Текст книги "A Bargain So Bloody"
Автор книги: Vasilisa Drake
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Текущая страница: 19 (всего у книги 23 страниц)
All eyes swung to the king.
“Your Majesty?” she said, meekly. Perhaps turning was exhausting for the vampire?
“The boy Crowley saved—your nephew, as I recall. How did Crowley find him?”
She blinked. “I… that is a better question for Crowley, Your Majesty. Once he has turned, I’ve every hope he will be able to answer your queries to satisfaction.”
“Naturally,” Raphael replied easily. “Then perhaps this one will be more suited to your domain. How did your nephew get injured in the first place?”
Janessa looked pale, even paler than usual for a vampire. Blood was smeared over her lips, which were parted as she stared up from the floor at Raphael on the high throne. “It is not unusual for young vampires to overestimate—”
“Do not attempt to deceive me!” Raphael roared.
I flinched.
The entire room flinched.
“You stupid, stupid child,” Raphael snarled. “You think you can manipulate your king into gifting your toy immortality?”
“Your Majesty, I only—”
“Silence!” Raphael snarled. “I’ll tell you what you did. You convinced your nephew to leave his bed, then led him down to the ravine. You hurled him over the side. And while he cried, bones broken into splinters, betrayed by someone blood-bound to protect him, you extorted him. You told him if he vowed not to say a word of your sins, he could have some of that pathetic worm’s blood. And why? Because you wanted your lover to be turned, and you’d both grown tired of waiting. You wanted to be absolutely sure I’d be so moved by his noble gesture, I would permit it.” He leaned forward, his fingers curled over the arms of his throne. “Go on. Tell me I’m wrong.”
The vampiress opened and closed her lips, but no sound passed. She couldn’t lie.
“Of course,” Raphael continued, “it turns out you’re as conniving as you are stupid. You made him vow not to tell anyone, but once the fingers in his hands healed, he was able to write his responses.”
The entire court was silent. I fought the urge to vomit. I’d thought there was nothing worse than giving up mortality to become a vampire—but Crowley had abandoned his humanity long before if he thought this was in any world justifiable.
Raphael had clearly known about this. Why go through this charade?
“Punishment should suit the misdeed. I’ve allowed you to turn him, to give him the eternal life he hungered for.” A pause. “Snap his neck. Now.”
“Mercy, Your Majesty!” She fell to her hands, pleading. “Punish me instead.”
“Oh, I am.” Raphael rose from his throne, taking one slow step down the dais at a time. “You will live.” He took another step. “Knowing you took his years of service, and his reward is death from his own sire.” Another step. “And you will live the rest of your life in exile.” Another step. “You betrayed your own clan when you harmed your nephew. No vampire will let you take refuge with them now.”
He stood in front of Janessa, who was crying on her hands and knees. I felt no pity at the sight, only hatred.
Raphael was doing something beyond cruel.
The newly made vampire would die.
This one would suffer.
Monsters.
“Break his neck now,” he ordered. “You won’t like it if I’m the one who takes my time, savoring his death.”
Tears streamed down her face as she lifted Crowley’s body. He was unconscious, but his lids flickered. Was he aware in this state?
Snap!
Janessa wailed.
The hatred that had fogged over me cleared with the sound of her screams. Suddenly, I didn’t feel any more righteous anger.
I just felt sick.
“Get out.” Raphael’s voice was low and deadly, then he lifted his chin to address the room. “Everyone, out.” He nudged the corpse, which was already decomposing to sand, with his foot. “And someone take this trash with them.”
I vomited.
Demos forced me out of the room with the rest of them and led me to a back chamber. I didn’t want to see Raphael in this state, but since I’d made a point of going, there was no way I could just leave now.
The room was directly behind the throne room, an office of some kind. Raphael walked in a moment after us. He looked wearier than I’d seen him, but he straightened when he saw me notice.
“I’m sorry you had to see that.” A brusque apology.
“Why?” The word made the bitter film of my sick coat my mouth once more. The taste seemed to coat my entire body.
He frowned. “I couldn’t allow that to go unpunished. Not when they tried to manipulate their king, and certainly not when the cost of that was abuse of a youngling.”
I shook my head, my arms crossed tight over my abdomen. The entire room stood between us. “That’s not what I mean. I don’t… I don’t even disagree, really. If what you say is true, then death is certainly deserved. But why give them hope? Why make her be the one to do it? Why draw it out into a spectacle?” My voice rose as I spoke until I was near shouting.
“Because this is what they understand.” Raphael didn’t shout back, but his voice boomed through the room. “This is what vampires learn from. This is what stops them from doing worse. I stop them, little viper. You might not like what that looks like, but it must be done.”
