The Bloodletters

by Samantha Bell

  “The lady’s choice.” Lord Ramsey purred.

  I used the opportunity to pull away from him and draw the blood. I didn’t miss his breathing in my ear as the blood flowed. He was positively repulsive. I could not see the handsomeness of his face anymore. He was nothing but a monster to me.

  I gave him the glass without a word and quickly concealed the wound.

  Lord Ramsey drank the blood quickly. He grinned and smacked his lips. “You are as delicious as ever, my dear.”

  I wanted to run away. “Thank you, sir,” I said with all the false politeness I could muster. “Now, if that’s everything, I should be going. I am expected at dinner.” I added, so he knew there would be consequences if I went missing.

  The man put his hand on my knee, and I flinched away. He grabbed my thigh harder. “So soon? But I haven’t seen you in almost a lifetime. Can’t you stay with me a moment longer?”

  I shuddered. “I’m sorry sir, but I must be going.”

  “I said stay!” Lord Ramsey grabbed my hand and twisted.

  I pulled away, his grip ripping off my amber ring. It spun away on the hardwood floor and bounced under the radiator. A scream erupted from my throat.

  “Hush, beautiful.” He grabbed my shoulders. His eyes blazed as his Royal strength overpowered me. He wrestled me to the floor. “Such a pretty, delicious little morsel.” He hissed. He kicked open my legs and kneeled between them.

  I screamed again, fighting and clawing with all of my might. My efforts were in vain.

  My skin crawled as he kissed my neck. “Why don’t you say that we do this the old-fashioned way, hm?” He grinned. He ripped open the top buttons of my dress, exposing more pale skin.

  Suddenly, the door burst open and Lord Ramsey was on his feet in a flash.

  Madam Desjardins was standing in the doorway. Vincent was behind her; for the first time his large frame looked dangerous rather than jolly. He was nearly as wide as the door frame with his shoulders squared.

  “What is going on here?” Madam demanded.

  I scrambled away from the Lord, trying to stifle my panicked sobs.

  “Nothing!” Lord Ramsey shouted defensively.

  Heather swept past Madam Desjardins and took me in her arms. I hadn’t noticed the tears running down my cheeks until she wiped them away. She glared at Ramsey and pulled me to her chest.

  “Get out of my House,” Madam said with controlled anger. She was seething, but her Royal poise and dignity did not waiver.

  “I did nothing!”

  Vincent cracked his knuckles. If there was any mortal alive who I thought stood a chance against a Royal, it was him. His meaty hands balled into fists at his sides. “You heard her. Get out!” He barked.

  I closed my eyes as Lord Ramsey stalked out of the small room. Vincent and Madam followed him.

  Heather held me to her chest and rocked back and forth slowly, humming a song I didn’t know. She whispered in a language that I could only assume was her native tongue. It was soft and soothing.

  In the safety of her arms, I could almost feel my mother’s love again. I let out a choking sob as the grief overtook me. It was supposed to get easier. Mourning was supposed to fade. But since coming to this Gods forsaken place, I hadn’t had a moment to miss my mother.

  Heather rubbed small circles on my back as I wept. “It’s ok, Violet,” she whispered. “Let it out.” Then she resumed her calming foreign song.

  For the first time in months, I pushed my strength aside and allowed myself to grieve.

  FOURTEEN

  AT MIDNIGHT ON MY EIGHTEENTH BIRTHDAY, I BREATHED A PRAYER. “One more year of this, then I will be my own master.” The clock chimed in agreement.

  My client had already left. He drank my blood quickly and wordlessly. I was left alone to clean the wound and wrap it.

  My birthday was the day before the Autumn Festival, so all the Royals had other things on their mind.

  According to Heather, the Autumn Festival was the second biggest holiday in the Capital. While we commoners seemed to revel in the celebrations that welcomed the beginning of warmer months, the Royals preferred the coldness of the other half of the year.

  After I bandaged my wound, and tidied my tools, I left the room and went downstairs. The House was eerily quiet, my appointment had been the last of the day.

