A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon Book 1)

by Kelsey Quick

  “I thought so.” Savvy says with a smirk in between her bites, which suddenly makes me feel left out of the loop.

  “Why would she care?” I ask.

  “Because our—her heart has been set on him,” Emi answers quietly. “Anaya’s in love with Lord Zein and is really proud of how much he trusts her.”

  “In love?” I nearly choke on the word, realizing this is the first time I’ve heard it used in that way before.

  Emi looks around to make sure the topic of gossip isn’t in earshot of anyone else. The rest of us teeter on the edge of our seats as she leans in.

  “Anaya has always wanted a different sort of relationship with Lord Zein, but he won’t have it—with anyone. While most of the other leaders find no fault in using their supply units for other things… Lord Zein will not.”

  “Why do you think that is?” Katarii asks.

  Emi shrugs. “Master Gemini thinks he’s too good-natured, Master Narref thinks he’s far too proud.”

  “I’m siding with Narref,” I mutter.

  “Anaya is the oldest supply unit to ever live here at thirty-three years old,” Emi continues. “She’s worked her way to becoming head of supply, to get closer to Lord Zein, and… well, she’s terrified of what’s to come.”

  “Oh. Becoming a breeder at Saya,” I say. A rush of sympathy cools my anger toward Anaya. Every supply unit must have at least two healthy offspring before their death, or the patron is penalized, I recall from my studies. And over a certain age, it’s almost impossible for human females. “So, Zein must send her to Saya. He must send everyone to Saya… eventually.”

  Emi nods.

  “At that age, she must really be the only one Zein trusts then,” Katarii remarks, her eyes falling. “Saya is very much a worthwhile purpose, but what supply unit wouldn’t want to stay with her master for the rest of her life?”

  The others nod while I purse my lips. I don’t get it. I can’t not get angry talking about this and here they are, discussing it with tones of appreciation? I exhale as I remember that it’s the brainwashing talking through them; thinking for them. But the fact fastens me to my mission. If I don’t find some way to get out of here, I’ll eventually be sent to Saya, too. There’s no way around it, for any of us.

  “Well, Anaya doesn’t have to worry about me,” I say, finally. “I should be more concerned about Saya than she is, honestly.”

  Savvy gives me a pitying look, but it’s unnecessary.

  I’m going to get out of here one way or another. I study my oldest and truest friend, the cracks in her posture and face, how the realities of our world have put a dent in her optimistic nature. Maybe there’s a way to convince her to come with me. I have to find a way.

  Emi gently picks at her plateful of strawberries and grains. “I will definitely relay the information. Hopefully this will make things better between you and Anaya.” She shifts the mood. “Why don’t we all get to know each other a bit more? I can teach you all a really fun card game that I made, and we can all go to the outer rec area and soak up the first rays of daylight before curfew.”

  “Sounds fun.” Savvy smiles after swallowing a huge bite of potato. She’s always been the socialite. Glera and Katarii also utter notes of agreement.

  “Okay,” I say, but I’m not buying it. Emi has a ribbon and seems established as Anaya’s right-hand supply unit. Why would she want to spend time with us except to try and fish more information out of us—out of me? She’ll realize eventually that I have nothing to offer, but maybe socializing with the others in the meantime will be a good step, despite the social anxiety. I’ve only had one friend to handle at any given time, Savvy only being my second, and I met her during year two of Nightingale. My first friend was from my hometown in Avignon. His name still rings in my memories and throughout my nightmares, tainted by the very real possibility that his corpse—dried of blood—is rotting among others in a mass and unintended cemetery.

  Castrel Lavarn.

  Chapter 10

  I watch him through my window, lumbering through the streets with his knapsack of goods. The one he always brings on market days. This time, however, he also carries a basket.

  Is it picnic day, too?

  I hug Savaiah, the potato sack doll, to my chest. My mother made her for me when I was born so I’ve had her since before I can remember. She’s my comfort when I’m lonely… which seems to be more often, nowadays.

  In a couple of minutes, the boy from my window will be at the front door. I should get out of bed.

