Chapter Fourteen: Piercing the Veil

Sometimes, they watch.

Sometimes, the smell of my blood drives him mad.

To my enduring shame, I find myself almost grateful for those times. In the swoon of the vampire's embrace, there is a brief respite from the pain. A moment when I feel nothing, remember nothing. A sweet taste of oblivion whose fading is almost its own form of torture.

And by the time he demands my blood, I'm too weak to fight him, anyway.

Sylas Briarwood shoos Ripley away and stands behind me. His cold, cold hands rest on my torn and bleeding shoulders, his icy touch seeming to hiss against the lines of white-hot agony. "Stubborn pup," he murmurs, almost fondly. The tone of his voice reaches chilled and slimy fingers down my throat until I want to retch.

He takes his left hand from my shoulder and runs it through my hair, gently, as if trying to soothe my shaking. I struggle to catch my breath, the stark contrast between Ripley's cruelty and his almost loving touch making my head spin.

After a few eternal moments, he pulls my head to the side, his right hand sliding down to grip my upper arm. Gently, oh, so gently, as if I'm made of glass. Leaning down, he trails his tongue over my shoulder, humming contentedly as he tastes the blood there. His lips brush over one of the wounds Ripley has left, and I shudder and moan as ice meets fire again—I haven't the strength left to cry out. He whispers my name into my skin, like a lover might. "Sweet Percival…" His breath, cold as the grave, raises goosebumps in my flesh as he sighs.

My stomach twists in sick anticipation. I shouldn't want this. I should not want this. But oh, that fleeting taste of oblivion as his fangs sink into my neck and the world and the dark and the pain all fade away…

She watched him as he dreamed.

The two priests, the elf and the gnome, had briefly ceased their fussing over him to check on the sister. They had asked her, in her guise as the acolyte, to watch over him in the meantime. It was incredible, really, how quickly even the most suspicious of these tiny creatures trusted someone who looked like them.

It would be so easy, she thought. So easy to just kill him here and now, and throw both Whitestone and Vox Machina into chaos. He lay utterly vulnerable before her, naked to the waist, burning with fever, trapped in the throes of nightmare. It would be child's play to one such as her. Two threats would be weakened, two targets softened, in a single blow.

But one didn't grow to be as old as she by doing things the easy way, the short-sighted way. To act now would be to invite suspicion on herself, when she needed it to remain squarely on the cult. It risked making martyrs of the de Rolo children, turning them into a rallying cry rather than a source of despair.

No, patience was in order here. The poison she'd designed was working beautifully, spreading in branching lines of suffering and corruption over his chest, down his arm, up his neck, and across his face. It would eventually consume him completely, and his death would be slow, creeping, and inevitable. There would be no blaze of glory, nothing heroic or inspirational about his end. Those who respected him would be shaken by it. Those who loved him would be beaten down and crushed by it.

The sister was even further gone, clinging to life by the most delicate thread. There was no telling how long she would linger.

A slow smile spread across Deora's face. Yes, she thought. Patience. All would come crashing down in due time.

As the door swung shut behind the Chancellor, Vax swore loudly. "Well, that was fucking useless," he bit out.

Vex nodded, her jaw clenched, her eyes hard. "I was so sure it was him. It's the only thing that makes sense here!"

"Maybe he was lyin'," offered Grog.

But Vax shook his head. "No, I don't think he was. He's an arrogant wannabe aristocrat, sure, but I'm pretty sure he's an honest wannabe aristocrat."

"I agree, this was a bust," said Keyleth. "We might get more out of the prisoners. We should go down to the dungeon and talk to them. See what they have to say for themselves."

The bored-looking guard standing slouched at the entrance to the dungeon snapped to attention as they approached. "Halt! State your name and business," he said stiffly.

"Vox Machina, investigating the attacks on Lord and Lady de Rolo," said Vax. "We want to talk to the prisoners."

The guard gave him an odd look. "There are no prisoners here, sir," he said.

"What do you mean, there are no prisoners?" A surge of anger flaring red-hot behind his eyes, Vax seized the guard by the front of his uniform and dragged him forward to snarl in his face. "Two people tried to assassinate Lord de Rolo yesterday. They were captured and brought down here. Now, where the fuck are they?!"

The guard shoved Vax off and stepped back, straightening his uniform and his dignity with a haughty glare. "They were taken for questioning early this morning," he snapped. "You should know that, if you've been investigating."

