The Bloodletters

by Samantha Bell

  I followed his instructions and stared at the ceiling. The academic in me was bursting with questions and the silence was unbearable. “What will you do with it now?”

  Dr. Coleman looked up from his notes. “I will send it for testing. We should have the results back in a week or so.”

  “Testing? Like a taste test?” I asked.

  Dr. Coleman let out a hearty chuckle. “Oh, my Gods, no!” he said. “No, they go for testing to ensure that your blood is safe for consumption. There are strict policies in place for these things, you know. Since introducing the Bloodletting Regulation Act, but I guess that was before your time.” He paused. “Over a hundred years now, actually.”

  The same laws that Heather mentioned. The same laws I had been ignorant to throughout all my training. “Why?”

  Dr. Coleman looked surprised. “The regulations ensure the safety of the Royals who drink your blood. After all, many diseases can be transmitted that way and we need to make sure they don’t spread,” he explained. “It was before your time, obviously, but when I was younger, I remember that Blood Houses were founded by just about anyone and the Royals were getting sick from contaminated blood. The blood taxes were abolished shortly after that. These laws protect the Royals and they also protect people like you.” He raised his thick eyebrows at me. “Now Bloodletters have rights, a reasonable pay, and safety. Not like it was before.” He trailed off.

  “I see,” I said and then stammered. “Wait, you remember what it was like before? How is that possible?”

  Dr. Coleman laughed again. “I believe the legend goes that the Gods blessed us with longevity, beauty, and strength. Am I right?”

  I closed my eyes and pressed my hand against my chest. My heart was pounding. “How old are you?”

  “One hundred and sixty-eight,” Dr. Coleman answered. “But I should tell you it’s incredibly rude to ask a Royal their age.”

  My stomach twisted. The great number was nearly incomprehensible.

  The doctor sighed. “Well, that’s enough of a history lesson for today, Miss,” he said. “That isn’t my place, anyway.” He packed up the vials in a bag.

  I sat up, but my vision blurred, and I was forced to lay back down. The room was spinning around me. “What now?”

  “We will find out in a week’s time. For now, stay here and rest. I will call for Heather to collect you.”

  SIX

  HEATHER DID NOT WAIT FOR THE TEST RESULTS TO COME BACK BEFORE STARTING MY TRAINING.

  Each morning started the same. She would wake me up before the sun rose and we would clean, cook and prepare the house for the day ahead. She worked wordlessly. The easy conversation she made with me the first day had vanished.

  “For now, I’m your boss,” she had told me. “Now that you are in training, we cannot be friends.”

  I respected her method and followed her orders to the best of my abilities. I scrubbed pots, washed laundry, mended clothing and dusted the rooms until my hands were raw. I dared not complain to her about my dry cracking skin, knowing it would only earn me a snide remark about my luxurious childhood.

  I lunched with the rest of the residents of the house who seemed to attend in an unpredictable cycle. I was always left out of the conversation.

  I dedicated my afternoons to training.

  The first day we met in the library. It was a cozy room filled with shelves that bowed under the weight of countless books. She dropped an armful of books in front of me.

  “Read these, let me know when you’re done.”

  I guessed that she didn’t think I was a fast reader or take into account that all of my life I had been studying history and politics. I breezed through the content, many of the books were identical to the volumes I had read in the manor.

  It was all the same stuff. The war, the forming of Inwaed, the Royals, and us, the commoners. I stifled a yawn while wondering how this stale information that could be found in any classroom across the country would prepare me for Bloodletting.

  It was past dinnertime when Heather returned. “You read it all?” She asked.

  I nodded.

  “Good, now forget it.”

  Heather let me stew over her obscure command the rest of the night.

  The second day we met in the library again.

  “So,” Heather began. “Did you do what I said?”

  I crossed my arms. “You can’t expect me to forget years of lessons overnight,” I argued. “What would be the purpose in that? Everyone knows the history of Inwaed. Everyone knows about the Royals.”

