by Kelsey Quick
I suddenly feel like a cow lining up for slaughter, as if I’m about to be thrown into a cage full of starving fallen beasts—a carcass in a den of wolves. But before I can dwell on the gruesomeness of that image, Narref extends his hand.
“Come on now, let’s go.”
I almost lose my balance as panic envelops my vision and nerves. It’s all I can do to stand perfectly still and pretend that none of it is happening. There’s no way this is happening.
Ceti pats me on the shoulder and finally says to me, “You will be fine. Go bravely.”
I’m sure she sees my hands shaking, trying to hold fast to my chest for some sort of leverage. She and Narref are patient enough to allow me this moment before urging me toward the huge double doors. My eyes find Narref’s and I beg. Beg him for answers to which I don’t even know the questions. He shifts his gaze toward the dark room, ignoring every bit of my silent plea.
“Go,” he mutters, guiding me in; offering me to the darkness and closing out every last ounce of light.
I cross my arms along my waist as courage takes its sweet time returning to me. While the image of the hopeless, slaughtered cow ravishes my thoughts, his voice interrupts.
“Wavorly, come here.” Zein demands through the inky black void. My eyes shoot open as blue-flowered lanterns alight from the ceiling, illuminating the room with cascading hues of sapphire and plum.
When I see him, my body clams up, and I can’t tell if it’s from shock, fear, or even... worry. The indestructible vampire, Lord Anton Zein, leans weakly upon one of the four gold-crafted bed posts at the corner of the room, gasping for breath while his desperate silver eyes seek out mine. Worse still, are the revolting, weaving, and sickly mauve lines that trail the length of his face, chest, and hands. I assume his whole body has been afflicted, but the rest of him is covered by tanned soldier leathers. Despite his broken state, his demeanor is scarier this time, and every instinct orders me to run.
But I can’t.
Zein grimaces and rubs his temples with restraint, slamming his other fist against a gold post and breaking it—sending the top half rattling across the floor. I’m frozen; petrified by the night and day difference of his character. He snarls with exasperation, letting out anger—maybe it’s pain—before he shifts.
“I don’t want to hurt you,” he explains with surprising tenderness, studying me with far less hostility. “However, I need your blood. So... come.”
I am close to thinking twice when he sits—more like falls—onto the edge of the bed; the burgundy satin linens sinking into the mattress along with him. He leans over, his arms folding down between his legs, his body hunched and spent, while his eyes scrutinize the floor.
A part of me relishes this moment. He needs blood. And I have it—for now—until however long it would take him to get up and pin me down.
But... he’s also suffering.
I gag thinking I might actually care, but I move toward him anyway. My fingertips trace over my collarbones, increasingly fearful, while my shivering feet somehow get me across the marble floor.
He lifts his head and his eyes meet mine. Even when my better judgment overcomes me and I avert them to the ground, the weight of his bejeweled gaze remains. His body just comes into my downcast view when he reaches out to take my arm. I jolt at the touch—hot, horribly hot. The lines of sickness pulse like veins beneath his skin. Whatever it is, apparently it’s killing him.
From his left he retrieves a kortrastet needle and a crimson towel. The needle’s bronze and gold carvings glint royal blue and teal in the dim lantern light—the tip of it shaking in his grasp. I think back to mine and Savvy’s conversation in the troughs and gulp down my animosity for him for a split second.
“Are you sure you have time to do that?” I ask.
He tilts his head to study me while I turn mine to the corner of the room, adding on, “Just seems like a waste of a courtesy when you’re dying.”
His jaw clenches and he holds my arm taut as he buries the needle into my vein. I wince from the dull and shivery prick.
“Twice within a day would surely kill you. Even this method could be problematic.” His voice rakes over his tongue, while my heart swims up into my throat. “And I don’t want to kill you.”
“Then why me? Why not someone else?”
He merely shakes his head and pulls me to stand in between his legs. After a moment, he says, “I want yours.”
