cannot come to terms with the fact that today we live in a country that's ripe with corruption, unlivable wages and high cost of living; we cannot come to terms with the fact that we did all this colonialism just to be a poor fucking country that's being exploited by digital nomads; in fact, we just cannot tolerate the idea that we're just a summer resort for americans and brits and have absolutely no economical relevance in the world, not even cultural, but hey, cultural meaning can be invented. So we look back, we wail and cry and look back at these centuries when we pillaged, enslaved and destroyed because at least we meant something, because we once divided the world in two with Spain, that's how big our balls were once, and because once people knew who we were, they our name beyond the one football player. We purposefully disregard the horrid shit. We coast through life without ever, ever acknowledging it ever existed. We're taught in school colonialism was soft core at best, tell some bullshit about some priests with flutes and be done with it, and then when someone finally confronts us for our history, on god, we'll be fighting with everything we have to prove to you that our colonialism was just fine, and we, white men of the 16th century, showed these countries the meaning of civilisation! Orgulhosamente sós, am i right bitches

[clansayeed]

Bound by Destiny ― Chapter 20: The Revelations

PAIRING: Kamilah Sayeed x MC (Nadya Al Jamil) RATING: Mature

⥼ MASTERLIST ⥽

⥼ Bound by Destiny ⥽

Nadya Al Jamil (MC) has been struggling from the day she moved to Manhattan, but her new job as assistant to the mysterious CEO of Raines Corp was supposed to turn her luck around. Until she finds herself caught in the middle of a war involving the Council of Vampires who secretly run the city. An evil from the birth of Vampire-kind stirs beneath, feeding on the conflict, and finds Nadya bound to a destiny she never asked for.

Bound by Destiny and the rest of the Oblivion Bound series is an ongoing dramatic retelling project of the Bloodbound series and spin-off, Nightbound. Find out more [HERE].

*Let me know if you would like to be added to the Destiny tag list!

⥼ Chapter Summary ⥽

The danger is far from over. Tired of laying low Nadya and the others go on the offensive. Nadya, Adrian, and Kamilah go to the Musea Sanguis to confront the Trinity about the trial.

[READ IT ON AO3]

Adrian wants to be the one to take the risk but Kamilah forbids it. And when he goes to do it behind her back anyway she gets to it first.

“I wish you would just trust me sometimes, Kamilah. I know which members of my Clan will keep my secret.”

“It was a greater risk on your part. It’s done — leave it at that.”

The old phone vibrates in her hand. She glances at the first and only message it will ever receive before making quick work of snapping the SIM and tossing the battery and mobile in two different ponds.

“There’s a shred of luck in our favor,” she starts a brisk pace down the park path — doesn’t wait for Adrian and Nadya to catch up, “as they’re still in town.”

“Good — we can grab a taxi to their hotel. I don’t think we have to worry about one driver.”

“They aren’t at their hotel, Adrian. They’re at the Musea.”

Adrian mutters something under his breath Nadya can’t quite catch. But from context whatever it is it’s not a good thing. “So much for luck.”

“I’m inclined to agree. Despite his position in my Clan I’ve never found Jameson to be the most loyal.”

“He’s a good man, Kamilah. Maybe we can convince him that we’re only seeking justice.”

“I… I’m unsure of how he’ll respond.”

“Any chance we won’t run into him?”

“About as much chance as we would in the sunlight.”

The Musea Sanguis is a historian’s heaven and hell. Filled to the brim with artifacts and accounts from every period and civilization collected in one place not only for their study but also for their safekeeping. But unlike every other collection that would boast the same claims the one at the Musea is special in that it holds the mystical ‘truth’ everyone searches for.

Werewolf packs roaming the New World before Columbus ever stepped on her soil. Witches sealing deals with Marc Antony and Cleopatra. Vampire soldiers in every war and on every side. The Musea Sanguis told the tales forgotten and erased in the name of preserving the shadows and their secrets.

A necessary evil.

“So why would the Trinity come here now?”

Kamilah doesn’t answer; fixates on finding something hidden — a panel made to look like the white outer brickwork that slides aside to reveal a keypad.

Adrian shrugs. “Probably nostalgia; since the Ball brought them out of hiding. They’ve contributed to the Musea for centuries.”

“Wait — that doesn’t make sense.”

“The Musea is wherever the collection goes. New York is just its most recent home.”

