I had expected her to react that way. “Sorry, just curious.” I looked back down at my tea.
Lady Carrol made her entrance a while later. She was a short, plump woman with rosy cheeks and dark hair piled high on her head. “Good morning, ladies,” she said. Her purple taffeta gown swished and crinkled as she moved. “I take it you are the new recruits that Madam Desjardins has sent?”
Greta and I both flew to our feet and nodded.
“Right,” Lady Carrol said and clasped her hands behind her back. Her opal earrings glinted in the light. She wasted no time, scurrying around us and inspecting us from head to toe, muttering under her breath. She flipped down a pair of glasses that had been nestled in her hair to inspect the tiny scars that dotted the inside of our arms. Without ceremony, she produced syringes and took a small sample from each of us.
When she was satisfied, she took a step back. “I’ve reviewed the files that Dr. Coleman had sent ahead, and everything seems to match up,” Lady Carrol said with a smile. “Welcome to the House of Strix.”
∾
After Lady Carrol was done with us, we were sent to our private quarters.
I was surprised to find out that I would not be sharing a room with Greta; I sent a thankful prayer skywards. My room was small by Royal standards. Though it was lovely for a room befitting a servant. It was tastefully decorated, with a large bed, table, wardrobe and vanity.
The Bloodletters were kept in a wing on the east side of the house. Our quarters were not in the basement, like the other servants. The Saxon family took up residence in private apartments on the top floor of the palace. Between us were hundreds of rooms for guests, meetings, and parties.
I was happy to have a room at the end of the hall. Greta’s room was across from mine. Lady Carrol, who was the caretaker of the Bloodletters, had a room at the opposite end of the hall. One had to walk past her room to go anywhere but the washroom. She was like some obscure nanny, I thought.
I flung myself onto the bed and wrapped myself in the warm red blankets. My body sank into the softness of the mattress and within minutes, my mind surrendered to sleep.
I dreamed of the Blood House. Madam, Amelia, Heather, Vincent, and quiet Miss Prescott. The Baron infiltrated my sleep for the first time in days, his hungry eyes and wicked tongue lashed out at me. I dreamed of the Blood House in the slums, the rotting body of a cast off Bloodletter left in the streets. The Royals with eyes like wild animals and the Royals who treated me like a precious flower.
I woke gasping and sweaty. There was a knock at my door.
“Dinner, Miss.” A voice passed through the crack under the heavy door.
I flew from my bed and opened the door.
A maid was carrying a covered food tray. A cart filled with identical trays was parked behind her. She walked around me with short quick steps and set the tray down on the table. “I hope everything is to your liking.” She bowed and continued down the hall.
I opened my mouth to call after her, but she was already knocking at Greta’s door. I shut mine quickly and turned the lock with a sigh. I wondered if there would be communal meals with the other Bloodletters, or if I would sit waiting in this room until a Royal fancied himself a taste.
With a sigh, I sat down at the table and lifted the silver cover from the plate. The generous portion of beef stew and biscuits smelled wonderful, but I looked away and slammed the cover down again. I looked out the window and muttered. “What have we gotten ourselves into, Violet?”
NINETEEN
“AND ONE AND TWO AND THREE, OH! PAY ATTENTION, GRETA!” Lady Carrol shrieked. She slammed her hands down on the piano keys and stood, her fists planted on her wide hips.
Greta laughed nervously. “Sorry, ma’am.”
We were in the music room. Lady Carrol was doing her best to teach Greta a simple court dance that I had learned as a child.
Bloodletters in the House of Strix were expected to do much more than stand and give blood, as I had found out. This past week we had been woken and dawn for rigorous lessons on etiquette, dance, and music. While Greta had thrived with the piano, she danced like a drunken dog.
I stifled a laugh from where I sat. Lady Carrol had known that I was a Bloodletter from a well-to-do family and she had been impressed with me thus far, but I would not take any chances. My musical skills were rudimentary at best.