  The room is dense with gray. Gray walls, gray floors. Their only salvation are my attempts to cover them with hues of red and blue. Dyes that were gifted to me on my birthday two years ago. I’d since run out of dyes and only fifteen blocks had been completely filled in.

  One day, I’ll fill them all in, I determine every single morning.

  I drop my feet to the ground, and listen to the echoes of their tap, tap, tapping down the long-arched halls to the bathroom, taking with me the fading, glistening hopes of my dreams. Of the world outside the cathedral’s courtyard.

  Mom calls to me as I finish putting my hair up with a hair stick. “Wavorly. Castrel is here, darling.”

  “I know,” I call back, putting on my stockings first, and then my black cloak, and then my black boots. I descend the stairwell to the foyer, greeted by the nodding heads of our servants. Mom is at the doorway near the guards, talking to Castrel. She sees me and turns.

  “It seems Castrel brought you breakfast today, so you two will be heading to the courtyard?” she says with a smile as sweet as raisin-bread. Her strawberry hair bounces as she stands up straight, dressed in a long brown cloak. Castrel smiles up at me but I can’t bring myself to smile back.

  “I’m sick of the courtyard,” I say as blunt as my father, and my mother’s smile drops. “Can we please have breakfast on the outlook?”

  “Darling, it’s so dangerous up there,” she says, interlacing her fingers together. Castrel looks between the two of us.

  “I’ll be careful, I promise,” I retort. “I really want to watch the performers in the market. I can only see them from up there.”

  My mother opens her mouth to tell me no, like she always does, when Castrel interrupts. “Madam Sterling, I’m sure it will be okay. I will make sure nothing happens to her.”

  Mom glances down at Castrel for a moment before shifting her weight side to side.

  “Um, well… alright.”

  I leap into the air. “Yes! Thank you, Mother.”

  “But just this once. Be very careful.” She raises her finger at the both of us.

  “We will be,” Castrel assures. “Let’s go, Wave.”

  He runs to me in his trouser leathers and tunic, handing me the bag of goodies while keeping a tight hold on the picnic basket.

  “You’re a lifesaver,” I say beneath my breath. He chuckles and leads the way to the back door of the cathedral.

  The huge wooden doors give way to bright sun and baby blue sky. Clouds rest in the tops of the sycamore trees, scattered about like cotton tufts. The outer courtyard is brimming with river stone walkways and pastel plants blooming various colors of the mid-shower rainbows. The bees buzz by and the river taunts us with its crystalline sheen. It’s just warm enough for a picnic atop the coveted outlook to the inner city.

  Castrel leads the way.

  “Remember, stay far away from the edges,” he instructs, “or your mother will kill me.”

  I laugh, nodding.

  Climbing dozens of stone steps is a nightmare in itself, but worth the view. Once we make it to the height, I run ahead to catch the rough, iron railing between my palms.

  “Wow. Look at it,” I yell.

  “Wavorly!” Castrel jogs up from behind, pulling me off the ledge. “Really? After what I just said?”

  I shrug. “I’m not frail on the outside, just on the inside. That’s what father tells me, anyway. I’ll be fine.”

  “Anyone could fall
. Even me,” Castrel replies, sitting me down and opening the picnic basket. “...Not just people who are sick. Here.”

  He hands me a sourdough loaf and a plate of cream cheese with yellow onion. My mouth waters, although the bustling city streets beyond the railing win my attention. Dancing gypsies and men dressed funny doing tricks with cards and balls line the roads that are filled with people. If only I could be right in front of them like the rest of the children.

  “I knew you might like that one.” Castrel eyes me and points to the man doing tricks. “So I got these for you.”

  He hands me the paper bag with a paper-wrapped parcel inside. I stare at it for a long time before carefully untying the string. The surprise in my hands unfolds to a deck of cards with hand-drawn jesters on them. I smile wide.

  “This is wonderful. I love it.” My chest caves with longing as I return my gaze to the streets that stretch to the horizon.

  “You know, this may not last forever. The doctors have said—”

  “That it will probably clear up before I’m thirteen,” I turn my face and snicker.