Musea or not — Nadya had no idea she’d be able to cross ‘Break into a Secret Museum Within the Met’ off her bucket list. She’d have to add it first.

Kamilah punches in the final digit in a sequence and the maintenance door unlocks with a thunk of metal. The part of Nadya that was forced to endure the Heist of Monaco miniseries with Lily for thirteen hours straight knows this is too easy. Waits for something to jump out of the blackness when Kamilah opens the door and ushers them inside.

Or maybe life just isn’t a television minidrama.

The door closes behind them and darkness swallows them whole.

It’s beautiful, magnificent — ancient too but there are so many words she could use and Nadya quickly gives up trying to find them all because she’d need to go to another part of the gallery for a dictionary.

The temptation to stop and bask in the wonder of strange objects in glass cases is hard to ignore. Then she sees Adrian five steps ahead and rushes to catch up to his and Kamilah’s long strides.

There’ll be time to look at everything later. When everyone is safe.

“I can feel them,” Kamilah hisses; jerks her head towards an archway at the end of a turn, “quickly.”

The arch is rough and worn sandstone — as much an exhibit as anything under a podium or on a shelf. The exhibit’s wallpaper peels away from it; recoils from history it knows it ought not touch. If once there were engravings in the carved sides they’ve since faded with time.

Nadya lets herself indulge — brushes her fingertips along the porous surface as they pass.

“Peculiar, in fact, that as I stand before you and confess my intentions to rid myself of the pest Hydarnes, that a more loyal soldier would attempt to run me through for my wicked tongue. Yet there you stand; immobile.”

“Not immobile — Immortal. I know my place.”

“Ah, but that is the great lie. So called ‘Immortals’ walking among men… yet a blade would fell you as easily as it would a commoner.”

“Then you underestimate me, Augustine.”

“Perhaps I do, Valdemaras… Perhaps I do…”

“Nadya?”

She’s in two places at once. There’s the world in front of her; the stone pressing into her nails and feet rooted to the floor and Adrian and Kamilah turned back towards her with matching looks of confusion and worry.

Then there’s the archway; cut in sharp definition and painted vibrant to match the late King Cyrus’ famed conquests and with a familiar face glaring at her from across the room that both is and isn’t there.

She blinks rapidly — takes the choice away from her mind in where it wants to reside and forces it to focus on the here and now. To Adrian who is stopped before he can advance on her.

He looks down to Kamilah’s hand — confused.

“Let it be.” She doesn’t give him the chance to speak. But the look she gives Nadya is a knowing one. And isn’t that a big relief.

Kamilah releases him, gestures ahead. “They’re in the atrium beyond. Scout to see if Jameson is near. We won’t have long.”

Even when Nadya puts on her best ‘I’m not having strange visions I can’t explain and everything is fine’ face he doesn’t buy it.

“Are you…?”

“I’m okay. I promise.” Squeezing his hand. “Go.”

When he’s three bookshelves away Nadya goes to speak — finds herself silenced by Kamilah’s finger over her lips. They watch Adrian pass three more shelves and round a corner.

“What did you see?”

But it’s already fading — another in a long list of forgotten dreams. “It’s hazy…”

“Try Nadya, please.” And she doesn’t like the insistence in Kamilah’s voice only because it’s heartbreaking and there’s nothing she can do to stop it. “Breathe deep and try.”

She breathes. Breathes again, deep this time. Feels the gritty sand from the arch under her nails.

“It was… it was Valdas — or… his other name.”

“Valdemaras?”

Nadya nods. “Mm. Something about… I think I was him, again. I didn’t see him. Me. My face.”

But putting it into words is like painting without paint; or a brush or a canvas. She can mimic the motions and mouth words soundlessly but nothing is right.

“Come on. Adrian needs us.” She knows Kamilah and knows Kamilah won’t let it go. So she pushes the issue aside by evading the hand that moves her way and practically sprints to join Adrian around the corner. Leaves Kamilah behind only because looking back at her face is too much pain for her to focus on just then.

She comes to an abrupt stop when she turns and collides straight into Adrian’s back.

“Ow!” He doesn’t budge. More throbbing pain for her — hooray.

When the ringing in her ears stops Nadya catches a honey-sweet voice in laughter. It echoes off the domed ceiling and travels around the room like a malevolent breeze.

“There she is. Where Adrian Raines goes one can be sure his human toy follows close behind. But she isn’t all there is, is she? No… I can feel a familiar one close. Kamilah — surely you aren’t so naive as to try hiding. You’re better than that… or maybe you aren’t.”