“This may seem brutal, but it’s not unusual for our culture,” Demos added. “We’re a bloody, brutal people. There’s no use pretending otherwise.”
I swallowed down another argument.
They were violent. Not just violent, but cruel, sadistic. Only controlled by someone stronger, crueler, as Raphael had shown.
“What did you come for?” Raphael asked. Then he turned to Demos. “Why did you bring her?”
Demos shrugged. Unlike me, to him, the execution was just another day. “She said it was important. For that translation she’s doing.”
The grimoire. The passage I’d finished translating.
This is the book of the necromancer. The witch who alone serves Anagenni, they who control all who have perished. Through the goddess’s will, the necromancer has dominion over bone and blood, soul and spirit. The undead bow to the necromancer. One witch is gifted to the world every two hundred years with Anagenni’s blessing. They alone can right the balance.
The undead bow to the necromancer.
Vampires. The necromancer, if they were real, could control vampires. The one creature that might be able to control them, and the grimoire was the key to their power.
Raphael had to suspect. But if I confirmed it, he might destroy the book.
“I…” I thought as fast as I could—the one strength I had over vampires was I could lie. I needed one Demos wouldn’t call me on. I couldn’t deny I’d come about the translation. “I decided to work from the back since I was having trouble at the front, and I found a spell I thought might be interesting.” The best lies were rooted in truth. When struggling with the first passage, I had worked on a few of the spells. “It called for some ingredients, and I thought if we collected them, Amalthea could try to use it. Maybe the magical trace would help her find whoever it belongs to.”
It wouldn’t work, of course. The grimoire wasn’t a simple cookbook anyone could take a page from.
Raphael gave me a long look, as if trying to understand why I’d propose such a stupid idea.
A drop of sweat slid from the back of my neck down my spine.
“Amalthea can’t use the grimoire, unfortunately,” Raphael said.
Demos sighed. “I could have guessed as much. You should have told me that was your important news. I’d have saved you this headache, and you could have trained.”
I resisted the urge to wipe the perspiration from my brow. “My apologies. I’ll keep at it.”
But I wasn’t sorry I missed training.
I wasn’t sorry I’d seen this.
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Chapter Forty-One
I had avoided the alcove ever since Titus found me there. I missed the music, but a naïve part of me hoped that if I simply didn’t encounter the spymaster again, he’d ignore me. He’d rightfully pointed out that if I told Raphael or anybody who he was, that would open more questions about how I knew, and those weren’t questions I could afford to answer.
And now that I’d decided not to tell Raphael about the grimoire passage I’d translated, I was keeping even more secrets.
So, yes, I was naïve to think Titus would simply leave me be. And perhaps a little bit stupid.
Amalthea had offered—more like insisted—we go out to the second level and visit some of her favorite shops. She had offered to meet me at my rooms, but I offered to meet her closer to the tunnel that led to the lower level so she wouldn’t need to trek all the way from court to my chambers.
“Waiting for someone?”
I swung around, expecting to see Titus. Instead, the only thing I saw was an empty hallway.
“You’re a hard woman to get to these days, Samara Koisemi.”
Titus’s voice came from my left this time. Still, nothing. Disguise magic, then. The most potent disguise magic would allow the caster to become entirely invisible. As the king’s spymaster, Titus would have access to all the best cards.
Titus was a witch. Likely a powerful one– could have risen to power in the Storm-blooded King’s court. But what kind of magic he had, I couldn’t be sure. Likely not disguise magic, since otherwise he would have used it more liberally. Not knowing a witch’s magic was dangerous, especially when that witch was threatening you.
“Amalthea will be here any minute,” I said. “You should go. I have nothing to say to you, except I’m not a threat to your mission.” Whatever it was.
“Oh, Samara. And here I thought you’d be interested in hearing the king’s offer to pardon you.”
I was unable to stop myself from flinching at his words. “What?”
“Oh, did that get your attention?” Titus said coyly. “Home, Samara. Pardoned, with enough money to start your own household in Ulryne. You could go home.”
He was suddenly very, very close. I couldn’t see him, but I could smell his breath. I wrinkled my nose.
“Why would the king do that?” He’d been the one who sentenced me as a child.
“Yes, what could make up for treason on two counts? What service could you give the Crown that would let His Majesty overlook the fact you helped a vampire break out of Greymere?”
I could give Titus the Black Grimoire. I’d have to escape after, but giving Titus that tool could be enough to earn a pardon.
It would be a betrayal, however. And as much as Titus might technically serve the Crown, I didn’t trust him. Not with that.