  “Do they?” Heather hissed. She planted her hands on the mahogany table and stared me in the eye. “Do they really?” She pushed off the table and paced around before continuing. “I believe it was only a few days ago that you didn’t even know what a Bloodletter was.”

  I flushed. I hated admitting to ignorance.

  “In fact, you also seemed to think the Capital was some magical place meant only for the Royals,” she chuckled. “If that were the case, where would the blood come from?”

  I was silent.

  Heather whirled on me, slamming her fist on the table with so much force that I jumped. “Where would the blood come from, Violet?” She shrieked.

  “I didn’t know!” I gasped.

  “Didn’t know? Or didn’t care?” Heather hissed.

  My hands were trembling now. I wanted to hide my burning face from her icy glare. I had known that Royals had to drink our blood to survive, but I had never wondered where the blood came from. Who it came from?

  “Typical,” Heather snorted. “You know, when I saw you, I thought you’d be a fighter. A minister’s daughter, stolen away from her home, sold by her own father and thrust into the arms of monsters.” She tapped her fingers against the table and sat down to face me. “You’re just like everyone else, you know that? Scared.”

  I bit my tongue.

  “What were you going to do if you got your father’s title one day?” She asked, her voice barely a whisper. “Were you going to be a noble leader? Work with the Royals for the betterment of the people of your province?” She threw back her head and laughed.

  I slouched down to avoid her glare. I had thought like that once. My mother had always told me to become a good leader to win my father’s affections. I studied night and day, perfected my public speaking, attended every gala, and did everything I possibly could to be the ideal heir. And it was all for nothing. My pride got the better of me and I retorted. “I knew enough. I would have been great.”

  Heather’s laughter cut me off, and she narrowed her eyes at me. “No, don’t you dare tell me you knew anything about how this world really works. The Royals only tell you what they want you to know and believe me, you know nothing!”

  ∾

  I skipped dinner and went straight to bed. I couldn’t bear to see or speak to anyone. I sat curled up under the quilt and stared at the photograph of my mother. I ran my finger over the edge carefully.

  Had she known about Bloodletting? What else had she known about and never shared with me? I was frustrated with my family, but I was frustrated with myself more. Of course, the Royals hid information from their citizens – I couldn’t recall a single government in history that hadn’t. But as a Minister’s daughter, I should have been privy to these secrets, or at least I thought.

  I hid the photograph and glanced at Amelia’s empty bed. She had known about the Bloodletters. She had run away because of it. She had come willingly into Madam Desjardin’s house, prepared to share her blood with the Royals in exchange for money.

  I grimaced. How many other girls our age had done the same? How many of them had died from the complications of it?

  The door opened. I quickly shut my eyes and pretended to be asleep.

  “Hey, Violet.” Amelia whispered and nudged my foot gently.

  I sighed and opened my eyes. “Yes?”

  “I missed you at dinner,” she said. “I snuck you something.” The pale girl handed me
a dinner roll wrapped in a cloth napkin.

  My stomach growled. I took the bread from her. “Thanks,” I whispered.

  “Tough day with Heather?” Amelia asked. She sat on her bed.

  I nodded while I chewed.

  Amelia smiled. “Don’t worry, she’s always tough in the beginning.”

  “What’s her problem, anyway?” I asked.

  Amelia shrugged. “Oh, I don’t know,” she replied. “Maybe it’s just because she’s been doing this longer than we’ve been alive. Twenty years she’s been Bloodletting. I guess it gets to her.”

  I nearly choked. “Twenty years? She must have quite the account saved up by now. Why doesn’t she leave?”

  Amelia shrugged again. “Don’t know.”

  I brushed the crumbs off my hands. Now my curiosity had been sparked. “Why would anyone choose to do this?”

  Amelia looked away.

  “Oh, sorry. I meant why would someone do it for so long?” I corrected myself. “I mean, it’s not like this is a sustainable life choice, right?”

  “No, it’s not. But some people genuinely like Bloodletting.” Amelia said after a moment. She caught my look. “Not me but others do. Like Greta.”