The breath in my lungs freeze. What?
No, seriously. What?
My blood quality must be the vampire equivalent of dry, wilted kale with how much time I have spent making it that way by being miserable. I filter every possible explanation through my head until I’m left at one possibility—that something tragic must have happened to Zein’s taste buds.
“Seems pretty risky for something you want,” I evaluate.
Zein’s upper lip manages to curl. “Isn’t everything?”
“But you have a choice.” My anger cuts through.
A strange expression sweeps across his face for a second before the conversation is discarded altogether. Sweat lines his hair and brows as he holds the thin, clear tube up to his mouth. I swallow down building tension as the embedded lines of sickness spread to his jaw, then to his lips—fast and haunting. Just how much blood does Zein need to heal? Would what I have even be enough for something as sinister as this?
The clear of the tube is soon replaced by a thick and dark red that is enough to churn my stomach. He places the end of the tube in between his teeth and tilts his head back, letting its contents drip ever so slowly down into his throat. He maneuvers my arm, holding my wrist angular to let the blood flow freely.
The seconds start to feel like hours and my vision blurs, dizzying any time I shift my focus. The crisp and clean architecture begins swirling and buzzing across my lids. The weight of my head and body, insignificant and light. One moment I’m gazing up at the shadowy blue lanterns, and the next I’m falling. I throw out my free arm and somehow catch myself on Zein’s shoulder, but even then I’m unsteady. He wraps his free hand around my waist and pulls me down onto his lap, alleviating the novel search for balance.
“I’m sorry, just a bit more,” he manages to whisper as blood coats his lips.
Every limb becomes heavier, every breath shallower… and I collapse my head against his chest. All they want is more. They take until they can take no more. Vampires. How can they do this and feel no guilt or sympathy? That’s right… because they are monsters. Beings that know nothing but selfish gain—bloodlust and violence and selfishness.
It isn’t until he meets my glare head on that I realize I had been scowling at him shamelessly. To hell with what Nightingale taught, right? Apparently, eye contact is fine and vampires can bite you without consequence. Oh, happy day.
But wait, did he actually apologize to me? My thoughts swim deeper and deeper beneath the surface. Zein, the youngest and most reputable of aristocratic warlords in all of Cain is apologizing to his human slave for taking her blood? I laugh through my haze.
“You’re not sorry,” I snort.
His expression contorts to something akin to annoyance, though I can’t tell if it’s from what I said or from his affliction. Who knows, I could be imagining it.
The trickling of my blood into his throat becomes strangely melodic, the room growing darker—quieter and louder all at the same time—and everything in my consciousness becomes jumbled. What is happening?
“Keep your eyes open.” The tendrils of Zein’s voice permeate the growing white noise as everything within my sight fades to black. “Wavorly?”
This must be what it feels like to die.
I let my head fall back over Zein’s arm and gladly welcome the consuming darkness.
✽✽✽
Soothing tingles along my back urge my return from the void. Dazed and lost, I blink, straining for focus. My eyelashes graze glossy, garnet fabric, of which—I somehow recall—belongs to Zein’s
bed. Instantly, my mind snaps back to reality and I lift my head from the impressed section of the mattress.
“Don’t force yourself.” The faint nuances of Zein’s voice arrive from the other side of me. I jerk and flip over, my eyes flying over his lengthy figure. He has himself propped up against the black, spindly headboard, one leg completely outstretched while the other is bent, drawn up to his torso. His entire figure is illuminated by the enchanted blue lanterns above, and by the purple-black of the thick curtains that effectively block out the sun. He faces away from me, staring across the room into nothing—lost in thought.
My eyes fumble over his glistening, though misplaced hair, traveling downward and hesitating when they reach the V-shaped opening in his leathers. The sickly veins that had previously scattered his body seem to have vanished, along with any visible suffering.
