“Aren’t the results back yet?” Greta groaned in Heather’s direction one day.
Amelia, Greta, and I were sitting in the parlor watching the snow fall. The Winter festival was only a week away.
Heather glared at Greta. “If they were, don’t you think I would have told you?” She snapped. Our mentor was under severe stress. I had overheard her talking to Madam about getting more recruits in as soon as possible before our current customers lost interest with the lack of selection. I imagined it would be difficult to find young people willing to risk their lives on a daily basis to feed the Royals.
Greta glared back at Heather as she left.
“Don’t be so hard on Heather.” Amelia said.
Greta directed her fiery eyes to Amelia. “Excuse me?”
I held up my hands, trying to ease the tension in the room. “Please don’t start, Greta.”
“Me?” Greta snarled and pointed at Amelia. “She started it!”
Amelia hid her face behind her long brown hair.
“We’re all waiting for the results, we all want them as bad as you do,” I said.
Greta laughed. “You don’t even know how bad I want them.” She hissed.
“About as bad as I don’t want them.” Amelia mumbled.
Greta sneered in her direction and turned her attention to me. “What about you? Have you decided which you’d rather have?”
I hesitated. I was torn completely in two. “I don’t know.” I said finally.
Greta stood and leaned towards me, our noses nearly touching. “Well, let me tell you this. If you get Collected this time, you’d better hope they take you fast. Because if it’s you over me,” she barked out a bitter laugh. “I’ll kill you before they get the chance to.”
SEVENTEEN
I DID NOT TAKE GRETA’S THREAT LIGHTLY.
As the wait time stretched painfully, she became more worked up. She was like a rabid animal in a cage, pacing and snapping at anyone who dared speak to her.
I was finishing up an appointment with Lady Benedict when the news came. The Countess had taken her leave through the private exit for our patrons and I was applying a cold compress to a mark that I was sure would bruise when a cry rang out from downstairs.
The sound reminded me of a dying animal, high-pitched and strangled.
I flew to my feet, lifted my skirt, and ran down the stairs. I ran into the parlor and stopped to catch my breath.
Thomas, Greta and Amelia were together with Roger hovering nearby with a fistful of mail. Amelia was sitting with her hand on her forehead and staring at the ceiling. I knew that face; it was the same expression of relief that she wore last time they had passed her over. Thomas was reading a letter, his jaw set firmly. It was Greta who made the sound I heard. She was crying and jumping up and down in the middle of the parlor.
“Finally, finally, finally!” She giggled. Her face was glowing. She pressed her down letter to herself, crumpling the paper against her chest.
My mouth went dry. These mixed reactions could only mean that they had received the results of the Collection.
Heather came up behind me. “Ah, Violet, there you are. I was looking for you,” she said.
Roger handed me an envelope and spoke to Heather. “And Miss Penelope?” He asked.
“Still in an appointment,” Heather replied. “Here, I’ll take her letter so you can get back to what you were doing.”
Roger nodded, gave Heather the last envelope, and left.
Greta’s cheers had fallen silent. She narrowed her eyes at me. “So? Aren’t you going to open it?”
I stared at the envelope in my hand. It was marked with the official seal of Inwaed, with the House’s address and my name written in black ink. My hands trembled as I broke the red wax seal and pulled the letter free. I unfolded it slowly and licked my lips.
Dear Violet
C/O Mme G. Desjardins - Registered Blood House No. 53
We are pleased to inform you that you have been approved for a position as a private Bloodletter for the House of Strix, in accordance with the Bloodletting Regulation Act. Despite your brief service record, your blood has passed our highest of standards.
A brief training session will take place on January 1st, and upon satisfactory completion, you will be signed under a new contract with the House of Strix. Your current contractor has been contacted and informed of this change.
Congratulations on your acceptance.
I couldn’t believe my eyes. I read the short letter repeatedly. It was straight and to the point yet left so many questions unanswered.
“Well, what does it say?” Greta’s voice washed over Amelia’s identical question.
I folded the letter carefully and took a deep breath before answering. “I’ve been accepted at the House of Strix.”
∾
“So, the House of Strix,” Amelia murmured. She had cried herself dry by now.
“Yeah,” I said, staring at my hands. We were in our room and the house was quiet. The wind could be heard outside our window but at least the snow had stopped for now.
Amelia rolled over and propped herself up on her elbows. Her round blue eyes were bloodshot. “What’s it like?”
“What’s what like?”
“Being Collected.”
I laughed. “I don’t know. Can’t really say yet.” I folded and unfolded the letter again. It hadn’t left my hands all evening.
“Are you excited?” Amelia asked.
I bit my lip. “No, not really,” I replied. “I was just getting comfortable here and now it’s all going to change.”
“Well, at least you’ll have Greta,” Amelia said.
Greta had also been accepted to the House of Strix. I was not sure if that was a blessing or a curse. I made a face and my roommate laughed. “Yeah, great,” I said sarcastically. “Oh well, it’s only ten months until my birthday and then we’ll see.”
Amelia tipped her head to one side. “What do you mean?”
“Well, when I’m a legal adult. Then who knows what I’ll be doing.”
