Blood Solace (Blood Grace Book 2)

by Vela Roth

  Lyros’s reply joined the sound, creating a small aural chaos. “Temper is an ill-behaved guest.”

  It almost worked, but Lio made out the barest brush of a foot on the snow. He managed a clumsy dodge roll just as they executed a perfect Grace Dance that would have had him trapped between them and on the ground in an instant. He jarred his shoulder on the rock-hard snow and came to his feet hurting, but small price to pay.

  “You’ve just been waiting to try that one on me, haven’t you,” Lio huffed.

  “We’d rather try it on a Cordian war mage we’re allowed to kill, but you’ll do for practice.” Mak’s hand came out of nowhere and twisted Lio’s smarting arm in a Crippled Dove.

  Lio moved with Mak, turning his body into the painful hold and easing the pressure on his arm while he brought his free hand around to attempt a Sun Strike in Mak’s eyes. His cousin caught his wrist and turned the move against him, spinning him off-balance.

  Lio’s stomach churned. The world tilted.

  “We’re still jealous you got to duel with a war mage from the Aithourian Circle and didn’t save a piece of him for us.” That was Lyros. That was his foot tapping the back of Lio’s ankle, robbing him of the remnants of his balance.

  The snow felt more like granite against Lio’s back. The air rushed out of his lungs, and those felt crushed by granite from above, too. Sparks dotted his vision. Curses he could not articulate ran through his mind. If he still had thought to spare for curses, he was not focused enough. A different kind of anger drove him back onto his feet. The anger of conviction.

  Mak let out a call, half guffaw, half cheer.

  “Keep it up,” Lyros urged.

  Lio threw himself into his next defensive move, and the next after that, until even the names of the moves no longer flitted through his mind. He was in his body, in his senses. No difference, no delay between thought and motion.

  When he transitioned into offensive moves, his mind registered on some deep level that his two opponents were giving him room. Letting him try what he knew. Anger that they allowed him anything poured force into his attacks. He wanted a fight. Not a lesson.

  “Temper is a weakness.” Another blow to Lio’s sore shoulder brought Mak’s words home.

  “Don’t let your anger out in the moves.” Lyros’s voice echoed strangely through the ring once more. “Let the moves drain the anger out of you.”

  How did they expect him to release this anger? He wanted a fight, and his enemy was out of reach. Flavian was in Tenebra, and Lio was in Orthros.

  Lio’s eyes were shut; he only heard a back hit the snow again.

  “Hey, I’m not the enemy!”

  “Who do you think you’re fighting?” asked his other opponent. His other teacher.

  They were right. Lio hated to own it. But Flavian was not the enemy. The man was a pawn. Lord Titus’s or the king’s. Or perhaps the one who moved him was Cassia, as she moved the other lords. The true enemy was King Lucis.

  “Better, Lio,” Mak approved. “Think, act.”

  “Anger clouds thought,” Lyros instructed. “Focus clears your head.”

  Motion by motion, the focus came to him. His mind calmed and sharpened into the state he could only achieve in the ring. He was no longer at odds with his body, but within it. His body had no energy for hunger, only motion. Defense, offense. Parry, attack. Follow through.

  Lio and Cassia’s true enemy remained the same. Her father, who ruled Tenebra and his daughter without mercy. But she had held her own against him until now; what if this latest threat to her was no threat at all? What if she had the danger of a betrothal firmly under control?

  “That would have worked if you’d had more confidence,” said Mak.

  “Any shred of doubt is enough to bring defeat,” Lyros warned.

  This was the true problem: he was not sure. Did she need him to rescue her? Or did she wish for him not to interfere? Was this the hour when her need was so dire, he might break his promise to let her fight? Or did she still wish him to do as she had bade him half a year ago?

  How could she expect that of him? She had bade him be safe. Just like everyone else. Everyone denied him the chance to fight at her side. Even Cassia herself.

  The anger resurged, and pain bloomed in his knee, then his shoulder yet again.

  Didn’t he have as much a right to fight for their safety, their happiness, as she did?

