by A K Blake
Iona had learned quickly that being a companion giver to the Queen, as desirable as it might sound, had some drawbacks. Precisely because it was so exclusive, it separated her from the other givers in a way that was at once subtle and impossible to bridge. Her only purpose was to linger near the bar in an attempt socialize, something she was particularly ill suited for, and watch with a strange almost-longing as the staff givers offered blood. Lux would always speak to her, but her clientele base was growing nightly, so that Iona was often left to her own devices. She hadn’t realized when she agreed to this that it would require so much small talk, the same conversations over and over about nothing, so much lounging and fawning, neither of which she had ever developed the tact for.
Every encounter was much the same, a snide comment about her skin or her hair (“It certainly is striking,” “One could catch you out in a crowd,” “Thank Dieda for night vision, or I might have missed you!”), an inquiry into her origins that she was never able to answer to their satisfaction (“Oh, but surely you’re not from the Rasuk Woods. What country is your family from? No, no, dear, your ancestors?”), and knowing jealousy when they realized she was the Queen’s (“Well just look at her husband. She does like them dark.”). She had now posed for more photographs in the span of a few weeks than she had ever before taken in her life, her face splashed all across social media, despite her not having an account of her own. She’d also lost count of the times a vampire had touched her hair without asking or asked if her blood had some special “southie” spice.
It might have been flattering, if she had enjoyed being the center of attention more or if their motivations had bothered her less. It was a double sided coin, to be visibly different, at once a celebrity but also an oddity, reduced to something to be catalogued and photographed, added to their collections like a mounted butterfly.
Though she knew it was overly nostalgic, a false desire for a rose-colored memory, she often had to stop herself from wishing she were back in the village. There the others may have called her names or made jokes about her skin, but at least she was a person, someone whom they had learned to be stuck with. Here, with all these masses of humans and vampires, all their hidden agendas and tenuous alliances, she was very easily taken up with and then erased from view.
Her thoughts were interrupted by one of the guests.
“Well would you look at this. Aren’t you an odd little trinket?”
Preparing her face with a chilly expression, Iona turned toward the speaker. It was an older vampire with a suspiciously abundant head of gray hair—definitely a scalp transplant—and horrible whiskey breath. He was surrounded by even older and drunker friends.
“Why don’t you give us a dance, sweetheart.”
He winked at her, his eyes glossed over with drink. He held out his hand, and she drew back with an expression of distaste. However, at that moment she looked up and saw Lux frown from across the hall. She gave a curt, disapproving shake of her head as if to say, We talked about this. And they had. It had been a circular conversation, one in which neither side had gotten much farther than I don’t like it and Well I don’t understand why. In the end Lux had won, both because Iona was dispirited and because Lux had pointed out that refusing customers meant more work for the other givers. This would do her no favors socially, and really, wasn’t it the least she could do?
Steeling herself, Iona placed her hand in his. Almost as soon as their fingers touched, the old vampire had wrapped his arm around her waist in a pincer-like grip, capturing her other hand in his. Pressing her to him so that their hips were touching, he began to rock back and forth in an offbeat attempt to keep time with the music. There was a good deal more hip movement than was appropriate for the stately, slower style of song.
“You’re going to crush me.”
“Aw, don’t be dramatic, girly, it’s just a little fun!”
He whirled her out, keeping one hand in his, and reeled her back in, so fast she felt sick. As the other vampires laughed, Iona felt her stomach lurch and swallowed hard. She tried to plant her feet to resist him, but it was no use. One rule she had learned quickly in this new world was that vampires were strong, stronger always than she expected. A single human or even a group of them had no chance against one. That is, they had no chance without help.