The pardon though? There was a very strong possibility it was a real offer. A tempting one.
“Righting that wrong would be a start,” Titus finally said when it became clear I wouldn’t answer. “Destroying the scourge of our kingdom. You’d be hailed as a hero, Koisemi. Your family name would be known for centuries for your bravery. You wouldn’t just be pardoned, you’d be welcomed in court.”
I wavered. For the briefest second, I considered what it would mean to be allowed to return home. Not surrounded by dangerous creatures who could kill me in a heartbeat. Ones who would maim children to get what they wanted. Instead, I could be among my own kind, living out of exile. Not a shameful life, but one I could live proudly in court, like my mother had always wanted.
It cost me something to give that up and say, “I’m not interested. I’ve made a new life here.” I had no intention of telling Titus my true plans were to go west of the kingdom.
“Look how keen you are to defend that life, even when it could be what kills you,” Titus purred.
My spine stiffened. “Are you threatening me?”
“Me?” The spymaster made a sound of indignation. “How quick you are to forget that any of them would kill you in a heartbeat. Isn’t that what nearly happened in the library just a few weeks ago?”
How did he know? Then again, he was a spy for a reason.
“The vampire was crazy.” That’s what Raphael had said—sometimes the old ones went insane.
“Do you really believe that?” Titus’s laugh was cruel. “Or is that what you want to believe, because otherwise you betrayed your country for no reason? You’re kept as a pet, a blood bag for their bastard king. You love being kept on a leash in a dark room.”
Vampires couldn’t lie. If Raphael said it, it must be true. Yet had he said the librarian had gone crazy? Or just that it happened sometimes? I tried to recall the exact wording.
“Open your eyes to the world you’re living in, not the one you’d like to believe you are,” Titus said. He was in front of me now. “I’ll ask your answer again in one week, Samara. Even if you’re as stupid as you appear, I expect your response may change.”
I wish I could say Titus’s offer hadn’t haunted my visit with Amalthea, but it had. At my request, she’d shown me more of Damerel. But both she and Demos had refused to show me the parts I was most desperate to see: the blood donors.
Maybe desperate wasn’t the right word. I didn’t want to be reminded of the act. The memory of how it had felt with Raphael hadn’t faded—his fangs buried in my neck, sensation ricocheting through my body. The shame of it, of being used to sustain another creature, the shame of how I would have let him take every last drop.
But I had to know. The three of them might have become my friends, but they were keeping some things secret. Titus’s comments still lingered in my mind, seeds of doubt he’d masterfully planted. What if I really had blinded myself, let myself believe everything could be okay when I was sheltered from the truth?
That was why I doubled back after parting ways with Amalthea.
Vampires and witches hadn’t become mortal enemies simply because they were two tame, well-mannered species with slightly differing needs. They had warred over the years because vampires saw themselves at the top of the food chain and had taken and taken. Centuries ago, a great battle had broken out, and the Witch Kingdom emerged, having driven the vampires out of society. There had been a cost. We were surrounded on all sides, and lost access to the rest of the continent, as well as the ability to trade overseas. But it was for the best. That way, we were safe.
So, no, regardless of how much I’d come to trust Raphael, I couldn’t believe voids had really given up everything and happily let vampires feed on them as needed.
Being in the second level felt different without the security of an escort. I pulled my cloak low over my head and clutched the bronze dagger in my hand.
I’d killed a vampire with that dagger. Gods, it was terrifying to be out alone, but I had to do this. I tried to remember what Raphael had said. No bravery without fear.
Well, I was afraid. But I had to know the truth, and that mattered more.
I knew exactly where to go: the district Amalthea was always careful to avoid. As I understood it, there had to be several different places for vampires to go drink, but much like restaurants cropped up in clusters in cities, so too did the vampire equivalent.
My stomach turned at the comparison, but I kept moving. The rule was the same in all cities—move with purpose, move fast.
Damerel held thousands of denizens, and the streets were moderately crowded at any time. I walked quickly, my heels digging into the dirt as I navigated the city.
An old wooden sign swung down from outside a building. Signs like that were used throughout witch cities—a dress from a seamstress, a necklace for a jeweler, a bed for an inn. This sign with a red droplet painted on it, there was no such sign in the Witch Kingdom. But I understood the meaning implicitly.
It was late, even for vampires. A pair of male vampires walked towards the building, arms braced around each other’s shoulders.
“By blood, I’m starving,” one said loudly to the other.
I flinched at the bold exclamation, praying the shadows held me tightly.
“Me too. I hope Sue’s available tonight,” the other replied.
The first vampire chuckled, craggy laugh carrying over to where I stood at the edge of an alleyway. “Sue’s always available for you.”
