“Get up,” the voice said. I tore my eyes away from the sky, away from my hand, to the angular face of the man who leaned over me. He swept a strand of long, fair hair behind his ear and gave me an appraising stare. We had never met—not directly. But of course I recognized him. I’d seen him in countless paintings. I’d seen his visage illuminated over the skyline of Sivrinaj, the capital of the House of Night. And I’d seen his likeness torn down by Rishan soldiers, after Raihn had killed him. Vincent—dead vampire king of the House of Night—held out a hand to me. “Get up,” he said. “I hear we
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