The tip of the pulsor knife’s sheath jabbed suggestively into her outer thigh, where it was strapped within easy reach through the high slits in her dress. Despite Lux’s disapproval, she had finished the repairs. It had been simple, really, once she worked it out, just a new battery and replacing a few cables. When she had turned it on for the first time, it thrummed to life with an energy that she could feel against her palm. It made her feel powerful, as if the odds were finally against them. She imagined it now unsheathed, the sharp, pointed end of it sliding between the vampire’s ribs as the electric blue currents lit him up like a lantern.
But of course that was all nonsense. The only thing that would get her was a quick death, quick if she was lucky, the colosseum if she was not. It didn’t do to dwell on such fantasies for long. However, there were other avenues for someone like her.
Doing her best to emulate Lux, she attempted a smile, the wide-eyed, lash blinking kind. “I didn’t catch your name...kind sir.”
“Oh ho! Like what you see, do you? Well I must say the feeling is mutual.” He winked again, and she struggled to keep down her lunch. “It’s Drowan, Drowan Calandra VII.”
The way he said it, his chest puffed out, she could tell he expected her to be impressed. His name didn’t ring any bells, but she committed it to memory. He was sure to have a wife in some other city, probably one who didn’t actually care if he cheated as long as he kept her well appointed, but that didn’t mean she’d want everyone on the FreeNet to know about it. From all the business with Eris, Iona had gotten quite adept at hacking and phishing. Only a fraction of her fish bit, and slogging through Progressive communications was thankless work, but she felt sure it was only a matter of time before she found something worthwhile. This business with Drowan Calandra would be a nice distraction. And from what she could tell, it wouldn’t take long. Based on the way he was manhandling her, she had no doubt there would be plenty of dirt to choose from.
She endured the dancing for the rest of that song and then another. There was the usual series of selfies and group photos, in one of which she was forced to kiss him on the cheek. He smelled sour, like old milk. When the fun finally appeared to be over, he pinched her on the arm and called her a “sport.”
She looked back at Lux as the vampires walked away. She was smiling, a condescending, knowing sort of smile, as if to say, Now see, that wasn’t so bad. Iona gritted her teeth. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a now familiar movement several yards away. It was another vampire starting to make his way over to her, telltale silver hair glinting in the dim light. Suddenly, as had been happening with increasing frequency, Iona felt her chest tightening and her heartbeat accelerate. She clutched her chest and tried to breathe, but everything was so loud, the colors so bright. She felt as if her heart were going to explode. Grabbing up the skirt of her dress, she fled the hall.
***
The hallways near the party were well lit, every promising corner or secluded place filled with party guests in low-voiced conversation or the stifled noises of lust. Further on, however, the corridors became less populated, eventually giving way to dim, empty paths and echoing, cavernous rooms.
Several weeks ago, taking a break from the increasingly frustrating task of reading through messages, she had been wandering the hallways in the daytime. Her circadian rhythm had never quite synced with the vampiric schedule, and besides, she liked the solitude of the day. It helped her think. At the end of a hall that branched off from Shu-Durul, she had discovered, entirely by accident, an old staircase that looked as if it hadn’t been used in centuries. There was no door at the bottom, but the angle of the hallway hid the opening in shadow at night, m
aking it unlikely that anyone would stumble across it. In the daytime, it had been easier to see. Now she had to feel along the wall with her hand until she found the opening. She began to climb.
Between the sounds of her heart beating, she counted the steps. They were rough, thick stone, worn into smooth dips in the center of each by centuries of tread. The sound of her shoes scraping against the surface reverberated in the still air.
Finally she reached the top. There was a door with an old sign, the plexiglass scratched and yellowed. It read in faded letters, “Marquis Yuruk Assur-na'da Dioxnicis Viewing Deck.” Pushing it open, she emerged into the night air. It was cool outside, not yet wintery, but the breeze carried a chill. In contrast with the sweaty, almost tropical atmosphere of the ball, it felt pure somehow. The viewing deck was on a lower tier of the original, ancient roof, facing the rear forest and gardens. The balcony disappeared at either end, rock fusing with the mirrored surface of the modern addition, so that it looked as if it were emerging from the center of a glacier.
