If she were here, Wayren might be able to interpret the words.
Sebastian looked out the window again, his eyes going to the mountain far behind them. Pesaro, poor devil. How long would it take for Lilith to turn him? Surely she wouldn’t allow him to escape again, but he’d fight it.
No one understood that more than Sebastian, the fear of being turned undead. The fear of losing one’s soul, having it twisted and perverted… and damned, the moment he gave in to the craving to feed from a mortal.
Could an undead resist the burning need to drink? That driving, bullying desire? Could it be ignored, that horrible craving, that demonic taint?
The deepest taint.
A tainted soul?
Sebastian’s heart began to pound. The deepest taint… a twisted, undead soul.
A long promise.
Good God… immortality. Someone who gave up his soul, freely… in a long promise.
How long?
His mouth felt as though he chewed on a wad of cotton, and he swallowed hard. His fingers were shaking, and the middle of his belly felt full and unsteady. His head lightened, and a renewed sheen of sweat dampened his forehead.
Those for whom he lives… shall be saved.
Save me.
And the reverberation of Rosemunde’s prophecy sang in his head like a tune that would not be silenced.
Then, finally, he understood. Those words had burned into his brain for a reason.
And in the new world shall be a savior who carries the deepest taint. A long promise shall the savior make and in the end those for whom he lives will be saved.
It wasn’t Pesaro who was the savior.
It was he.
Sebastian rose, suddenly more clearheaded, more purposeful than he’d been for years. Even, despite the task ahead, light in the heart.
Victoria awoke when the sun had lowered enough to blaze directly in her face, angling perfectly through the window. She had been so damn tired, her weariness laced with worry over Max-and though she hated to admit it to her companions, she’d been relieved to rest in the middle of the day.
But now they would move on and perhaps reach Midiverse by late tomorrow. Hurry, hurry, hurry. The sooner they finished, the sooner she could get back to Max.
She sat up and looked over the room, counting the lumps on the floor-one-and on the pallets. Another.
Who was missing?
Maybe he’d gone to buy provisions. She rose from her pallet and rushed over to look out the window. The shadows had grown long from the lowering sun, but she could still see the road leading north, empty of any travelers.
As she turned back, she saw the note, pinned to the wall by a knife. The paper was folded in half, with a large V on the outside.
Victoria tore it off the wall and unfolded it, noting the signature-a large, sweeping S –before reading the letter.
She sank onto the nearest bed, the one Sebastian had used, and read it again.
Victoria ~
I’ve gone for Max. Know that I will always love you though you foolishly chose another. That’s why I’m going, no matter what may come. Ask Wayren about Rosamunde’s prophecies. Tell her I’ve made the long promise. Above all, keep yourself and the new Gardella safe.
~S