Did I faint here? I think I did. Unless I died and am having a nightmare.
Either way, it’s weird. I need to go.
I try to shy away but Zein extends an arm and grabs my wrist.
“Wh-what?” I manage to find my voice through the roughness of my throat.
“You should wait,” he replies. “I doubt you yet have the strength to walk back to the seraglio.”
I take that as a challenge and move toward the end of the bed, every limb pure lead and shaking slightly. It doesn’t matter though, when you’re fueled by resentment. As if he can sense such things—
“I really am sorry,” he says, and I halt my mission—again stunned by those words leaving the mouth of selfish royalty. “I should have been more careful with you in your frail state. Admittedly, I am still learning what humans can handle.”
I shrug.
His mouth curves upward into a half-smile. “So now you choose silence?”
Keeping my anger in check is proving to be more and more difficult. “I’m still trying to stay conscious after being preyed upon, so give me a moment?”
He smirks. ”Fair. When you are strong enough to do so, you may go.”
“Thank you… my lord,” my vocal cords catch, and I cough a little. An awkward tension falls between us, but I can’t bring myself to be anything but curt and blunt. He deserves nothing more out of me. But, I should stay here, for now. At least until the room stops spinning every time I turn my head.
“Over there.” He motions with his gaze toward the bedside table where a glass of water and a plate of fruit sit. He doesn’t have to tell me twice. Retrieving the fine porcelain, I devour dried dates by the handful, careless of how sad I look.
While consuming the fruit, my mind finally retrieves the potential importance of this moment. Zein is being unusually receptive—much like how he was the time leading up to him dropping me at Nightingale years ago. This could be my chance at getting answers.
“Permission to speak?” I ask.
“Granted.”
“What were those vein-things that were—”
“None of your concern,” he intercedes.
Receptive, my ass.
”Well forgive me for offering what little concern I’ve got.” I’m painfully aware of how indignant I sound, but I don’t care. I plunge my hand for another date and pop it into my mouth.
Zein scoffs and it catches me off guard.
“All right. I was attacked and poisoned… while patrolling the border.”
“Of Abethos? A call to war?” I recall the conversation he and Gemini had back at the infirmary. An attack like that is a blatant request for battle. That could mean big changes for Cain, and even the supply units once Zein is called to the battlefield. But as soon as the question left my mouth, I knew it was a mistake.
He offers no immediate response. The atmosphere grows stale and Zein’s form, tense.
“You know of our political standings with Abethos?” he questions eventually, ashen eyes shifting to mine, filling with intrigue.
I don’t respond, but it’s obvious I know more than I should. We don’t learn things like politics, borderlands, and other countries in supply unit schools. I fidget with the crafted edge of the ivory plate.
”Interesting.” He smirks. “What exactly do you know?”
I numbly answer his question, not really sure how the truth will play out for me in this situation.
“I know that Abethos is the vampire nation on the Western side of Cain… and that the Sabbanth Province—your province—is only about twenty kilometers from the border.” I pause to grace him with a goading stare. “And that Cain and Abethos are enemies because of their disagreements on the survival of the human race.”
It’s true, from what I’ve read. Cain fights for a world of in-bred humans as blood slaves while Abethos fights for treaty-based pacts with human nations, requiring blood as taxes and such. I’d rather be in Abethos, and I’m sure Zein realizes that from the look splayed across my face. The silence is deafening and his expression, unclear. It’s understandable that he’d be angry, since Nightingale’s code promises to not teach supply units anything unnecessary—but they didn’t; I taught myself to read in Acclevin. Translation dictionaries lined the back room of our language professor’s office, who, like many other vampires, assumed that all humans were brainwashed blood sacs who didn’t have minds of their own. He never locked his office.
I tilt my chin up at Zein. As they say, the more you know, the more powerful you are, and I’m sure this vampire’s smart enough to know I learned it all on my own. His eyes narrow with amusement.