She closed her eyes, wrapping her hands around the top of the balcony wall. Kicking off her shoes, she planted her feet on the grainy cobblestone blocks and tilted her head back, opening her eyes to look up at the stars. They were not as clear here as back home, but the constellations were the same. To her right was the Crown of Gamen, its middle spire bent from his battle with the Seraph Calleda, a great contest spanning decades, in which his purity and honor had been tested and proven. Further center was the Hammer of Duty, wielded by the Seraph Opsequi, who called all men and vampires to bear their obligations with humility and ceaseless striving. And in the far left was the Great Conflagration, the spark from which all fire was born.
It was from this fire that the evil human Fallon stole the first flame. In rebellion of Dieda’s laws, he used it to set King Gamen’s castle ablaze, burning alive all the world’s vampires, who resided inside. When Dieda saw this from on high, she became furious. Blowing out the fire with the wind of her breath, she blessed her chosen ones, vampyre-kind, with powers of great healing to erase their scars and salve their wounds. As punishment for aiding Fallon, she did not share this gift with the humans, who would remain forever slow of speed and poor in health. Fallon himself she cast into eternal torture, to forever burn within the molten center of the earth. He lived on in infamy as well, a tiny star falling, always falling from the the Great Conflagration and never coming to rest. Sometimes, coming here, she thought she knew how he felt, no solid ground, lost in the darkness between the gleaming stars.
“Nice night, isn’t it?”
She whirled, snapping her head in the direction of the speaker. Images flashed through her head: the old vampire come back with some friends for a bit more fun, the kind he couldn’t get with so many witnesses around. She spread her feet into a fighting stance as her hand groped for the knife.
“Who’s there?”
Finding the slit, she yanked the knife out from its sheath. Somewhere there was a stupid, futile part of her brain that took pride in knowing she had been right, and Lux had been wrong. Holding it out, she pointed the blade at the dark figure filling the doorway.
“Whoa now, what the hell? Is that how you always greet people, and where did you even get that? You’ve been here, what, all of six weeks, and you’re already some kind of illegal arms dealer? I really had you pegged wrong.”
The voice was familiar even before he stepped into the light, something about the sardonic tone and the arrogant lilt. He came forward with a crooked smile on his face, arms raised in mock surrender, an iced drink in one hand.
“Kaius?”
“As I live and breathe...well, for the moment at least. Until you break out those deadly moves on me. Then I’m just a spit roast.”
He was dressed in a way that was no doubt more fashionable and expensive than what she’d seen him in before, a silk shirt with ruffles and drapey pants. Something about it, however, felt inauthentic. But it was certainly him, same sharp, dark eyes and needling grin. When she failed to respond, his grin began to fade.
“You’re not actually going to use that, are you? Some kind of revenge thing? I see you’ve fallen into some seedy business, but it can’t be all bad, right? Bygones, and all…”
She was still brandishing the pulsor knife at his chest. After a moment of consideration, she lowered her arm to her side, though her grip on the rubber hilt was firm.
“I suppose that depends on what you’re doing here. What is it the Progressives want now?”
“The Prog...oh! No, they didn’t send me here. Well, I mean, they did, but not for you...I’ve been reassigned. Cushy, choice job as a reward sort of thing.”
“A reward for what?”
“Just some...stuff. It’s classified, you know how they are. Fancy themselves some kind of super villains.”
“Congratulations. But what are you doing here. You didn’t follow me?”
He laughed. It was a quick, barking sort of noise, the look on his face incredulous.
“Follow you? Dieda no, why would I be following you? You think I’m just stalking you like some sort of crazy ex-boyfriend? If you must know, this viewing deck is a family heirloom. Some ancestor of my mother’s paid to have it built to try and weasel his way into favor with the king at the time. Didn’t work very well, from what I hear. Think he actually got beheaded or something. But anyway, it’s my birthright, so I thought I might as well check it out. I didn’t expect to see you here, though. How do I know you aren’t stalking me?”