  He chuckles. “You know, then?”

  “Yeah, but it’s so far away.”

  “Only four years.” He spreads cream cheese on his rye.

  “I can’t even remember being alive four years ago.” I wrap my cards back up slowly before stuffing the sourdough so far in my mouth that I have to open chew for a bit.

  He laughs. “At least you have the best view in the entire city.”

  “I suppose.” I decide to change the subject. “What was Mr. Henry like today? Bitter and cranky as usual?” I had never met Mr. Henry, but Castrel would talk about him every day that he stopped by. He was the milkman of the town, a service needed almost every day by the military boys under Sorgan Lavarn—Castrel’s father.

  “Yee-up, same old Mr. Henry.”

  I nod and contemplate a little. “Do you think he cries tears of milk?”

  “Maybe.” Castrel taps his chin with his finger. “Or maybe he pees milk.”

  We crack up laughing. Pee is always funny.

  I place another ring of onion on top of my cream-cheesed bread and take a big bite.

  “Have you been practicing?” Castrel asks, and suddenly the bright blue sky seems as gray as my room.

  I look down into my lap full of crumbs. “No.”

  “Wave.”

  “What? I don’t want to think about it.” If I have to think about Essence Dissonance, then I have to think about the things I’m hiding from. The things we all are hiding from.

  “You have to, though. Just in case.”

  I choke down a pervasive sadness. “No. I don’t want to.”

  ✽✽✽

  “Wave?” Savvy snaps me from my thoughts. The night of making new friends managed to conjure up old memories—times I fought to forget so I wouldn’t have to dwell on their forever absence from this world. My heart sinks in my chest.

  “So, what did you think?” she asks in French for the sake of privacy. I laugh a little beneath my breath and reply, “Yeah it was fun. Emi’s nice. I really like Glera too.”

  Savvy smiles up at me from beneath her sheet, “...And Katarii?”

  “Growing on me,” I admit. The rest of the supply units appear sound asleep all around us on the cement floor, except for Savvy and me—though we are tired enough to pass out. Hours ago, after dinner, Emi took all of us to the outer recreation area—another type of Nightingale cage that includes forestry, trails, and a pond, all surrounded by walls. We stayed up playing guessing games, singing, and telling fabricated stories. It was probably the most refreshing social experience that I’ve ever had. Even now, the lingering warmth from the fun evening lightens my spirits, but it feels wrong, like I shouldn’t be enjoying anything while I’m here.

  I reach down to grab my toes at the end of the canvas bed roll—stretching out my legs after the short run I managed to get in before curfew. To keep myself in shape, and to avoid thinking about how trapped I am, I settled for a short run in the rec area—after our card playing. Keeping my body ready for the day I escape is the only way to keep moving forward at this point.

  “So… how are you feeling?” Savvy asks, making circles with her finger on the flat, sack-pillow as she hugs her knees to her chest. I can tell something weighty is on her mind.

  “Fine. Why?” I reply.

  She shrugs. “Are you happy?”

  “Really? You’re going to trap me with a question like that?”

  “So you’re not, then.”

  The mood has completely changed. I shift my crisscrossed legs to face her. “What’s going on?”

  “You’re still wanting to escape, aren’t you?” she whispers while picking relentlessly at her thumbnail.

  A surge of adrenaline spikes my heart rate and guilt floods my bloodstream.

  “No,” I only tell half the truth. “Not unless you would come with me.” I study her eyes carefully. She drops her head further and doesn’t reply, which is no surprise but it’s still upsetting. I turn my head away.

  “You should really consider it,” I say while pulling my feet in closer.

  “I have,” she replies crisply. “I’m just not—”

  Her meek voice is cut short by a shrilling siren.

  I jump about a foot off the ground as sweat forms across my brow. The tag on my wrist illuminates the darkness of the seraglio bedchambers in hues of green. Savvy grabs my arm. For the second time in twenty-four hours, I am being summoned. I breathe heavily to tire the adrenaline. The other girls around us stir only a little. The more experienced ones check their own tags and look at me, sizing me up, glowering, and then dropping their heads back to their canvas pillows. The newer ones simply sit up in a panic before watching me curiously with a bit of concern. That’s nice at least, although I really hate being the center of attention, regardless.