But Kamilah isn’t hiding. She comes up right behind Nadya and coaxes Adrian forward with a hand at his back.

Isseya’s laughter continues from where she lounges on an old velveteen chaise; one of many such places to sit scattered around the vast and sparsely-filled room.

In fact as Nadya looks around there’s nothing to take up the decorative marble floor at all. The attraction lies instead in a dozen paintings hung on the walls. Each given a wide berth from the other.

Even with her glasses she can’t see the details of some at the far end of the gallery — but she doesn’t have to see them. She can hear them just fine.

Hear their voices, whispers, screams and cries of lust and loss rise and fall in tides. Hear to her left the clatter of steel and whinnying cry of warhorses as their hoofs pound a skull to dust. Hear to her right the rustle of thick curtained veils and the damp squelching of a dagger in the back.

Just as Kamilah comes beside her Nadya’s legs give way — stopped from collapsing to the ground only by the grace of Kamilah’s supernatural speed.

She claps her hands over her ears and opens her mouth in a silent scream. Feels tears sting her eyes and Adrian’s hands join in holding her up.

Their mouths are moving; her protectors trying in vain to find the source of her agony. She can’t hear a word over them.

“It seems you were right again, my love.”

Like someone’s found the dial in her mind the voices and their noises dim until they’re dull and in the background; a movie on in another room.

With bleary tear-filled vision Nadya looks up, up — focuses on the figure with his back turned to them. His attention unable to be ripped away from the painting as tall as he and a head more.

“How much did we bet?” asks Valdas in a calm echo. He turns and begins a leisurely stroll towards Isseya’s seat.

“Thirty-seven.”

“Shame — but I knew I couldn’t be wrong. I’ll be benevolent this time; you can pick my prizes when we return home.”

It takes everything inside her, which isn’t much left at this point, but Nadya musters up enough of her own voice to speak.

“Wh—What’s… hap-peni—ing… to m-mme…?”

The god-like vampire gives them a fanged grin. Isn’t fazed by anything so weak and unimportant as the snarls Kamilah and Adrian throw his way.

“Something wonderful.”

There’s a change in Adrian — she feels it first, is too slow to react — watches him rush the Trinity in a blur. “Whatever you’re doing to her, st—”

Valdas throws Adrian across the room effortlessly; waves his hand as if swatting a fly.

The younger vampire’s body collides into a stone pillar with a crunch. He falls to the ground limp but conscious. Struggles to stand.

“Adrian stop.” A shudder overtakes her as the voices crescendo again but Kamilah’s ready this time; holds her tight. “We did not come here to fight you, Domine. This is needless torture!”

Isseya snarls. “Is that sympathy, Kamilah? From you of all vampires? It’s disgusting.”

“She is an innocent.”

“She is beloved by that cur,” Isseya throws a gesture as Adrian struggles to stand, “and nothing he does is innocent.”

Her words fall flat as her lover rests his hand on her shoulder. “Isseya — calm yourself. Look in her eyes. She doesn’t know what she holds in her grasp.”

In silence something dawns on the wicked woman’s face — it falls into pity and scorn. “That’s her own fault.”

“I don’t disagree.”

Enough. It’s too much. Make it stop! “Make it-t stop, Kamilah, please…”

“Valdas!”

Whether he’s hesitating because he relishes her pain or because the idea of doing anything for Kamilah disgusts him — it doesn’t matter. Every passing second the voices and sounds clash and collide together and scalding pain stings at her temples.

Then a blink. That’s all it takes for the ancient vampire to cross the room and cup her cheeks in his large palms. She remembers now; recognizes the same face from the backs of her eyelids through the archway. The same features unchanged but now hardened by eternity.

“No!” Adrian cries. Nearly collapses in his haste to separate them but Isseya yanks him back by the throat with an almost feral grin. “Let go of — get away from her! Kamilah! Kamilah do something!”

She does. Looks into Valdas’ red eyes and sees something there Nadya can’t understand.

She doesn’t pull Nadya away from his grasp. Lets it be.

“Kamilah!”

“Trust me, Adrian, please!” And she asks the same thing of Nadya in silence.

Trust me. Please, trust me.

She does. Even when it feels like the noises around her are splitting her skull into fragments she does. When Valdas places two fingers on each temple she does.