“Maybe I should be. Like repays like?”
“Alright, I’ll admit that’s a bit fair. But I never stabbed you! If you’ve got a very sterile, poison-free needle lying around, I suppose I could consent to a light pricking. In the interest of fairness.”
“How very generous of you. But unfortunately I seem to be fresh out of needles.”
“That is indeed unfortunate, since my acupuncturist has been out of the office, and I could really use a facial right about now.”
He looked so earnest, shaking his head with such a disappointed grimace, that she laughed in spite of herself. As she did, some of the tension from the night floated away. She let her grip on the knife relax, the tip falling to point at the ground.
Kaius gave an exaggerated sigh of relief.
“So I’m out of the woods? Thank Dieda. Although, as these things go, it would’ve been a decent night for a murdering. I am wearing my fancy new outfit, and I’ve always thought I’d like to go out in style.”
“I’ll keep that in mind if I ever revisit the idea.”
“Very kind of you.” He made her a mock bow, and there was a moment of silence.
“Sorry, rude of me. Would you like some?” He slurped loudly on his drink before holding it out to her. She saw it was a strange bluish green hue, like no alcohol she had seen before.
“What is it?”
“Whiskey. With a little...extra.”
She gave him a questioning look.
“Drugs, it’s got drugs in it.”
“Oh. I probably shouldn’t then. The Head Giver said they’re frowned upon. The Queen might taste it…”
He rolled his eyes. “C’mon, nobody believes that. That’s just something the giver bosses tell you to try and scare you away from having a good time. It’s not like it's dangerous, it’s just matra.”
“Oh, is that all?”
“You guys have matra in the woods? Good for you, at least you know how to have fun. It’s not that much, trust me. And it’ll help you relax. You certainly seem...on edge.”
She snorted, finally releasing her grip on the pulsor knife and returning it to its sheath.
“Alright, go on then.”
Reaching for the glass, she took a sip.
The stars began to look a bit brighter after that, almost like they did back in the woods, twinkling like little pearls in an ocean. Well, a black ocean. An ocean at night. Then again, she supposed that was a silly comparison, since it was the sky at nig
ht, and she began to giggle to herself at the thought. Kaius joined in, though he couldn’t have known what they were laughing about, which only made her laugh harder, and before she knew it, they were collapsed over the chilly stone railing, tears streaming down their faces. She rested there for a moment, savoring the cold roughness against her cheek. Finally, wiping her eyes and hiccuping only a little, she thought she was ready to face the ballroom again.
Making a show of being a polite guest, Kaius turned to her as soon as they reached the bar, bowing a bit deeper than was really necessary, then flickered out of sight and back, returning with an entire bottle of whiskey. He plunked two glasses on the table and poured a shot into each. Iona raised her eyebrows. Kaius looked hurt.
“No? Look, it’s my first night here, and I’m not on official business yet. I’m getting drunk, I don’t know about you.”
He looked around and gestured with a jerk of his head toward the old vampire from before, who was now dancing with Lux. Iona noted with a guilty sort of satisfaction that Lux did not seem to be entirely enjoying herself.
“It’s not like you’ve got anything better to do.”
Iona had a high tolerance for matra. She could already feel the giddiness from earlier fading, mellowing into a warm contentedness. She supposed she could have a few. Nodding, she said, “I will admit you make a convincing argument.”
Raised their glasses, and they clinked the sides together.
“Good health.”
“Good blood.”
It tasted like rubbing alcohol and burned on the way down. Though it was of course much more refined and expensive, it still reminded her of moonshine from back home. Jedrick had hated the stuff, but she always liked something about that stinging feeling in the back of her throat.
“So what brings you here, Kaius? Is it really classified, or are you just tired of showing captive humans around the Progressive compound?”