  His body told him in dodges and parries that his offense had fallen apart, and he was on the defensive again.

  He did have a right. This was his fight, too. Would no one acknowledge that?

  Snow slid under Lio’s feet. He gave more ground, and it infuriated him. But the more he raged at it, the more ground he gave.

  “You were doing fine until you got mad again,” Mak said.

  “What happened?” asked Lyros. “Try to regain your advantage.”

  Lio had done nothing but try. Every complex move he attempted, someone countered, herding him back into the most basic tactics.

  “Stop making it easy for me!” he shouted. “Anthros’s bollocks, I don’t want to be coddled like a suckling!”

  The snow covered the sky and fell toward him. It struck him. This must be how the Queens’ ward felt. Like an eternal mountain brought to bear upon a single person.

  The impact dragged the air out of Lio’s lungs and turned his belly inside out. For a horrible moment, he thought the dampness under his face was blood he had vomited on the snow.

  Then he could feel his face again. He wished it were still numb. The blood was coming from…somewhere in all that pain.

  Two pairs of strong, gentle hands were, as he had predicted before the match, prying him off the ground. Moving hurt like Anthros’s pyre. Lio let out a growl of protest. They ignored it. Lio found himself in a sitting position.

  Mak held him upright. “Thorns, Lio, we honestly thought you would dodge Grace Dance a second time. Sorry.”

  “When you asked for a real fight, we thought you would be a little more prepared for it.” Lyros touched a cloth to Lio’s chin to catch the mess pouring from his nose…lips…eyes too.

  Lio grabbed the cloth and pressed it to his mouth. He would not vomit the blood of three deer all over his two best friends. He planted a hand on Mak’s shoulder, heaved himself to his feet, and staggered away.

  “Lio, walking?” Mak warned. “Bad idea.”

  “We’ll take you to Javed,” Lyros announced.

  Lio couldn’t see or smell, and his ears roared. Mak and Lyros were about to step to the healer and take him along. He wouldn’t vomit the blood of three deer on Javed either. All the magic he’d used to pass Javed’s last physical exam would be a waste then.

  His Gift was in almost as much chaos as his body, but he used the last of his presence of mind to hone in on Cassia’s charm and step to the bath.

  He went down on his knees and rid himself of every drop he’d drunk all night.

  Hylonome

  As always, Mak and Lyros understood. They took Lio’s sudden departure to mean he wanted to be left alone.

  As always, they waited patiently for a grand total of five minutes.

  They did knock at the door of the bath. Well, pounded. That was the unmistakable sound of Mak’s fist. Lio tried to tell them to go away, but his stomach heaved again, and they misinterpreted the sounds he made to mean come in.

  “Goddess,” Lyros breathed.

  Mak didn’t say anything at first. His anger charged through the Union and collided with Lio’s own. Lio found it comforting. Mak only got furious like that when something very real was wrong with someone he cared about very much. He and Lio were alike in that way. Lio used to think they were not alike at all. But Tenebra had changed him…no. Made him see himself for who he was.

  “I’m getting Javed. Now,” Mak said.

  “No,” Lio ground out.

  Lyros answered, grim but calm. “This isn’t a training injury, Lio. You need a healer.”

  “
Don’t! Please. Keep this—between us. Let me—explain.”

  A clean, damp cloth pressed against Lio’s forehead, and his friends supported him while he finished emptying his stomach. Cool magic flowed around them. The smell of blood faded, and the fresh fragrance of citrus filled the room. He couldn’t see much through his swollen eyes, but the floor was now a blur of gray, not red.

  “Done?” Mak asked.

  Lio’s skin burned with humiliation. The heaves had stopped, although his body still trembled. “Uh-huh.”

  “Time to tilt that head back, then.”

  He followed his cousin’s instructions. Mak settled the cloth over his face. Lio felt the dampness of blood that was not his own and with it, the sensation of magic, dark and bracing. The familiar blend of Mak and Lyros’s Gifts went to work on Lio’s eyes, nose and mouth.

  “A topical treatment,” Mak said firmly. “Then we talk.”