Amelia sucked in a breath. “Oh, right.” She sat up and played with the edge of her quilt. “You don’t know then.” She trailed off.
I furrowed my brow. “Know what?”
Amelia blushed; the color was shocking against her pale face. “Oh, nothing, forget I said anything.”
“Amelia,” I groaned. “Please don’t do this to me. You can’t keep avoiding telling me things.”
“It’s Heather’s job.”
I sighed. “Amelia, please, you’re my only true friend in this place. What don’t I know?” I was sure that I could fill a book with what I didn’t know about Bloodletting at this rate. I was getting tired of everyone thinking I couldn’t handle information.
“Well, when someone is Collected, it’s forever.” Amelia broke her silence.
“What do you mean, forever?”
“Like, forever. Collections have different contracts. The only way out is to be given your freedom willingly, or, um,”
“Die?”
Amelia looked away. “Yeah,” she breathed.
I sat dumbly for a moment before crushing the letter in my fist.
∾
The Winter Festival was a somber affair in the Blood House.
Victor tried his best to bring our spirits up by baking an assortment of cookies, pies, and other treats. We sat down to a lavish ham dinner and though it smelled wonderful, it tasted like ash in my mouth.
Greta hummed to herself happily as she ate. We ignored her.
“So, what house have they sent you to, Thomas?” I asked.
Thomas’ grip tightened on his glass of wine. “Beaucourt.” He said stiffly.
Greta’s interest peeked. “Oh, that’s very nice,” she complimented. “Such an influential family.”
Thomas silenced her with a look. “Yes, I would prefer that my killers be educated and well-traveled,” he said sarcastically.
Amelia pushed the
potatoes around her plate and sighed. “I’m going to miss you all.”
My chest tightened for her, but at least she was still safe with Madam. Well, as safe as a Bloodletter could be. I glanced at Penelope, who would also be left behind, but her expression was unreadable. I hoped that once we were gone, she would open up to Amelia, so they wouldn’t be totally alone.
Greta went back to humming under her breath and smiling.
Thomas stared at her incredulously and drained his glass of wine. “Well,” he said. “It was nice knowing all of you.” He gritted his teeth and stood.
Amelia gasped. “Don’t say it like that, you make it sound like goodbye.”
Thomas frowned. “Well, that’s what it is, isn’t it?” He ignored her protest and left without looking back.
∾
The week after the Winter Festival flew by in an instant.
All my client’s appointments were canceled, save Lady Benedict, I had wanted to say goodbye to her personally, as she was the most respectful of all the Royals I had met thus far. She seemed shocked when I told her where I was off to, but she smiled and nodded. “Good luck, Violet.” She kissed my forehead before leaving.
My last night in the house I pulled my suitcase out from under the bed and packed it with my few belongings. I left two of my dresses for Amelia, though they might be a size too big for her. At the bottom of my drawers I found the photograph of my mother and the front page of the newspaper that I had saved.
ACKERMAN FAMILY MOURNS DEATH OF HEIR.
That seemed like a lifetime ago, but I couldn’t let them go yet. I folded them carefully and hid them in the inner pocket of my suitcase before snapping it shut.
Amelia came in without knocking and made a surprised sound.
I looked over my shoulder and smiled at her. “Hi.”
“Hi,” she mumbled and sank down onto her bed. There was a fresh bandage tied around her arm and her eyes were dark.
I watched her. She would have to survive two more years of this before she could leave and follow her dream. Surely by then she would have saved an excellent sum for a dowry and a fine-boned, pretty girl like her would have no shortage of suitors. I wondered, though, if anyone would want a bride who was once a Bloodletter. If they would question her morals. I let the questions slide away, not wanting to upset her on our last night together.
“When are you leaving?” Amelia asked.
I glanced at my suitcase. “Early tomorrow morning. Heather said a carriage will come for Greta and me.” Thomas had already left yesterday and there was a hole in our dinner that could not be replaced.
Amelia shivered and moved closer to the radiators. She rubbed her arms.
I sat down beside her. “I’ll write you.”
Amelia nodded. “Please do, I’ll be worrying sick about you.”
“Don’t worry about me,” I said. “You need to worry about yourself. Don’t give up on your dream and don’t you dare die.”
Amelia’s blue eyes softened, and her lip trembled. “Promise me that you won’t die, and I’ll do the same.”
I laughed and shook my head. “I’m already dead.”
Amelia gasped. “Please don’t say that!”
I paused, forgetting for a moment how sensitive she was. “I didn’t mean it literally. Just the old me, the Violet that first walked through these doors. She’s gone.” I put my hands between my knees so she wouldn’t notice them shaking.
Amelia nodded. “I know what you mean.”
My heart fluttered. Since receiving my acceptance letter, there had been a faint feeling of excitement in my chest, even though being Collected was a death sentence. I bit my lip, wondering if I should share my feelings with Amelia. “Amelia, to be honest,” I said slowly. “I’m kind of excited.”
Amelia paled. “Excited? What kind of person are you?”
I shook my head. “It’s hard to explain, but it’s a new adventure. I’ve been thinking about it a lot lately. My mother used to say that everything happens for a reason, and to be honest, I always laughed behind her back about it.” I swallowed, forcing my voice to stay steady. “But now, I think maybe she’s right.”