“Impressive,” he admits. “Although wrong. Our diplomacy hinges on matters much heavier than the lives of humans.”
“Oh, right.” I nod a couple of times, dwelling on the insinuation. “As long as the blood well doesn’t dry up, who cares, right?”
He glares at me, muttering, “I did not mean it that way.”
“You may have a point, though,” I say, “Maybe I should just run away then since the lives of my friends and I are so lacking weight.”
He makes a noise. A chuckle?
“Maybe I really should break your legs, then.” He throws back, and I nearly laugh.
“…Don’t do that, I like to run. And not just away.”
He shakes his head, smiling. “You’re a strange one. A human telling me not to do something.”
The hairs bristle along my arms and I think of the lives of Savvy, Katarii, and now—my legs. I very well may be crossing too many lines, but then again… I don’t think Zein cares too much. In fact, he seems to be having fun with it.
An idea hits me.
“You can make it up to me, though,” I remark. “You know, for… hurting my feelings about how worthless my life is, or for threatening the safety of my legs, or whatever.”
“Oh?” He turns and examines me, as if impressed by the courage coating my tongue. “Go on. Do tell me how your master can better serve you.”
I stifle a roll of the eyes, but decide to be grateful nonetheless.
“Could you tell me about that night? The one you found me, I mean.”
He just stares at me, so I include reasoning. “I know you must remember it, because you remembered my name.”
There’s so much more that I want to ask—much more that I want to accuse him of—but I settle on this for now. His gaze shifts from the curve of my brow to the edge of the room, the displaced playfulness slowly ebbing away. The need to explain grips me after a round of hollow, unforgiving silence—as if he’s considering calling up Savvy right now to behead her in front of me.
“Please,” I whisper. “I need to know.”
“And what exactly do you need to know about it?”
“Why it happened.” I decide to dive right in. “Isn’t it against the law for vampires to attack and kill humans?”
He keeps his eyes averted as he answers. “In Cain, yes, but not across the borders. I found you in a human colony.”
“The human colony of Avignon,” I say. “In France.”
“...I’m surprised you remember.”
Vam
pires must think humans have a brain the size of a pea... I was eight years old when everything happened. Not eight months.
“I remember a lot of everyday life before that night. Like the language, and my family and…” my heart breaks in my chest as I recall the fresh memory from before, “...and Castrel.”
“Castrel?” Zein asks.
“He was a friend of mine. Well, the only friend I was allowed to have,” I reply. “I never saw him before we left. I… have no idea if he made it out or not.”
Zein doesn’t immediately respond, and I’m not sure if I want him to. My emotions are a hair trigger away from unleashing their vulnerable grit, and I can’t allow him to see that part of me.
“I happened upon that slaughter in Avignon,” Zein finally says. “It was careless, the attack. A complete waste of blood.”
My heart seizes in my chest.
“I was leading a military expedition that night, gathering more humans for Saya’s refinery. Far past the mountains, the air became saturated with the stench of rotten, human blood. I changed course, altering the mission to salvage what we could.
When we reached the blockade to the inner city, all of the humans in sight were dead. None had even managed to make it past the city walls. However, I could still scent life at the heart, both vampire and human. Concerning you, I happened to arrive at the right time.”
It dawns on me how low of a chance Castrel and the rest had to escape.
“So, the vampires that you rescued me from, who were they?” My voice shakes violently.
“Thoughtless scavengers. The low of the low who pay no heed to the blood shortage.”
“Were there any other survivors? Near the heart of it?” I fumble with the clumps of my thin and greasy hair. Castrel fills the gaps of every strand. At the time of the massacre he had been with his parents, choosing supper with them that night instead of mine. But they were still reasonably close to the cathedral. He could have been there.
Zein’s face softens to something I would never expect from a general of Cain, but it brings me no comfort.
“If your parents were still alive, we would have brought them with us,” he says in a voice deathly close to a whisper.