  For some reason I was not surprised by this gossip. “Why would anyone enjoy giving their blood away?”

  “I think I know, but it’s hard to describe.” Amelia drummed her fingers on her knees. She was thinking hard about something, considering what to say next. “If you want, I can show you.”

  I leaned away discretely. “What do you mean, show me?”

  Amelia grinned mischievously.

  Without a word, we slipped on our shoes, turned off the lamp, and left the room. She led me up to the third floor, taking the stairs carefully and listening for anyone who might catch us.

  “We do the Bloodletting on the third floor,” Amelia whispered to me. “Madam oversees it and we get checkups from Dr. Coleman every few days. We’re quite busy here.”

  “How many Royals would constitute busy?” I asked.

  “Well, that depends. We have our regulars and then others who come and go. They all come at different times. Some prefer days and others come at night. Most of our regulars have a favorite Bloodletter,” Amelia explained.

  “How many regulars do you have?” I dared to ask.

  “About eight. I had to cut down after getting sick,” Amelia answered and caught my terrified look. She smiled and rolled her eyes. “It’s not like they all come every day. Most Royals only need to have blood once or twice a week.”

  I nodded. I was getting more knowledge creeping up the stairs with Amelia than I had in two days with Heather in the library.

  Amelia stopped at the first door in the hall and listened. When she was sure that it was unoccupied, she let us in. We kept the light off. She led me through the dark room to a door on the side.

  “All the Bloodletting rooms are connected with pocket doors,” she whispered. “Sometimes several Royals like to come together and make it a social event.”

  I felt faint.

  “Don’t worry about that yet.” Amelia said and patted my shoulder. “Technically, you need to get cleared by Dr. Coleman before you can give a drop.”

  I didn’t find that comforting, knowing based on the conversation I had with the doctor two days ago that I was likely to be a top candidate.

  I heard voices drifting from the other side of the door.

  Amelia peeked into the keyhole and gasped. She watched for a moment before pulling away. “Greta is in there with one of her regulars. If you wanted answers to your questions, this should do it for you.”

  I nodded and pressed my face to the door, squinting to see through the tiny hole.

  Greta was lounging on a couch, talking to a man outside the limited area I could see. She was smiling and laughing flirtatiously. I could see a black cuff wrapped tightly around her arm and a familiar length of tubing leading from it.

  “I missed you last week, Mr. Quincey,” Greta purred. She twirled a length of her hair around her finger.

  “And I missed you, my dearest,” a man’s voice responded. “Your blood truly is the sweetest in the Capital.”

  Greta turned her face shyly, but I could tell she reveled in the compliment. “You know even though you missed last week, you can’t get a double ration today?”

  “I know.” The man sounded disappointed. “It was my business that kept me away, my dove.”

  Greta plucked a tiny glass from the table beside her. It resembled a champagne flute, but half the size. She adjusted her cuffed arm and fidgeted.

  I clenched my teeth and squinted. It was hard to see what she was doing through the tiny keyhole.

  The man who had spoken came into view then. A Royal, dressed in a fine suit on his knees beside the couch. His mouth was half open, lips trembling in anticipation.

  Greta handed the tiny glass to him. It was filled to the top with dark red blood. The Royal took it graciously and drank deeply. Greta’s eyes widened and her mouth twisted into a smile. Her cheeks flushed.

  “Oh, you are the sweetest,” the man said after he was done. “There is none other like you.”

  Greta reached out and brushed his cheek. It took only a flutter of her eyelashes before they were kissing passionately.

  I gasped and fell back from the door. My heart was pounding. I couldn’t believe what I had witnessed.

  “What happened?” Amelia whispered and took a peek for herself. She gasped and looked away. She stood up and hurried me out of the room. “Let’s go before someone sees us.”

  SEVEN

  A WEEK LATER DR. COLEMAN SENT MY RESULTS TO MADAM, AND HE CLEARED ME FOR BLOODLETTING.