  Heather met me in the hall and took the black bag of tools from me. “Happy Birthday, Violet,” she said with a smile.

  “Thank you,” I said.

  There was a click and a hiss from the radiator under the window.

  “One more thing before you sleep?” Heather asked.

  “What is it?” I replied, hoping to the Gods that there was not a last-minute client. The sudden influx in Royals had left me weak and tired.

  Heather shook her head. “There is a charity ball tomorrow after the Autumn Festival parade,” she explained. “Now there has been an unfortunate health violation in the House that was going to provide Bloodletters, so Madam has graciously stepped forward and offered some of ours.”

  I gritted my teeth. Sometimes I forgot that I was owned by that woman. “Yes.” I said to her unasked question. “I would be happy to attend if she needs me.”

  Heather breathed a sigh of relief. “Good, I was hoping you would say that. Penelope is too weak, and Amelia is currently, ahem, unclean.” Heather whispered. “It would be improper to send her, you see.”

  I nodded. Female Bloodletters never worked during their womanly time.

  “Greta and Thomas will join us, and I will escort you,” Heather continued. “Madam is attending as an esteemed guest, but please act as if you’ve never met. It is important that the guests do not know which Blood House is supplying the blood, to avoid gossip.”

  I nodded again.

  Heather patted my shoulder. “Thank you, Violet,” she said. “Now go get some rest.”

  ∾

  With the excitement of the Autumn Festival, my birthday went widely unnoticed to all except Vincent, who cut me an extra-large slice of shortcake with my afternoon tea.

  The next day, the Capital burst to life. Royals were out dressed in their finest and music filled the streets. The Royals dressed in autumn colors: rich reds, bright oranges and bold yellows popped in the gray city.

  I sat by the window in the parlor, watching them pass. It was barely past noon, and the gala began at nine. The waiting was killing me.

  Greta sat on the sofa filing her fingernails. She was more excited and animated than I had ever seen her before. She had twisted her hair elegantly on top of her head, lined her eyes, rouged her cheeks and moisturized every inch of her visible skin. Her perfume could be smelled a mile away.

  I sighed, and she tutted at me. “Why the long face, Violet?” She asked, pausing to examine her nails. “I can barely sit still.”

  “I noticed.” I tried to keep the bite out of my voice.

  Greta swung her legs off the sofa and stood. “Seriously?” She spat. “You can’t tell me you’re not even the littlest bit interested? The best of the best will be at that ball, the richest, most influential Royals of the country.”

  I looked at her. She wore a beautiful gown of gold brocade silk, her corset pulled so tight I doubted that she could breathe comfortably. I hadn’t changed or readied myself in any way, not wanting to risk dirtying the beautiful red dress that Heather had given me that morning. “Why do you enjoy Bloodletting so much, Greta?”

  Greta looked taken aback. “Why do you seem to hate it?”

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  Greta’s eyes darkened. “You wouldn’t understand.”

  “Try me,” I replied. I shifted in the window seat to face her fully.

  The blond sat back down on the sofa and sighed. “If you really must know,” she hesitated, twisting her pinky finger nervously. “It’s because I’ve never been good at much else.”

  Her answer surprised me. “That’s not true,” I said. “You’re excellent at pla
ying the piano.” I rattled off, remembering how well she played in the parlor at night. Her music filled the House during the quiet summer months. “And you’re,” I struggled to find another aspect of her I enjoyed.

  Greta waved her hand to silence me. “Don’t spare me, Violet,” she said. “Everything I am, I owe to Madam. I’m too old to be married off without a sizeable dowry. Besides, I’ve learned to enjoy this independent life I live.”

  So that was what she got out of this, freedom. Bloodletting liberated her and left her control of her own destiny. That resonated within me in a way that I found hard to describe and I found myself, for the first time, agreeing with her.

  “Now you answer me,” Greta demanded.

  An honest answer would require me to dig up all the emotions I had buried. I wasn’t prepared to hurt again. I laughed her question off. “What makes you think I don’t enjoy it?”

  Greta raised her eyebrows. “Despite what our housemates might think, I’m not stupid.”