"Taken. By. Whom?" Vax demanded through gritted teeth.

"The Pale Guard, of course."

Vax's hands curled into fists, and it took an effort of will not to take a swing at this willfully ignorant, self-important idiot. It was certainly clear how someone like this could get stuck with the unenviable task of guarding an empty prison. "Damn it, I meant under whose orders?" he ground out.

"Chancellor Herad." The guard smirked as if he'd won something. "He sent his aide down with the guardsmen."

Oh.

Just like that, the pieces finally clicked into place. Vax locked eyes with Vex, and saw the same understanding dawning on her face.

A second later, Keyleth gasped. "Oh! Oh, shit."

Grog frowned. "What?"

Vax pounded his fist three times on the door to Herad's office, rattling the door in its frame. A startled yelp sounded from within, followed by a more composed, if frustrated, "Enter!"

Flinging open the door, Vax led the others inside. At the desk sat Machias, indignantly wiping up the contents of an overturned inkwell and muttering imprecations under his breath. A haphazard pile of papers sat hastily shoved off to the other side, some of them spilled onto the carpet. Under different circumstances, it might have been funny.

Machias glared up at Vax. "Vox Machina, is that right? Are you here to hurl more thinly veiled accusations at my father?"

"No, dear," said Vex with a tight smile, "we're here to see you. We have a few more questions that we don't think your dear old dad can help us with."

Machias spread his ink-stained hands. "There is nothing I could tell you that my father hasn't already."

"See, we know that's a lie." Grog walked slowly around the side of the desk, letting his footsteps fall heavily, to loom over Machias like a mountain, glowering down at him. "We just went to talk to them prisoners, the ones that attacked Percy? An' the guards said you came an' busted 'em out this morning. Said it was on yer dad's orders, but he didn't say nothin' when we said we wanted to question 'em. An' neither did you. Which is, you know, weird." He leaned down to growl in Machias's face. "An' I really don't like weird."

Machias swallowed hard, but held Grog's gaze with surprising equanimity. Vax had to admit to being impressed—not many people could face down Grog like that without cowering. "I defer to my father's jusdgement," said Machias. ""I do not know why he chose not to tell you, but it was not my place to question him."

"Not your place?" Vax demanded incredulously. "Your Lord and Lady are dying, Machias, and you withheld information that could affect our efforts take down the organization responsible!" He sighed. Berating this man wasn't going to change anything, and would only waste more time. Time that Percival and Cassandra didn't have. "Where are the prisoners now?"

"Now?" Machias shrugged. "In the Greyfield, I would think."

Keyleth frowned. "The… cemetery?"

"That is where dead bodies are typically interred, yes," said Machias testily. "They were questioned, confessed to their crimes—quite proudly, I might add—and executed around dawn."

Vax slammed his fist into the desktop, causing the inkwell to wobble precariously again. "Damn it, man, Percival wanted them treated with mercy!"

"Did he, now." It was less a question than a statement of skepticism. "The man who came here bent on brutal revenge, who seized power by fire and blood, and then fled while we picked up the pieces, suddenly believes in mercy." Machias snorted and folded his arms. "Forgive me if I have difficulty believing that."

"Regardless, I didn't think summary executions were part of the plan for restoring the city." Keyleth's voice fairly dripped with disgust, as if the words tasted foul.

But Machias only shrugged in response. "Perhaps, perhaps not. But I'm afraid the decision has been made, and the sentence carried out. What's done is done."

"Well, then, dear, I do believe we have a problem," said Vex faux-sweetly. "You see, we don't actually believe you."

Vax straightened and folded his arms. "Before we came to you, we spoke to your father. He doesn't know anything about the prisoners being removed from the dungeon—in fact, he was quite upset to learn his name had been used that way. He wanted to speak to you right away.:

Machias's face hardened, but his eyes darted between Vax and Vex like a cornered animal's. "Very well," he said, making a valiant effort to keep his voice calm, "I shall go to him immediately." He began to rise from his chair—

—and Grog's meaty hand shoved him right back down. "No need," he rumbled.

Vax turned toward the open door. "Chancellor?" he called out. "We're ready for you."

Kahlio Herad strode into the room, his green robes billowing around him, and glared daggers at his son. "What have you done, Machias?" he demanded.

Machias met his father's glare with his own and snarled, "The will of Pelor."