  The news came just as another terrible training session with Heather was set to begin. I was sitting in the library, going over the history of the current Royal family. Every now and then the ruling family would get overthrown or assassinated. The Saxons were the family in power now, ruling for just over one hundred and fifty years.

  Our current King was named Luther; he and his queen had ruled for the past four decades, taking the throne after Luther’s grandfather had died. His father had never sat on the throne, dying of diseased blood well before his time. It was his death that inspired the Bloodletting Regulation Act and sweeping reforms to how blood was collected and stored.

  This chapter filled in many of the holes from my previous education. In fact, all I had done this week was read and be mercilessly quizzed by Heather on every single fact.

  Madam Desjardins accompanied Heather this afternoon.

  I bolted up, sitting as still as a statue as Madam sat across from me. Heather lingered behind her.

  “Hello, Miss Violet,” Madam said. She had an open envelope in her hand. Her long nails were painted a dusty rose pink. “How has your stay been so far?”

  “I’m adjusting,” I replied after a brief pause to decide how to put my whirlwind of emotions and experiences into words. Every word I tried was so inadequate.

  Madam Desjardins nodded. “That is wonderful to hear.” She pulled a letter from the envelope. “Well, I have wonderful news for you. Your blood has been accepted and you are now officially a Bloodletter. I’m sure this will spice up for training.” She added. “Heather has been doing her best to keep you busy, but I understand that your upbringing has been an excellent prerequisite for her lessons.”

  I nodded. My face was still but inside I was screaming. My hands were trembling under the table so violently that I was afraid Madam would notice. While I knew that they would accept my blood, I had harbored the hope that they would reject me.

  Since watching Greta give her blood to that Royal man, I could not sleep without being interrupted by nightmares. My stomach turned every time I thought of it.

  “I will send out invitations for a Sampling,” Madam said. “You will have your debut this Friday, providing I get a quick response. Until then, rest and eat well. Heather will fill you in.”

  I nodded
again, unable to look her in the eye.

  Once Madam left us, Heather sat down. “You ready?”

  I took a deep breath before bursting into tears.

  ∾

  “It’s really not so bad, you know,” Amelia said.

  I hadn’t gone to dinner again.

  “And you need to stop skipping meals,” she added and handed me a bowl. “I can only sneak out so much.”

  “I didn’t ask you to,” I mumbled.

  “If you don’t eat, you’ll die.”

  I glanced up at her. She was paler than yesterday, and she had dark circles under her eyes. Her expression was grim.

  “That’s what happened to Rose,” she whispered. “She couldn’t take giving blood anymore, but she didn’t know where else to go. She got sad and stopped eating. Then one morning she didn’t wake up.” Amelia’s voice was thick with emotion, but she didn’t let a tear escape her. “Giving as much blood as we do leads to a lot of health problems.” She sniffed.

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you,” I said. I took the bowl from the edge of my bed. It was full of beef stew and biscuits. It had gone cold, and the gravy had coagulated, but I ate it all.

  Amelia looked satisfied. She smiled at me. “So, they cleared you today, huh?”

  I nodded. “How did you know?”

  “I may have only been here for a year, but I know that look. It’s the same one I had when they told me I was ready to start,” she said. “I came here willingly, but it’s not like I wasn’t nervous or anything.”

  “What’s a Sampling?” I blurted out.

  Amelia flushed and then the color drained from her face. “Oh, that,” she laughed nervously. “Don’t worry about that. It’s no big deal.” She yawned. “Well, I should get to sleep. I have early appointments tomorrow.”

  I knew her yawn was fake, but I didn’t press for answers. I’d find out soon enough.

  ∾

  “A Sampling is your big debut. All the high-end Blood Houses host them.”

  Heather dusted my face with powder and blush. My red curls had been elegantly shaped and pulled into a twist. Not a strand was out of place. My long black gown left my neck and arms exposed; the bias cut clung to my body like a second skin. I stared at myself in the mirror. I looked older than seventeen. A small smile played upon my lips when I realized I was the spitting image of my mother.