The two went in.
I didn’t have a plan. I wanted to talk to some of the humans who worked there and find out what the truth was. See if they were really okay.
The building didn’t have any windows, otherwise, I would have looked in them to get a sense of what I was walking into.
There was no choice. After a few more minutes of deliberation, I went inside.
The inside of the blood den was nothing I’d been prepared for. The building was grand, with columns at the entrance. Several vampires lingered around. A host stood at the front but paid me little mind. With my raven-black hair, I was obviously human, and therefore not a customer. I walked back. The entryway turned into a long hall with dozens of branching rooms. Women and men were posted at most, bodies curved invitingly against the doorway.
More than just their necks were exposed. Breasts were bare at minimum. I tried not to stare lest I get caught, but my cheeks were hot at the sight. Until I passed an occupied room, the velvet curtain not fully loose. The man sprawled out was entirely bare, appendages I’d only been vaguely aware of on display, and a vampire sat between his thighs… biting. I walked faster, my blood cold. I rounded a corner and pulled the curtain back slightly on a room to the left. No one was posted at the edge of it, but no sounds came from inside.
A girl was splayed backwards onto a low mattress.
Oh gods. I rushed over. She was my age, maybe a bit older, with beautiful, delicate features. Two punctures in her neck still dripped blood.
I pressed my hand to her nose. Her breaths came faintly.
I swallowed. She was alive.
Her eyes slowly opened, and she didn’t seem at all startled I was leaning over her.
“Hey,” I said urgently. “Wake up. Are you okay?”
“Back for more?” she purred.
I blinked at her. “I’m not a vampire.”
She stared up at me and yawned. “Oh. Right. I don’t know you. Who are you?”
“I’m Sam,” I said quickly, trying to examine her body for wounds. And to my growing horror, I found them. There were bite marks all over, not just on her neck. “Are you okay?”
She didn’t look it. Her skin was pale, her forehead glossy with dried sweat. “I feel great.” She stretched her arms. “Reki just took a lot. He likes it rough, but he pays well.”
My stomach twisted. “And you’re okay with that?”
“Of course.” She sighed into the mattress. “Nothing hurts when they bite.”
I wanted to vomit. Her words were slow and slurred. Her eyes fluttered shut. I leaned over, trying to get a better look at her.
“Hey, who are you?”
I turned. An older woman stormed into the room. “You’re not one of my courtesans.”
“Does it matter?” I hissed. “She needs help!”
Concern crossed the woman’s features. She pushed me aside and pressed her fingers to the base of the girl’s throat. The concern evaporated as she turned on me. “My girl is fine. Now, who are you? One of Marta’s girls, trying to poach my best?”
If this was her best being “fine,” I had serious concerns about the entirety of her operation. “I’m not with Marta. I came to check on how the girls are treated. I… work for King Raphael.”
She arched a disbelieving brow at me, probably because I didn’t sound like I believed the fumbled lie myself. “You’re telling me the king ordered you to come here and check on how I run my business?”
Not exactly. In for a copper, in for a gold piece. Raphael never would have tolerated his orders being questioned though. He could say it was just because he was strong, but even when he was flayed open, bound by copper, he’d never lost the arrogance that kept his spine straight and his gaze level. I drew my shoulders back and stood eye-to-eye with the matron. If he could do it, I could at least pretend to have a fraction of his courage. “Are things so different here that you think the vampire king tolerates disobedience?” I forced my words to come out slowly, the way he so often did, and a zip of satisfaction went through me as the matron took a half step back.
“Of course not.” Her tone had turned from accusatory to simply brusque. “I simply didn’t realize who you were since you didn’t identify yourself or come directly to me and instead slipped into one of our service rooms.”
I arched a brow at her, letting her bluster. “I’ll be sure to let the king know you think his practices could be improved.”
The matron paled. “No need for that. Why don’t you join me in my office and tell me how I can be of service to the Crown?”
I allowed her to lead me deeper into the blood den. Unlike most of the rooms which only had a curtain, the matron’s office was concealed by a heavy wooden door. She pushed it open and gestured to the two seats in front of her desk. I didn’t want to sit with my back to the door. It would look strange to stand askance with the exit in sight, so I plopped down onto the very edge of the chair while the woman settled into a large plush chair that nearly drowned her. In the candlelight of the other room, I’d mistaken her hair for red, but now I saw it was more of a nutty brown. Her face was polished with the same cosmetics Amalthea used, but it was in heavy layers, the colors crumbling a bit at the edges of her lips and cheekbones. Unlike the minimal gossamer the workers wore, her chest was covered with a voluminous top that buttoned up as far as her chin and cinched at the wrists.