Greta glared at me and adjusted her voluminous green dress. Yesterday we had been fitted for new gowns, but for now we were wearing whatever the deceased Bloodletters had worn before us. My stomach twisted just thinking about it.
Every morning before our lessons, a maid came to my room, dressed me, applied makeup and pinned my hair. She was unexperienced with curls and brushed my hair to an unidentifiable frizz until I managed to convince her I was competent enough with the fashionable styles.
Lady Carrol pinched the bridge of her nose, as I had seen her do countless times before when she was frustrated. She cleared her throat and motioned to me. “Violet, could you please step in?”
I nodded and went to Greta’s side. I took her hand and tried my best to lead her through the simple dance steps and the Lady started the song over.
Greta’s face pinched. “Show off.” She hissed under her breath.
“I can’t help it, you know,” I whispered back and suppressed a yelp as she stepped on my foot.
Greta’s eyes grew round. “Oops, I’m sorry. I can’t help it, you know.”
I gritted my teeth. “You know, when I found out we were coming to Strix together, part of me hoped that maybe we could put aside our differences and be friends.”
Greta scowled.
“If not friends, at least civil with each other?” I tried. She stumbled again, and I kept us on pace. “At least for the training?”
Greta’s mouth twitched as she considered what I was saying. “Let’s just get through this.”
The piano music came to an end. “Much better, girls!” Lady Carrol beamed.
I let Greta’s hand fall and stepped away to nurse my throbbing toes.
Aside from training, we were kept confined to our rooms. I was eager to meet the other Bloodletters, who, based on the number of doors, there were ten of us. One day during a break from our etiquette lessons on addressing different members of nobility, I mentioned this to Lady Carrol.
“Excuse me, my Lady?”
Lady Carrol smiled. “Ma’am is fine for me, dear,” she said. “But I’m happy that you were paying attention.”
Greta huffed and rolled her eyes.
I ignored her. “Yes, Ma’am. I was wondering when we would meet the other Bloodletters?”
Lady Carrol stared at me steadily before replying. “Why is that?”
I suddenly felt nervous. “Well, with Madam Desjardins, we ate and enjoyed each other’s company during our off times.”
Lady Carrol chuckled. “I see, well, you are a Bloodletter for the House of Strix now. You’re never off duty.” She looked at me pointedly and then to Greta.
I swallowed.
“Though, I’m sure you’ll meet the other girls, eventually.”
“Girls?” Greta exclaimed. “You mean, there are no male Bloodletters?”
Lady Carrol shook her head. “Of course, there are but we keep them in a separate wing from you girls.” She paused. “I assume that you both came from a co-ed Blood House?”
We nodded in unison.
Lady Carrol seemed just the slightest bit scandalized. “Well, there won’t be any of that here. Leads to complications, you see.” She sipped her water.
I didn’t need to think hard to know what those complications might be.
∾
After dinner, and with Lady Carrol’s permission, I returned to the music room to practice with the piano. I let the ticking of the metronome guide me through the simple songs but fumbled as soon as I had to use both hands in unison. I sighed and rested my forehead on the piano with a clunk of white and black keys.
“Having trouble?”
/>
I swung myself upright and glared at Greta. She was holding a book of poetry in her hand. “No,” I said firmly and turned my attention back to the sheet music.
Greta sat beside me on the bench without invitation. She looked at the notes. “You’ll really have to stretch your hands to play that piece.” She demonstrated and tapped the keys. “See?”
I tried to stretch my pinky finger to reach the black key and missed. I sighed.
“You’ll get it,” she said. “I’ve been playing for years.”
I cracked my knuckles and tried again without success. “You said you were poor; how did you learn?”
“Teresa taught me.”
I looked at her questioningly.
“Teresa was our mentor before Heather,” Greta explained. “She retired during my second year there. But, before she did, she taught me how to play on the quiet days.” She set left hand on the keys and played a scale perfectly.