  “We wouldn’t want this mess on your face to scare Zoe later.”

  Lio would have smiled at Lyros’s comment, except it would hurt like magefire.

  “Thank you for doing this,” Lio told them.

  “Doing it again, you mean.” Mak chuckled.

  “Just as you’ve done for us,” said Lyros, “and not just on the night of Initiation, when we all shed our blood to seal our Trial circle.”

  Lio was so glad the two of them were here.

  Goddess help him, this had been so hard. They didn’t even know what was wrong, but at this moment, he could not have been more grateful for them. It had been such a solace to see them again the night he’d come back from Tenebra after everything that had happened at the Summit. He’d hardly gotten home before Lyros had started in on him with thoughtful questions Lio hadn’t wanted to answer, and Mak had harassed him with jokes about how he was his father’s son, which were all too accurate.

  How many times had he been so tempted to tell them about Cassia that he’d nearly given in?

  “That’s better,” Lyros said with satisfaction.

  Mak removed the cloth, and Lio realized he could see. The swelling around his eyes had eased enough for him to blink, and the pain in his nose was bearable. His lips throbbed, but he could speak without wanting to curse again. He only wished he had something to clear the foul taste from his mouth. Anything but deer blood. The very idea brought another wave of nausea over him, and he pushed the thought away.

  Lyros offered him a flask. “Don’t swallow any, not when your stomach’s just settled.”

  Gratefully Lio took a swig of citrus water and spat into the rag. Mak took it from him and tossed it aside with another cleaning spell. Lio moved carefully and managed to get himself, with their assistance, onto one of the stone benches that lined the room. He leaned his head back against the wall.

  Mak and Lyros stood over him. Their concern came at him through the Blood Union and cornered him as effectively as their Grace Dance had in the ring.

  Lyros looked at Lio steadily. “Mak, I haven’t seen anyone this sick since I made the mistake of looking in the mirror during our Ritual separation.”

  Mak’s gaze snapped from Lio to Lyros. “Are you serious?”

  “My Grace, you yourself have given Lio no rest from your raillery about a secret share.”

  “I was jesting!”

  “Lio? Is that what this is?”

  He shut his eyes. Now he could betray Cassia, or lie to Mak and Lyros.

  As much as he’d done for half a year to keep his secret, he had never lied. Especially not to his Trial brothers.

  He had known if they ever saw him like this, they would realize what was wrong with him right away. They had endured Ritual separation to prove to everyone their Craving was true. Mak and Lyros actually knew what Lio was going through.

  Only for them it had lasted eight nights. Well, seven nights and a few minutes. As soon as they had surfaced from the Dawn Slumber on the eighth night, Mak had broken down four doors to get to Lyros, and everyone had called that definitive.

  “You would have told us,” Mak protested. “You haven’t even shared with anyone lately. We would know. All you do is work and train, when you aren’t with Zoe. You never come out to the docks with all of us. You haven’t so much as nibbled any of the human guests from the Empire since…”

  “Since he got back from Tenebra.”

  Mak froze, then rubbed his face in both hands. “Goddess, open my blind eyes.”

  Lyros looked rather ill himself. “Half a year, Lio?”

  They understood. They knew.

  I’m sorry, Cassia. But you are my Grace, and they are my brothers. They are your brothers, too.

  “I can’t say.” Lio couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

  “Lio, this isn’t the time to put us off.” Mak jabbed a finger at him, scowling. “Not about something this important. I would think you’d trust us with—”

  Lyros put a hand on Mak’s arm. “He said he can’t say. Not that he won’t.”

  “Can’t say? As in, if he acknowledged that person’s status to us verbally, it would be a legally binding commitment to…someone vital to his future sustenance, happiness and sanity?”

  Oh, laughing did still hurt. “Yes, Mak. I can’t say. Yet. But I’m glad you two are the first I can’t say anything to about her.”

  Mak sat down on the bench beside Lio. “I would have been furious if you’d told someone else first.”

  “Not a soul.” Lio’s smile faded. “She doesn’t even know.”

  Lyros raised his eyebrows. “You didn’t tell her?”

