Orlova was badly burnt. Her body was covered in soot, the clothing along her back tattered to rags. The exposed skin was black and peeling. Ira saw the white flash of bone among torn flesh. The woman was not healing well, if at all.

“Can you stand?” Ira asked quietly.

Valeri shook his head. “Leave me. Hurry.”

Ira did not delay. Valeri would be safe with Zenith, and Orlova was in too volatile a mood to ignore. The woman managed to get her hands around Lord Fane’s throat in the few seconds it took for Ira to cover the distance between them. Blood poured down Lord Fane’s neck where Orlova’s nails dug in. Ira did not dare move too close, so as not to incite the woman into doing worse damage.

“Miss Orlova,” Ira bid, attempting to draw the woman’s attention away from Lord Fane.

“Do not worry, Miss Hale. I will not kill him,” Orlova said through a mad grin. Her eyes were reddened, and never wavered from Lord Fane’s pale face.

“You should,” Lord Fane rasped out.

Orlova laughed. The sound came out in gurgles, far from happy. “You learned your worth, at last! Too late to do any good,” the woman spat.

Orlova’s face twisted between anger and grief. The woman cast no shadow, Ira noted. She was whole at last, in a failing body.

“Is there anything,” Lord Fane began, voice pleading.

“Nothing,” Orlova snapped. Her face changed again, and her voice gentled. “It has been coming for a long time.”

Orlova’s body was not simply wounded, Ira realized – it was rotting, and reminded Ira of the lugat she had slain but weeks prior the more she looked. Orlova’s transition from human to vampire had never been successful. The deterioration was kept at bay somehow, likely due to the existence of her human half; nonetheless, Orlova’s ending was foretold.

Lord Fane moved at last. Instead of freeing himself from Orlova’s grip, he pressed into the woman’s hands and proceeded to scold and lecture. Orlova should have listened to him, Lord Fane said. It was not too late yet. As long as she listened –

It made for a ridiculous sight. Had the situation been less dire, Ira might have found amusement in seeing such a strange dynamic play out. As it were, Lord Fane’s inane ramblings inspired pity and little else.

Orlova watched the man without speaking. She removed her hands from Lord Fane’s neck, took a step back.

“I am leaving,” she said. Her voice carried a stringent echo.

Lord Fane attempted to rise to his feet. Orlova crushed the hand he used to support himself under her heel, breaking fine bones. Lord Fane swayed back down with a pained shout.

“Where will you go?” Ira questioned.

She could not let the woman leave, not in this state. Orlova posed a danger to all around her.

Orlova slanted a thin smile Ira’s way. “Do not fret, Miss Hale. I do not plan to go far.”

The field fed into a forest on one side. The other opened to a steep cliff, at the base of which rushed a river swollen from recent rains. Ira watched Orlova make her way to the top of the cliff, gait staggered. She sat at the highest point.

Ira turned away.

“What does she mean to do?” Valeri asked.

Ira helped the man sit up. His wounds were nearly gone, but he still moved stiffly.

“She will watch the sunrise,” Ira answered.

Valeri stilled. He looked at Ira, then at the cliff, where Orlova still sat. She was no longer alone.

“Fane…” Valeri began.

“Let him be,” Ira dismissed. The man would not die quickly, given his lineage. Ira meant to ensure that he lived long enough to give account for his crimes.

They found a shallow cave blanketed by moss and withered grass. Valeri settled in its depths, collapsing into exhausted sleep soon thereafter. Ira kept watch at the cave’s entrance. The sun rose in the east; its light reflected in Ira’s eyes in a burning crescent.

A mournful wail rose and fell with the wind.

Ira returned to the cliff when the sun reached its zenith. She found Lord Fane sitting alone. The man’s face bore painful blisters, and his eyes were burned blind. There was ash on his hands and clothes. He had held Orlova until the end.

“Will you kill me, if I answer your questions?” Lord Fane asked.

Ira sat beside the man. “Your death is not a fitting atonement, Lord Fane.”