I nodded. I could never imagine anyone else mentoring the House except Heather. She was such a perfectionist, so passionate and dutiful. With a shiver, I remembered the night she spoke to me frankly, thinking I was drugged beyond memory. I’ve given my blood to them for twenty years. They can give me some of theirs.
“So,” Greta continued. “I was thinking.” She lifted the poetry book from her lap. “Lady Carrol is starting poetry lessons tomorrow.” She chewed her bottom lip, her cheeks turning red.
I looked at the book; it was a book full of classics older than the Royals. “You can’t read them, can you?”
Greta shook her head. Her long fair fell over her face. “No,” she mumbled. “It’s too complicated.”
I took the book from her hand and grimaced. “She couldn’t pick something more modern?” I sighed and opened the first bookmarked page. “Death Be Not Proud.”
Greta shivered. “Such lovely subject matter.”
We spent the better part of the next hour going over the first poem line by line. By the end of it, I wasn’t sure if she was reading or had just memorized it, but it would keep Lady Carrol happy for now. When we both could not possibly read another word, I handed her book back, and we went our separate ways.
∾
Any warmth that I may have felt towards Greta vanished the next day. The dresses that had been ordered for us came in and while I was awestruck with the bold tones and intricate details, Greta only found flaws.
I sat on the sofa watching her try them on. I felt like a doll sitting in the layers of silk. It was the perfect shade of blue that complimented both my eyes and my amber hair at the same time. It had a low square neckline and cap sleeves. The unique weave shimmered in the light.
Greta pouted, fidgeting with the lace overlay on a black evening gown. “It’s just not right.”
“First the beige one was too light, now that one is too dark. For goodness sakes, Greta, it’s black!” I said, exasperated.
She looked in the mirror and glared at my reflection. The seamstress was busy at her feet, altering the hem that was, in Greta’s opinion, too long. “This is why I wanted them to order my dresses from Maurice.”
The seamstress tutted, pulling a pin from her mouth. “Maurice is a common tailor. The House of Strix employs only the best designers.”
Greta made a shrill sound in her throat and stomped her foot down on the stool she stood on. “How dare you!”
I rolled my eyes and snuck away from the bickering pair. All this dress talk was making me sick. I slipped into the hallway and turned the corner. I walked quickly and quietly, hoping no one would catch me on my way to the library, where we had studied poetry that morning.
The wide mahogany doors greeted me. I pulled the handle and creeped inside. The smell of dust and paper greeted me like an old friend. While the library in the Blood House had been small, cramped, but adequate, this library was as grand as the rest of the palace. It was two stories high, with tall shelves running up every wall. A metal spiral staircase led up to the upper level, where sofas and chairs in every corner.
I peered around and listened for the telltale sounds of turning pages. When I was sure I was alone, I ran up the stairs, plucked the first book that I came to off the shelf and nestled into a chair. From where I was sitting, I could see the door in case anyone came looking for me, but if I ducked down, they would likely have a hard time seeing me.
Once we were done with fittings, Greta and I were instructed to return to our rooms for dinner, surely the maid wouldn’t think twice if I wasn’t there.
I opened the book, happy to find that it was an anthology of more modern poetry. Reading the classics, although they were necessary for any well brought up lady, were exhausting and dry. Poetry had grown on me during the time I spent reading with Amelia.
Several pages later, I heard a creak as the door opened. I held my breath and sunk into the leather armchair.
A young man walked in. He was tall and lean with blond hair so light it nearly blended into his pale skin. His face was angular and dreadfully handsome. I recognized him immediately as the Royal who I had met at the party.
Prince Isaac.
I sank back further.
The Prince’s shoes clicked against the hardwood floor, echoing in the room's silence. By the sound of his steps, he was pacing through the shelves on the lower level.
I held my breath. There was only one exit and he would no doubt see me if I tried to make a run for it. I held the poetry book to my chest and quickly retreated to a chair at the very back of the upper level, hidden behind tall bookcases covered in dust and weighed down by heavy encyclopedias.
There was a creak of springs. The Prince must have sat down on a sofa. Aside from the occasional sound of paper, the room was silent again.