Amelia nodded.
“And,” I continued before the words died in my throat. “Well, at the Autumn Festival ball, I met someone from the House of Strix. I think.”
Amelia gasped and lean forward. “What? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think it was that important, a onetime thing,” I said. “But I met the Prince, Prince Isaac.”
Amelia squealed and slapped her hand over her mouth. “The Prince?” She hissed once she had control over her volume again.
I nodded. “So, I guess maybe I’m looking forward to seeing him again.” I flushed. “Except he doesn’t know who I am.” Greta’s words rang in my head. “He wouldn’t care about a Bloodletter anyway.”
Amelia reeled and clapped her hands. “He may not know your face, but he’d know your blood if he tasted it. Oh, it’s like a fairy tale!”
Her enthusiasm embarrassed me. “I doubt I’ll get assigned to him.”
“Maybe not,” she admitted. “But if it’s meant to be.”
I cut her off, not wanting to get ahead of myself. “I doubt it,” I sighed and put a stop to the conversation.
The corners of Amelia’s lips turned up in a tiny smile and she spoke in a sing-song voice. “Well, you just said it yourself, everything happens for a reason.”
EIGHTEEN
THE HOUSE OF STRIX LEFT ME BREATHLESS.
I had seen photos and drawings in my textbooks and the newspapers, but nothing could have prepared me for the grandness of the palace. It stood four stories high. A low, wide set of marble stairs led up to the front door that was framed by pilasters. If looking form above, the palace would form a slightly curved shape and, behind it, acres of land contained within high stone walls.
Both Greta and I stared out the window as the carriage pulled up the private road that wove around snow-covered gardens. The heavy iron gates clanged shut behind us.
Greta was twitching with excitement. She was so overjoyed that I had been spared any icy, sarcastic remarks as we left the Blood House behind.
The coachman brought the pair of black horses to a stop and the footman opened the carriage door for us. Greta wrapped her cloak around herself tightly and took the footman’s hand. He helped her out and then I followed.
I held in a gasp, keeping my expression indifferent and gazed up at the palace towering above us. The snow had been cleared from the walkway.
“This way, my ladies.” The footman said as he guided us up the stairs and to the front door. He had barely spoken the entire trip, choosing to ride upfront with the coachman instead of inside with us. He was handsome, but when Greta fluttered her eyelashes at him, he ignored her.
Greta picked up her skirts and followed him up the stairs. She had worn her most expensive gown today, which took up more than her share of space inside the carriage. I had opted for something simpler and suited for traveling.
The massive front doors swung open and revealed a servant who inclined his head in a polite bow. As far as I could tell, all the servants I had seen so far were commoners and this did not surprise me. Simple tasks like cleaning, cooking, and driving were no doubt beneath the Royals.
Inside the vestibule, another nameless servant took our coats and bags from us with a bow.
“Welcome to the House of Strix, ladies,” said the footman. “I will show you to the waiting room.”
I was thankful for my upbringing, which blessed me with the ability to not end up like Greta, who was gaping like a fish. I smiled demurely and nodded.
The red carpet was plush, and the walls covered in paintings and portraits of all sizes. The coffered ceilings with golden inserts gleamed in the glow of the lights spaced evenly along the walls. Elaborate mahogany moldings framed each room we passed.
If the grandness of the front hall was any indication of the rest of the palac
e, I decided it would be a very lovely place to die.
We followed the footman down a maze of hallways until we reached a small sitting room. A maid was there laying out a tea and sandwiches. She left with a silent bow.
It was only then that I realized I was starving. I had no appetite for breakfast before we left. Only Heather had been there to see us off, and I was glad that I wouldn’t have to face Amelia one last time. I hated goodbyes.
“Please rest here, ladies,” the footman instructed. “I’m sure you will find it comfortable. In the meantime, Lady Carrol is expecting you and shall meet you shortly.”
I nodded. “Thank you, sir.” I glanced at Greta, but she was absorbed in the surrounding finery.
The footman smiled and shut the door. A click indicated that he had locked us in.
I frowned. Locked into another room, this was becoming all too familiar. My stomach rumbled, so I sat and helped myself to tea. The sandwiches were made with paper-thin slices of bread and strawberry jam.
Greta roamed around the room, looking at the paintings that hung on the walls. She hummed to herself, the same jaunty tune that she had sang since being Collected. The blond looked over her shoulder at me. “Really, Violet, how can you be stuffing your face at a time like this?”
“I hardly consider two bites to be stuffing myself,” I shot back and sipped the tea.
Greta sniffed and settled on the sofa across from me. She pulled a small hand mirror from a pocket in the depths of her large pleated skirt and checked her hair. She closed the tiny mirror with a snap that echoed in the silence.
“Greta,” I said, remembering something that had bothered me since the day we received our letters. “How did you know that you were accepted?” I hesitated when she raised her eyebrows at me. “That is, how did you read your letter?”
Greta’s cheeks blazed red. “I can read, thank you very much,” she snapped. “Maybe not enough to do it for pleasure, but I’m not an idiot!”
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