There’s a vaguely familiar tugging in her gut — then nothing at all. No noise, no pain, no air on her face or sweat on her brow. There is blackness and a void and the feeling of blood pounding in her temples and roots growing out from the tips of her fingers and toes…

… then it’s gone.

Valdas stays close — she can smell the spice of his clothes. And something deeper than that… two thousand sheer veils hovering between them that she can brush away with a mere thought.

She can see the hall with her eyes closed; feel Kamilah and the leaden weight of her years and Adrian’s, too, the same but different in a way that can’t be defined. Nadya feels all the organs in her body yearning towards a brightness she can only call ‘devotion’ at the other end of the room.

So much blood, so bright…

But around her—around them—the world is empty. Dark and dim; filled with nothing but feathers that arrive on one wind and vanish on the next. The fragility of human life crumbling to a fine powder underneath their touch.

The moon was once bright but no longer holds the same appeal. In a world without cities or smog or the fake light of mankind there was once a forest bathed in the light of the endless stars. And in that forest there was a lover.

But that lover is gone now.

Right?

Nadya inhales and begins to plummet back down — flew up to the moon but wasn’t close enough to touch. Eternity rushes back within her, roots withered and dried and rotting away from her stems. The forest too gone in a single second.

When she opens her eyes the noises are silent. The hall is just a hall — startlingly empty for the crowd and clutter of the shelves they passed.

A rough thumb strokes her cheekbone and brings her back to herself. Causes Nadya to look up into Valdas’ golden eyes. She struggles to catch her breath.

Kamilah strokes her hair — tries and fails to keep the worry from her voice.

“Nadya — are you all right?”

She replies with a nod. Can’t — or maybe just doesn’t want to — tear her eyes away from the man before her.

“You’re so alone…” So many voices have tried to make a home in her head that Nadya doesn’t recognize her own right away. “You cling to what’s left but beyond her there’s… there’s nothing.”

Nadya reaches up and mirrors Valdas’ touch with gentle hands. “You’d rather wither as a corpse than live as a man. They’re the same thing to you; both empty and tired.”

“To know completion only to lose it was to be ripped in two.” Valdas says.

“But… having half of yourself must be better than nothing at all.”

“Such a way of thinking is mortal and beyond me. I wish it weren’t.”

“Eternity doesn’t settle for anything less.”

Her own words surprise her. That’s not Nadya’s way of thinking — it’s so pessimistic. But then again it’s not really her way of thinking now is it?

Valdas confirms the thought with an appraising look.

“Indeed…” His touch slides down her face — she’s seen what those hands can do; their violence. Yet he cradles her gently. “What I would not give for even a moment of your power.”

Power. It breaks the spell they’re under. Makes Nadya push herself away and back into Kamilah’s waiting protection.

She doesn’t have any power.

Hard eyes glance to where Adrian struggles desperately against Isseya’s impossible hold. The look she gives Valdas is pleading. Earnest.

The man waves his hand — silent permission given — and Adrian is at her side.

“What—did he—Nadya—I—”

She lets him know she’s okay with a touch. But that’s not what they came here to do. That’s not what they’re risking everything for. She’s risking everything for him and not the other way around.

“Why did you lie to the Council?” There’s no room for doubt; no room to oppose her. She knows — he knows that she knows.

She just wish she knew how she knew. And the confusion of it makes her skull want to crack open like an egg.

When Valdas doesn’t answer she tries his lover; “Why did you lie and say you weren’t with Adrian? You knew it would condemn him to death. What do you have against him?”

“Turn your accusatory eye elsewhere, little girl,” Isseya snarls, “perhaps to those you so vehemently protect. The best liars hide in plain sight.”

Adrian tenses. “How did I lie? Whatever Vega’s told you about the Ferals —”

“You think we care about a meager infestation?” Valdas barks a laugh; returns to Isseya’s side with a protective arm around her waist. “We’ve seen the likes of worse and weathered them still.”

“So this isn’t about the Council?”

“We couldn’t care less about you, them, or the problems you make for yourselves.”

“We’ve seen it all before.” agrees Isseya.

But Adrian’s struggling — refuses to let it go. “What you heard at the trial was lies; all of it. Vega fabricated it to point the finger at me. I… I don’t know why. I wish I knew why. But if you tell me why he made you lie then maybe I can figure it out.”

Adrian’s focus is on Valdas like he’s the one who makes all the decisions. But Nadya knows better — watches behind him as a peculiar expression melts onto the priestess’ features. She knows that look.