I bit my lip. I was trapped now until he decided to leave and who knew how long that would be. I assumed that a prince would have a lot of free time on his hands to do whatever he pleased. Then my nose began to tickle. I clamped my hand over my face, cursing the dusty books. I felt a sneeze coming on. I counted backwards from twenty, pinching my nose and waiting for the feeling to pass. Then, just as I was letting my guard down, I sneezed. It was a loud, unladylike sound that broke through the silence like a gunshot.
“Hello?” The furniture creaked. “Is someone there?”
My heart fluttered at the sound of his voice before I got a grip on myself and realized my dilemma.
Footsteps again. The clicking echoed as he walked up the metal stairs. “Hello? Show yourself!” His voice switched from curious to authoritative.
I sank back in the chair and hugged my knees to my chest, seeing his shadow on the ceiling. The library was large, but not big enough that it would take him long to find me stowed away in the dark forgotten corner of outdated tomes.
As his footsteps grew closer, I made a snap decision. Clutching the book, I emerged from the safety of the bookcases and came face to face with the Prince. “Your Majesty!” I feigned surprise.
The Prince took a step back. He looked startled for only an instant. “Oh, thank goodness. I thought maybe you were an assassin out to kill me.”
My sharp wit won over my etiquette training. “Maybe I am, you’d never suspect.” I looked down quickly, tightening my fists in frustration.
Prince Isaac laughed. “Well, if they do send an assassin, I would pray that she has as lovely face as yours to be my last memory.”
My cheeks burned. “I apologize, Your Majesty.”
“Not at all.” The Prince reached out slowly and touched my cheek. He paused, his brow furrowing. “You seem very familiar.” He laughed and shook his head. “But surely I would remember the name of such a beautiful young woman.”
I flushed, my hands wringing a layer of my blue skirt. “And I would have remembered meeting you, Your Majesty.” I bowed my head again.
“Are you one of the new Bloodletters, then?” The Prince asked.
“Yes, sir.”
The Prince smiled. It was a genuine smile that was full of ligh
t. “Welcome to the House of Strix,” he said. Somehow, when it was coming from him, it didn’t sound so ominous.
I was melting in the heat of his emerald eyes. Remembering the legends, I had read in my previous life, I always imagined that Royals would be like him. My awe had been diluted in the time I had spent in the Capital. Very few Royals had such a powerful presence.
“Well, I should be getting back,” I said, setting the book of poetry back in its place.
“Alright,” Prince Isaac said, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking more like an ordinary boy than a demigod. “You can borrow that if you want.” He nodded towards the book.
I brushed my fingertips down the leather spine and pulled it from the shelf again. “Thank you.” I bowed low and dashed down the stairs. I didn’t look back, but I could feel his gaze burning into my skin.
TWENTY
I WAS AWAKE HALF OF THE NIGHT SITTING IN BED AND READING THE BOOK. I finished it the day after, just so I would have a reasonable excuse to go back to the library.
Thinking back, I had never been smitten by any of the potential suitors that I had been introduced to. Sure, there was a few that piqued my interest and even less that I exchanged heated kisses within hidden places, but none had made my heart burst like the Prince.
I knew that I was being ridiculous, no Prince would ever be interested in a Bloodletter like me. Even before all this mess, as a Minister’s daughter, I wouldn’t have stood a chance. Royals never socialized with outsiders, except for business or politics.
After lunch I snuck out of my room to bring the book back to the library. I was passing Lady Carrol’s door when it swung open.
“Ah, Violet, perfect timing. I was just going to call for you.”
I stopped mid-step and swerved to face her.
The Lady glanced down at the book in my hand. “And just where were you going with that?”
“Uh,” I fumbled and held the book to my chest. “Oh, well you see I grabbed it during our last lesson so I could brush up on my reading. You see, before I was so busy with Bloodletting, I didn’t get much time for reading and I’ve missed several new poets. I was just going to bring it back –”
The Bloodletters Page 13