  “We were never apart long enough for me to feel the effects, until I left Tenebra.” Lio looked away. “I didn’t realize until I got home.”

  They were silent. Yes, Lio thought. It was that bad.

  “It’s the worst mistake I’ve ever made in my life,” Lio said. “I found her in Tenebra, and I didn’t know that’s who she was, and I left without her.”

  There. He had said it. It felt so good to get it out into the open. The truth of how utterly he had failed.

  Mak snorted. “Typical.”

  Lio frowned at him. “What?”

  “You’re blaming yourself,” Lyros explained patiently. “If a human guest you’ve never met finds a bug in her shoe on the other side of the city in a guest house you’ve never set foot in, it’s always your fault.”

  “What? I don’t…. Lyros, there’s no comparison. How is it not my responsibility to recognize who she is and let her know? I was so preoccupied with how foolish I’d been about Xandra that I was determined I would never again mistakenly believe someone was my…” His Grace. “When I actually did find her, I didn’t seriously consider the possibility until it was too late.”

  Mak gave Lio a wry look. “You were in Tenebra for less than a season. You don’t just say, ‘Nice to meet you. By the way, I’ll suffer for all eternity without the blood in your veins. Spend the rest of time with me?’”

  “Lio, it took Mak and me years to own up to it. We knew for a long time before we were sure, if that makes sense. And it was even longer before it wasn’t too…” Lyros paused to search for words.

  “…before we stopped being scared bloodless about how sunbound serious it is,” Mak finished.

  Lyros nodded with a smile.

  “But it seemed like you were always sure,” Lio protested. “You were sure even before you were old enough to be allowed to do anything about it, although we all know—that is—never mind.”

  Mak exchanged a private grin with his Grace. “We aren’t known for our patience, are we?”

  Lio abandoned the ruins of his diplomacy. “Is it true what the elders say? That if you feast before mastering your Gift and passing the Trial of Discipline during Initiation, the Blood Union catastrophically overwhelms you?”

  Mak and Lyros shot each other another look Lio could not possibly interpret.

  “Lyros passed out first,” Mak said.

  Lyros burst out laughing. “Oh, no. It was definitely you who�
��while I was—never mind.”

  “It was a challenge,” Mak concluded with a self-satisfied smile.

  Lyros’s gaze softened. “And it was worth it.”

  “Eighty years is a very long time to wait for Initiation and official adulthood,” Lio grumbled. “If I’d met her before I was officially allowed to do anything about it, I wouldn’t have waited, either. In fact, I was officially, expressly forbidden to drink a drop from any human in Tenebra.” It definitely hurt to smile this much.

  “Well?” Mak prompted.

  Lyros studied Lio, one hand propped on his chin in exaggerated consideration. “Well, we know he drank from her, because of his symptoms. But the question remains…”

  Mak lowered his voice. “Did he feast on her?”

  “Did our little Lio finally lose his innocence?”

  “I’m older than both of you,” Lio said flatly.

  “But you’re bloodborn,” Mak reminded him.

  Lyros nodded sagely. “Your head start doesn’t count.”

  Lio looked away, losing heart for their teasing, as much as he appreciated their intent. “Four nights. That was all.”

  “Get back in that training ring. You need to work on your stamina.”

  Lio punched Mak in the arm. “She needed time to feel sure an illicit affair with a foreign heretic was worth the risk. By then we only had four nights left before her sunbound father’s mage tried to assassinate the Hesperine embassy and the entire Council of Free Lords, and I had to flee the sunbound country and leave her there.”

  Lyros’s eyes widened. “Her father?”

  Mak let out a long whistle. “Lio got his fangs polished by the king’s daughter.”

  “Do you realize what a disaster this is? I can’t be without her, but if she had agreed to come with me like I asked—”

  Lyros leaned closer. “You asked her to come with you?”

  “Of course I did.”

  Mak was grinning again now. “You tapped the king’s daughter and invited her to run off with you. What part of this can you see as a mistake?”

  “She said no. Don’t you dare make another remark about my stamina.”