  I looked away. “Fine,” I sighed. I struggled to find an answer that would appease her so she would go back to preening and leave me alone. “I’m still adjusting to this new life and the thought of being in a room filled with Royals again…” I trailed off and shivered. I could only hope that Lord Ramsey would not be in attendance.

  ∾

  “Here, put this on.” Heather handed me a glittering red mask. It was the same shocking scarlet as my dress.

  My hands froze midway. “Why?”

  Heather shoved it into my hand. “Because I say so.” Her calm demeanor had changed to the snappy one that I hadn’t seen since my Bloodletter training.

  The half mask sparkled in my hands. I looked down at it before lifting it to my face and tying the gold ribbon at the back of my head.

  Heather adjusted my hair to hide the knot.

  We had come to the venue by carriage. One of the Royal families was hosting the event in a grand ballroom. A servant ushered in us through a backdoor and sat in a room beside the kitchen. The smells and sounds of cooking leaked under the door.

  Greta took a gold mask from Heather and put it on. Thomas’ mask was black to match his suit.

  Another mentor was tending to his staff of Bloodletters on the other side of the room. Heather had warned us against mingling with the competition. Here, we were to be civil and work together, but once the ball was over, our Houses would be rivals once more. I had never imagined how competitive the high-end Blood Houses were until then.

  Heather fixed her own mask. She was dressed in a demure shade of burgundy to avoid attention. She would not be Bloodletting tonight.

  “How many Royals are attending?” Greta asked in a hushed voice.

  “At least two hundred. This is a very important event. Many business deals and marriage arrangements will be made tonight.”

  I noticed Greta’s cheeks flush with anticipation.

  “Ok,” Heather sighed. Her hands were shaking nervously. “Let’s go over the rules again, shall we?”

  “Don’t speak unless spoken to, don’t make eye contact, don’t flirt, don’t ask questions,” Thomas drawled. He almost seemed bored. “Oh, and don’t bleed out and die.”

  My stomach clenched.

  Heather did not seem amused. Her lips tightened before speaking. “Thank you, Thomas.”

  A bell sounded and Heather jumped to attention. “That would be our cue,” she said. “Come with me.”

  Heather led us to the ballroom with the other group of Bloodletters not far behind us. We came to the ballroom well before any guests, which I was glad to be spared the embarrassment of being herded out in front of a crowd.

  Waiters and waitresses stood with refreshments at the ready eyed us as we took our places as Heather showed us around the room. I avoided their disapproving stares, wondering as commoners who also toiled for the Royals, why they seemed to despise us.

  A chamber orchestra was tuning and readying their instruments for the long night ahead. I watched them out of the corner of my eye for a while and then focused my attention on my silk gloves. Heather had laced my corset as tight as Greta’s so I could only take shallow breaths.

  In no time at all, the Royals began to trickle in. They were dressed in their finest clothing, darker shades of red, black and orange with gold trim. The ladies wore gowns with elaborate details and long trains, while the men were more reserved in tailored suits. They wore no masks, but I could not recognize any of them from my Sampling.

  I stood at attention, resisting the urge not to sway to the beat of the waltz that the orchestra was playing. It knitted my fingers together and held my hands at my waist. I was grateful for the mask; its shadow allowed me to study the Royals as they socialized and danced.

  I attended many balls in Wythtir. I was used to being in the center of the ballroom with a dance card in hand and sons of Councilors in waiting. This was a harsh contrast, standing near the wall as still as a statue, here for nothing but to satisfy the hunger of the Royals.

  This ball was not unlike the ones I had attended, aside from being much more lavish. The ballroom was lit by golden chandeliers. The dark marble floor was polished to a mirror shine. The vaulted ceiling was painted with frescos depicting Gods of legend and the tall narrow windows gave a view of the expanse of gardens beyond.

  There was a pause, and the song changed to a slower one. Some couples broke off for refreshments.