Lord Fane nodded in contemplation. His unseeing eyes continued to gaze at the sky. “She must have missed the sun dearly,” he said.

“Those who were bereaved of its warmth against their will often do,” Ira agreed.

“There is so much to gain, so much to experience and learn in a life free of mortal worries. Why choose death?” Lord Fane asked. He sounded lost.

“Death was waiting for her, regardless of anyone’s hopes. It was her right to choose as she did,” Ira said.

Lord Fane shook his head, grieved. “If she had only done as we planned, if she had only listened…”

“Did you truly think that the death of her human half would heal her?” Ira asked.

Lord Fane stilled. He nodded after a while, the gesture stilted. It was a lie, but one the man wished to believe.

“If that was the case, why choose to die with her?” Ira asked gently.

Lord Fane bowed his head and did not answer.

Orlova was beyond help. Lord Fane must have known this, yet he still clung onto hope. It was an unusually foolish course of action for someone of Lord Fane’s status.

“Very well. That choice was yours to make. What of Chervnik’s residents? How did they wrong you?” Ira asked.

“Unfortunate casualties of war,” Lord Fane said softly.

“There is no war in Samodevia,” Ira reminded.

Lord Fane’s lips lifted slightly in a ghost of a smile. “Not yet. You must have discerned the purpose of this farce.”

Ira accepted the confirmation calmly. “The same purpose that took Iavor Beaufort’s life.”

Lord Fane raised his head. Shock and grief were written plainly on his disfigured face, underlined by terrible guilt.

Ira never had much interest in the circumstances surrounding her biological father’s death. When Valeri spoke of the man’s demise as murder executed by an ungrateful mortal under Beaufort protection, Ira’s curiosity was nonetheless piqued. Valeri named a single man as the culprit. How could a mere human match up to a vampire lord, let alone wound him mortally?

The answer was simple: They could and did not.

“The initial provocation did not succeed, so you decided to try again. Was your sacrifice meant to compensate for Beaufort’s death?” Ira mused.

“I knew nothing of their plans!” Lord Fane cried out. He did not seem to care that he had given himself away, patting at the ground blindly until he caught the edge of Ira’s coat and held tightly. “I loved Iavor dearly. Had I known, I would have never –”

The man collapsed, panting harshly. There was sweat on his brow. His whole body shook, wracked by pain.

Ira took Lord Fane’s arm. “Come, enough of this. Let us speak where the havens will not disturb.”

She helped him down the cliff and into the shade of the forest. They made their way to the cave where Valeri slept slowly. Ira hesitated once they reached the hidden crevice, uncertain of Valeri’s reception of Lord Fane’s presence. In the end, she reasoned that the man would wish to hear Lord Fane’s account first-hand, and guided the injured vampire inside.

The hours passed slowly. Lord Fane fell into a daze, awake but unresponsive. His wounds healed as Ira watched. His eyes deepened in color, losing the milky-white film that had covered them like a scar. By the time dusk fell Lord Fane was whole again. Yet he neither moved nor spoke, sitting slumped onto himself like a broken thing.

Ira did not pay their guest much mind, other than to ensure that he posed no danger to himself or Valeri. Zenith disappeared somewhere shortly after she arrived and was yet to return. The cave was small, and the three of them were in close quarters despite the beast’s absence.

Valeri awoke not long after the last rays of sunlight disappeared behind the horizon. His eyes moved to Lord Fane almost immediately, narrowed to a flint.

“Why is he here?” he asked Ira, tone decidedly unfriendly.

Valeri looked haggard. His skin was naturally pale due to his nature, but it now held shadows and sunk beneath his cheeks in an almost ghoulish manner. Ira recalled that Valeri had not eaten for many days. Still, as the man appeared well enough to pick arguments, she decided to let the encounter play out before playing the part of a housekeeper once again.