  Uncertainty grips my heart, twisting the girth of my lungs into rigid tubes as my shaking hands attempt to pull the neatly-folded, ruby robes over my tattered undergarments. Savvy lightly grips my arm, and I meet her gaze.

  I know this look. Pity. And it causes another fierce wave of fear. I lightly push her, basically telling her to knock it off, before I stand. Carefully, I make my way toward the staircase in between the rows of units, mats, and blankets.

  My hands shake as I grip the smooth metal bars of the narrow, spiral staircase at the center of the room, but I ascend despite myself. One final glance doesn’t seem like such a bad idea at first, but my eyes happen to rest on Emi and Anaya—who are apparently still awake after the jostle. Emi’s eyes are open, though averted, while Anaya’s bitter stare eats away at my delusions. It hits me that she will probably never like me. Because even though I can’t explain or understand it, Zein is favoring me. It’s an unspoken courtesy that vampires don’t summon a supply unit more than once every other day, and this is the second time I’ve been summoned within twenty-four hours. Why? Has he changed his mind?

  To my scream-filled surprise, Madam Ceti greets me at the top of the first-floor stairwell. A handrail on either side is my saving grace, holding my weight while my lungs attempt to compensate for the momentary lapse of oxygen. For some reason I thought that castle dwelling vampires didn’t travel beyond the entry point of the seraglio, but that could have been a false parameter of safety from my own mind. Nothing can be truly off limits, I suppose.

  More frightening than the fact that she’s standing there like a psychopath in the darkness, is that her face is stricken with mild panic, an expression I have never seen on a vampire before.

  “Come, dear.” She grabs my robe sleeve and leads me quickly. I trip over myself in my haste, my previous thoughts now drowned out by whatever the hell is going on. So many things seem off.

  “What’s wrong?” I ask between scarce breaths as we maneuver through the connection gate.

  “29734,” she calls to the attendant who can only stare dumbfoundedly at us before clumsily typing my numbers
onto the pad. Both the ringing and flashing from my tag ceases.

  “Madam Ceti?”

  My bare feet squeak along the marble stone as she near drags me. “Please tell me what’s going on.”

  Still, only silence. Her churning, opal eyes remain set and focused on the path ahead, making me wonder if she heard me at all. A swelling knot forms at the top of my throat as my mind fumbles with what lies ahead for me. By the sheer observation of Ceti’s body language, I can’t help but think tonight is going to be worse than the last. Much worse.

  Was it something I did? What did I do between then and now?

  My face lights on fire, anxiety pumps through my too-small veins as each step brings me closer to the unknown. The servants, dwellers, and scribes all adorn jewels of sweat that drench their foreheads. Most of them stand in tense positions. If one has a scroll, it’s held tightly to his chest; if one is dusting the furniture, both hands clutch the gilded handle defensively. Everyone is looking up the stairwell, toward Zein’s room. I swallow down my writhing heart.

  When we reach the doors of his quarters, Ceti stops me in my tracks. She places a single hand on my shoulder and squeezes with consolation as a voice permeates the hall from the closed chamber. Narref’s voice.

  “—from your clumsiness yesterday, how can you possibly think this will end well?”

  “Would you rather I die?” Zein’s raspy and spent voice reaches my ears. I cover my mouth at the stark difference. He sounds… awful.

  “...That’s not for me to decide,” Narref coldly replies.

  “Yes. And given this is an urgent matter of life and death, the superior officer has the final say. If they are where your loyalties lie, tell them. But you will send her in.”

  After a pause, Narref responds. “If they find out it was Abethian poison, the council will know what you did, what you’re doing...”

  Madam Ceti lets go of my shoulder and I look up at her.

  I open my mouth only for the door ahead to do the same.

  Narref glances at Ceti before honing in on me. He gives me a once over—an ominous warning filled with both sympathy and concern.