  My heart fluttered nervously. Would any of them come for blood? So far tonight the Royals had been favoring the champagne. I lowered my eyes to the floor. We had been prepped, with Heather’s help, before the ball with a butterfly needle and tube. A small clamp prevented any leaks. I hid the contraption up my glove. The needle bit at my skin when I moved, though she had tied it in place perfectly.

  The ballroom was full now. Royals danced, talked, laughed and nibbled caviar on cucumber slices. A fleeting sadness filled my heart as I watched them, thinking of the life that my father had stolen away from me in a single night. I clenched my teeth and banished the memories for now.

  “Excuse me, miss?”

  A voice came to my ears, and I looked up from the polished floor. My heart stuck in my throat, but I managed to hold in a gasp as came face to face with the Baron. I bit down on my tongue in surprise; it was a miracle I did not show a hint of panic. “Yes, my Lord?” I tried to disguise my voice with an accent from the Northern provinces, the only one I had been ever good at mimicking.

  The Baron smiled. I couldn’t believe that I once found his face handsome. His hair was slicked back as usual. “I was wondering if you could spare me a taste, young lady.”

  My breath hitched. Did he know who I was? If I gave him blood, he would know without a doubt. Royals had such an excellent sense of taste. I suppressed a shudder.

  “Well?” Lord Ramsey’s tone grew impatient.

  I smiled and bowed my head. “Of course, it would be my pleasure.” I glanced around but Heather was nowhere in sight. I rolled down my long glove to reveal the needle and tubing. Lord Ramsey, knowing the process well, presented me with a tiny glass to fill. It was the same sort of glass that was used at my Sampling, barely a sip.

  I filled the glass and pulled the glove up quickly. My mouth had gone dry with fear. If Lord Ramsey knew who I was, I had no doubt he would do something terrible. After Madam had sent him away last month, he would have had plenty of time to plot revenge against me.

  All of my hopes were killed when I saw the familiar flame in his eye. He grinned and leaned close to me. “I knew it was you.” He seized my arm and pulled me against him. “You little minx, thinking you could get away from me.”

  I gasped and turned my head. “Please, my Lord, not here,” I whispered, barely loud enough to be heard over the music. “Madam was quite clear with you.” I pulled my hand free.

  Lord Ramsey glared at me. “Who do you think you are, girl?” He hissed and grabbed me again. “You’re a Bloodletter. I take what I want from you.”

  I
flinched as spittle landed on my cheek.

  “Ah, Lord Ramsey,” a man’s voice came between us.

  The Baron stepped back and turned to shake the man’s hand. He was young, closer to my age than the Baron’s. He was a Royal, dressed entirely in black with a red pocket square poking out of his jacket.

  My breath hitched again, but for a very different reason. He was strikingly handsome. More than any man I had met in all my life. His pale blond hair was slicked back in the fashionable style, his eyes were a brilliant emerald green and he was tall enough that I had to tip my head to meet his gaze.

  The man smiled apologetically. “Forgive us, Miss, but the Baron and I had something to discuss.”

  I bowed my head wordlessly as they walked away. I peeked up to see the Baron scowling in my direction. I breathed a sigh of relief and discretely leaned against the wall.

  The orchestra played beautifully and never seemed to tire. As the night went on new Royals entered and some began to take their leave. I was only asked for blood from two other guests, both of whom I had never met before.

  It was late in the evening when I was approached again. My face flushed when I saw the same young man who had saved me from the Baron. “Good evening, sir.” I bowed my head.

  “Evening Miss,” the man replied. “How are you enjoying the evening?”

  I bit my lip, knowing the rules about an unnecessary conversation with the Royals. “Very much, thank you.”

  The man smiled. “I hope that Lord Ramsey did not offend you,” He spoke in a low voice close to my ear. “I have heard rumors of how he treats lovely Bloodletters like yourself and I felt the need to intercept him.”

  My face flushed. He was so close to me I could feel the warmth radiating off his skin. “I am grateful, thank you.”

  He smiled and stepped back. “You don’t know who I am, do you?”

  I hesitated, trying to match his features to any of the Royals I had met. “Apologies, but I do not.”

  The man chuckled. “You’re new then.”