If it wasn’t for Adrian’s healing blood she’d probably still have bruises from that look.

“Wait —” it dawns on her slowly, “— were you there to testify for or against Adrian in the first place?”

Smart girl, says the glint in Valdas’ eyes.

“We were called to speak on behalf of the accused — on Adrian’s behalf. And when certain mysteries came to light we decided it was best to extend the same courtesy to him that was given to us.”

Adrian struggles to make sense of it. “What does that even mean? When did I lie to you? What—what courtesy?”

But it’s like the more questions he asks the more their silent rage builds. There’s a rope being pulled between them and every confused outcry Adrian gives is another slash of the knife. She doesn’t want to see what will happen when it finally snaps.

If she wasn’t still consumed with the raw feeling Valdas left inside of her — some parting gift, jerk — Nadya knows she’d be able to focus. But her insides are sandpaper and every breath, movement, thought makes them grate together.

Her only solace is that Nadya knows what that feeling is like. Felt it on her own level deep inside when she saw Lily losing her grip on the edge of her life. And again when she turned back against her better judgment to watch her friends leap into a Feral mob to keep her safe.

And again when Adrian was sentenced to death.

Eternity doesn’t settle.

The burning in her body is grief without an outlet.

How dare he. Innocent faces hide deceitful minds. How dare he. Our lifetimes are haunted by ghosts we dare not give names to — yet this is more. He is more. But dare we hope again after all this time?

Is it better to hope for a spec of eternity than to grieve for the entirety of it?

“I remember him fondly, Domine, though I would not dare to say my memory is worth more than yours. Strange, though, that Adrian would know nothing of you, your infamy, or your grief.

“And to weigh the bulk of his innocence on a creature that could very well be Cynbel’s reflection… We all saw it — even Kamilah felt haunted by his presence. You did the right thing Valdemaras. You did the right thing to he who would rather see you and your love continue to mourn than help you hope.”

Okay, so, whatever he did to her Nadya very much wants taken back — only because she’s not asleep and not hallucinating and both of those would be preferable to standing where she feels safest in the world yet somehow can’t escape the villainous drawl of Adam Vega.

Even if it answers a lot of unasked questions.

God, please let her be right about this.

“It wasn’t Adrian who lied to you. It was Vega.”

Adrian frowns. “Nadya, what are you talking about?”

“Just what I was going to ask…” growls Valdas in warning. She can feel the rumble of his voice deep in her own breast.

So Nadya turns her words — and attention — to Isseya. The uncontrollable hurricane. The coin of fate.

“Isseya, please. Think about it. You were so angry that night, right? I made you think about him — the one you lost — and you wanted to —”

“I wanted to rip you limb from limb and feed your organs in little pieces to the pond fish.”

Artful. And shudder-worthy. “E-Exactly. So I can’t even imagine what it must have felt like to sit in that trial and see Cadence. He looked just like him.”

“You saw it too…?” She asks in an almost broken whisper. Digs her nails deep into the meat of her lover’s upper arm; makes blood run down in thin strands that begin to drip-drip-drip on the white floor.

Nadya nods. “I did. And if I did then you can be sure Vega did with me. And I think he realized he could use your grief against you and for himself.”

Kamilah stays silent behind her. She doesn’t need to speak — Nadya knows; finally understands what her ominous warning was meant to serve as at Cadence and Katherine’s departure.

There’s a sliver of doubt, now — something hasty and makeshift to mend the fragile rope between them.

Isseya clings to her partner. “I told you, I told you…”

“I know, my love, but —”

“But that,” Nadya interrupts — and keeps going fast before he decides to do something irrational like snap her neck for her insolence, “right there. At the Ball you guys didn’t care who heard you but all of a sudden you were lying in front of the tribunal. You’re better than that — you said so yourself, Valdas.

“You don’t care what happens; to Adrian or to the Council. So why deny it so quickly? What do you gain from lying?”

The man grits his teeth. “If there is a point you ought to reach it. Quickly.”

Her heart begins to race. “Vega talked to you after the Ball didn’t he? He asked you about the questions you asked Cadence and then brought up all those painful memories of your lover, Cynbel.”

“Vega was an old acquaintance.”

“Pretty convenient timing though, huh?”

“He knows better than such insolence. We are —”

“No one cares who you are anymore!” And as the only one in the room with a pulse she really hates how hers keeps skipping every other beat. It’s just not fair. “I’m sorry to be the one to tell you guys but the world moved on even if you didn’t. Nobody cares about the Trinity when there aren’t even three of you.