“I suppose I haven’t introduced myself. I’m Latia, matron and owner of this blood den for more than thirty years. How may I be of service to the Crown?”
It would have been polite to introduce myself, but I couldn’t even bring myself to give a fake name. “Describe your”—disgusting, foul, exploitative—“business for me.”
Latia’s puckered lips twitched downward at the simplicity of my question, but apparently my lie about being here on Raphael’s orders held enough weight to stop her from voicing any more objections. “It’s rather simple. Every human in Damerel is expected to contribute, and the most valuable asset any human has over vampires is fresh, warm blood. I recruit the girls—and men, of course—in order to provide a carefully cultivated selection that appeals to the higher echelons of vampire society. I’ve worked tirelessly to establish our humble little den. The vampire nobility know they can come to us for vibrant, well-nourished sustenance, and in return I make sure the compensation keeps all my people taken care of.”
“So the vampires pay you and then you pass the coin on the workers?” I confirmed.
Latia shrugged. “Within reason. There are expenses to the upkeep of this establishment, their appearance, and so on. It’s easier if I manage the money and they manage the clients, you see.”
Latia’s “within reason” and mine likely differed. Given the blissed-out state of the workers, though, they might not protest as much. “So all the vampires do is bite? No… touching?”
“Not hardly.” She beamed. “Some dens keep the two services apart, but we want to keep our customers sated. Those needs often go together. Not always, of course, but there’s something so wonderfully pleasant about the two combined, or so I’m told. I work hard to ensure our workers are appealing on all fronts.”
Bile rose in my stomach. “And they’re okay with that? The humans?”
A careless shrug. “One bite and no one is saying no. As I said, they’re compensated.”
I could believe that. Just the memory of Raphael’s bite could turn my breathing shallow. But that had been different. Everything about Latia made my skin crawl. Perhaps even more so than the vampires. They were awful, yes, but they had to drink blood to survive. Latia had taken that hunger and turned it into a profit. I’d judged the humans for being fed on, but was she any better, facilitating deals while carefully covering her body, setting herself apart?
She continued: “Our vampire clientele only bite with permission where permitted. Each donor sets their own boundaries, within reason. The vampires are very careful. Nothing for the king to worry about, I assure you.”
“How many humans do this work for you?” I asked.
“I cannot say arithmetic is my specialty.” Latia furrowed her brow. “I have roughly fifty voids in employ, but as I said, we’re rather exclusive. There are easily another forty dens, not counting private services, of course.”
Too many. My stomach twisted. “And how many die every year from greedy vampires taking too much?”
Latia stiffened in her chair. “Any unexpected deaths are strictly dealt with.”
“They are?”
She nodded. “Of course. The vampire is immediately banned from the premises, and any unpaid earnings go to the family. I pride myself on taking close care of my staff.”
So one den closed the door, but thirty-nine were still open. Anger coursed through me. At Latia, at the hypothetical vampires, at Raphael for letting this happen. I got up from the seat with a sudden urge for a scalding bath. “I’ll see myself out.”
I didn’t want to spend another second in that woman’s company, or in that godscursed building. But before I could go, I needed to check on the girl I’d seen. Latia obviously didn’t give a damn, but my conscience wouldn’t let me go until I saw she was alright, no matter how badly my self-preserving side screeched at me to leave. I doubled back the way we came, trying to unwind the path we’d taken. Years surrounded by identical walls at Greymere had honed my sense of direction. I brushed the cloth screen aside, peering into the room. All the rooms looked the same, but I was pretty sure this one was correct.
“Hello?” I called from the edge of the room.
No answer. The bed was rumpled like I remembered. It was impossible to tell from the doorframe if anyone was in the bed. I went inside and crossed the room to the bed. What I’d thought was possibly the girl had been a pillow covered in discarded blankets. Relief. I should have felt relief. If she was gone, it meant she was well enough to stand, or someone had taken her. She wasn’t lying dead as I’d feared.
Just get out, Samara. That self-preserving voice grew louder and louder. Protect yourself.
I’d done my best. I’d learned about the blood dens, and I reviled them. As unsavory as it was, I’d be naïve to consider anything a revelation. If I hadn’t been so focused on learning about the grimoire and being scared of my own shadow, I’d have realized this without Titus rubbing my nose in it. My gaze snagged on layers of dried blood on the fitted sheets, dark splotches of red and brown underneath. I tugged the coverlet over and turned towards the door.
And there, blocking the doorway, was a vampire with hungry eyes and pointed fangs.
“Well, don’t you smell delicious?”
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