Lord Fane moved at last, sluggishly turning his head to chase after the sound of Valeri’s voice. He blinked the room into focus with slow drags of pale lashes. “I am alive?” he wondered, and did not sound overly happy at the prospect.

Valeri grunted in disgust. “Indeed, you are, unlike the souls under your protection. You are responsible for their deaths – deaths that you meant to blame on the victims themselves! What could have possibly driven you to such madness?”

There was incredulity in Valeri’s tone, beneath the anger. Lord Fane’s actions were obviously uncharacteristic, if Valeri found them this strange despite his dislike of the man. Ira had expected as much. Lord Cheryl Fane was not a bloodthirsty monster – yet he had acted the part, and in a very grand manner. Whatever the man’s reasons were, they had to be important.

Lord Fane looked at Ira and Valeri both, gaze unfocused. “The truth will not help,” he said.

“We wish to hear it nonetheless,” Ira told him.

The man nodded. He put his words together slowly.

“Humans do not belong in Samodevia,” Lord Fane said, and raised a hand to stave off Valeri’s angry retort, “Neither do vampires, and most creatures who call the land their home. This kingdom belonged to others – to the samodiva, who fled beyond Samodvia’s borders when the drums of war started beating. Only the Queen remained. She is no longer enough to hold the kingdom from the edge of chaos.”

“What purpose would another war serve?” Ira asked.

Lord Fane shrugged. “It cannot go on like this. Humans do not remember their supernatural brethren, and we in turn detest humanity for delegating us to the shadows for the sake of a false peace. The Dvor wishes for a war to make our presence known once again. The Queen’s Court has different goals, but our two paths align.”

“You mean to say that this is a work of cooperation between the Dvor and the Court?” Valeri demanded.

Lord Fane let out a bitter laugh. “It is not a new strategy. The war never ended, child. There have been attempts to rekindle its pyres in the past.”

“This exact attempt, no less,” Ira commented. “Did you not fear giving the game away by replicating Iavor Beaufort’s death so thoroughly?”

Valeri’s expression froze. The next instant, the man flew into a rage and would have likely hurled himself at Lord Fane, were it not for Ira’s quickness to act as a barrier.

“Murderer!” Valeri snarled, fangs glinting in his panting mouth. “You absolute bastard!”

“I did not know!” Lord Fane shouted. His composure was gone entirely, and he looked every bit as lost and mad as Valeri himself. “It was not supposed to be him! They said they needed the Hunter dead, that it would be enough and they would not touch the child–”

Ira let Valeri go. The man swayed forward, but did not advance on Lord Fane. His eyes turned to Ira instead, the anger in them blanketed by worry.

Lord Fane did not shy away from the subject. “Your mother fought well,” he told Ira, tone as flat as if he were discussing the weather. “I did not touch her,” he added.

“You were there when she died,” Ira said, needing the confirmation. A haze fell over her mind; she had searched for information on her mother’s death for years, with very little to show for her efforts. To hear about it now was – unexpected. She found her hands were shaking, whether from excitement or anger, she could not tell.

“Yes,” Lord Fane said. “I was there as a witness, for your sake. As the child of a vampire lord, you were naturally under the Dvor’s protection. Pity that your lineage was not apparent at the time. Your mother succeeded in convincing everyone that you were merely gifted, possibly in the possession of – a Spark, was it? At any rate, the Court representatives were unwilling to hand you over. Otherwise, I-augh.”

Ira did not recall moving. Lord Fane looked at her, mouth still open. The blade she had thrust through his throat prevented him from speaking.

“Ira,” Valeri said quietly.

Ira took a gasping breath. She pulled out the blade – her mother’s blade, one of two and the only things that remained of the woman. Lord Fane coughed out a mouthful of blood.

“Why would a Hunter’s death be enough to incite a war?” she asked softly.

Lord Fane raised his eyes to her. There was a bit of fear on his face, and great surprise.

“Miss Hale,” the man said, voice rasping with lingering pain,

“You must have known that your mother was once among the Lords of the Queen’s Court?”