“Look at the facts, Valdas, please. Vega triggered your grief and — and used your hope, Isseya — to make you think Adrian was lying to you.”

“It… makes a modicum of sense.”

Kamilah steps out from behind her. Pensive thoughts and connected dots race through her mind. “If, through some means, Vega knew the man Adrian would call as his witness — knew the resemblance he bore — then it would be easy to reaffirm your doubts once the trial went in his direction.”

“And how would a youth like Vega know we would choose to deny your Adrian’s claims?” Valdas scoffs.

“Because he has moved on with the world, and knows we will always stay true to one thing.” Isseya relinquishes her bloody grip and coaxes her lover to meet her eyes.

“The rest of the world may burn but we will remain through the ages.”

Nadya, Kamilah, and Adrian watch the couple now enveloped in each other; gentle touches to eternal skin and one kiss in the wake of thousands — maybe even millions.

Adrian tries to advance — moves aside the hand she reaches out in warning — and moves slow and purposeful. Aware of the bloodshed just beneath the surface in front of them.

His sincerity makes his voice break. “I know what it’s like to love someone — and to lose them. How it never really goes away and… and how we have all these years to keep feeling the hurt. If I had even an inkling that your partner was still alive I would have done everything in my power to help you reunite.”

“See? Adrian isn’t capable of what Vega claims. He’s, well,” Kamilah looks him up and down, “he’s too damn soft, frankly.”

Isseya is the first to pull away. Keeps herself in the safety of Valdas’ embrace while scrutinizing Adrian and his words.

“I see none of the Godmaker’s ambition in you. Adam was always prone to bold and fantastical claims but that… that was a lie and he knew it.”

The Godmaker. Nadya doesn’t want to know. One problem at a time.

And speaking of problems — time is going to become one if they don’t start hurrying. She can’t let herself drown in the strangeness of what’s happening.

So here she goes. “The fact of the matter is Vega used you both. He used your loyalty to each other and I’d even say he used the memory of your partner to get what he wanted out of you and out of the Council.

“It’s despicable, and wrong, and downright evil. But he’s a career politician so I can’t even pretend I’m surprised…” Nadya shakes her head to get her thoughts back on track. “So please help us get back at him. Help us clear Adrian’s name and figure out who the real person at fault is.”

The couple exchange looks — Nadya’s actually sweating waiting for an answer. Then Kamilah makes… a surprisingly good point.

“If mortal altruism is not enough to spur you forward, then consider the state of your reputation should Adam succeed through manipulating you.”

That makes up their minds. If Nadya’s a little disappointed in them for it she doesn’t let it show. Something’s better than nothing.

At first glance it looks like Valdas’ focus is elsewhere — perhaps in the symbolic distance. Then Nadya follows his eyes across the hall to a painting alone in the far corner. Tucked away as if to be forgotten on purpose.

A dull throbbing starts in her temples. Not the same roaring pain from before but similar. The longer she looks the stronger it gets.

She doesn’t know how she knows; she simply does. Can hear it in the back of her mind the same way she’s heard everything else this night.

“What are the chances that this scrap of canvas will survive? Especially if you insist we leave it behind?”

“Do you not wish to see what will become of it, my dear? To see if it — like us — persists the ages?”

“A grand experiment for a later date. I have a meeting with Parliament at dusk.”

“Parliament will not rot from the inside after one day, Holy One. Stay with us. I beseech you.”

“You know how to tempt me so.”

“I may have an inkling after all these years.”

“And for the years yet to come.”

That’s why they came here. Nadya’s certain. Knows that if she runs across the room she’ll see two familiar faces and the one from the painting at Marcel’s castle. The Trinity.

Another familiar face, too. It lingers in the doorway at the far end of the room; silent, stoic.

She lets herself take in the gaunt features for what feels like the first time. Notes every inch of greying flesh and black veins pulsing out of throbbing temples disfigured with bumps like horns. Stares at lips peeled back and bitten off in the frenzy of hunger; the sharp and almost pristine tip of every fanged tooth.

The yellowing illness around bulging eyes. Pupils narrowed into slits. The way they tremble and struggle to hold her transfixed in their horror and, strangely, their splendor too.

She opens her mouth to speak. Breaks the spell they were held under.

The Feral lets out an unearthly howl and rushes in for the kill.