by Vela Roth
“Do you not?”
“I think words need not be honest to be mutually beneficial, informative, or productive.”
“I see you are indeed accustomed to battling monsters. Please remember, Lady—there are none here tonight.”
She cast a glance in the direction of the palace, but said no more.
“You are right,” he pressed on. “I would never let it reach your father’s ears that you were here. And I trust you wouldn’t expose a young Hesperine who first approached you thinking only that a woman alone after dark in such a place as this might need protection.”
Her mouth quirked, suggesting she had a ready answer, but she did not give it.
Lio smoothed the silence. “After all, I am right where I am expected to be. We have been given leave to drink from the king’s game while we’re here.”
Now came her remark, and it was all her smile had promised. “To protect the populace from your rampant bloodlust, naturally.”
“You do not appear concerned about my bloodlust in the least, Lady Cassia. You wound me again. I thought I had such great powers of intimidation.”
“I am sure the deer feel quite intimidated.”
“Ah, I have no hope of recovering my image now…truth be told, they seem to have deemed me quite harmless. They’ve been very friendly.”
She gave him a thoughtful glance. “You drink from their throats? Here?” She put a hand to her neck, right over her jugular.
Lio stared at her hand. An audacious hand, one that dared him and demanded a response. Just when he began to gain his footing with her, she challenged him again. It drove him to challenge her. “Does that disturb you?”
“No.” She let her hand drop, but the sight of her bare, freckled throat was no less beckoning.
He made himself look at her face, but he was still too aware of the little shadow under her chin, the moonlight on her neck. Most of all, that brush of her fingers against her throat that demonstrated her curiosity so fearlessly.
What had given rise to her lack of prejudice? It might prove unwise to test the limits of her tolerance, but he could not let the question go.
Perhaps it was the deer blood that drove him to take risks. He must not let that cloud his judgment. But it would prove wise, he reasoned, to get to the heart of her curiosity about his kind. She might need help. Or she might prove helpful to his people. He would never know, unless he continued his effort to draw her out.
“It puts the animal most at ease when you drink from it where it can see you,” he explained. “Some are calmer than others and don’t object to a draught from the large vein here.” He mimicked her, placing his hand on his own throat. “Other times we drink from the limbs. An important vein runs here…” He gestured down his arm. “…and carries blood from the heart.”
“You’ve studied healing?”
“I am no healer as such. But all of us are required to study anatomy. How else would we know how to minimize the discomfort for those from whom we drink, while also gleaning sufficient nourishment?”
“You do not kill them.”
“Absolutely not. It is a human notion that we drink creatures to their deaths. We are not predators.”
“You do not even hunt them.”
“Fear and suffering are abhorrent to us. Everything we do to those from whom we drink, we experience with them in Blood Union. Why would we want to make them suffer? Even if we did, our own power would exact justice on us for it.”
“Some people take pleasure in others’ suffering. But it is clear your kind do not.”
Lio would have treasured such a declaration from any human. But he appreciated how much more it meant from she who had survived a lifetime as Lucis’s daughter. She knew the meaning of the words she spoke. “I rejoice that you realize this, Lady Cassia.”
“You do not drink from the fallen,” she said. “I gather it is the blood of the living you prefer.”
“Only living blood has any power to nourish us. Despite the myths about us raiding freshly dug graves, the fact is, we gain no sustenance from a person’s remains. I cannot imagine tasting death in that way.” Lio shuddered. Seeing and smelling death was enough.
“The rites the Order of Hypnos performs upon the dead to discourage you from disturbing them are a great deal of wasted effort.”
“We are not the reason those spells are necessary. It is lawless necromancers who desecrate mortal remains to fashion the bloodless, the undead in whose veins nothing more flows.”
A slight furrow appeared on her brow. “You do not relish death, and yet it would be so easy for you to cause it. It must be difficult for you. When you are drinking blood, is it hard to stop?”
It should not have been difficult for Lio to stay focused during their conversation, as extraordinary as it was. But his thoughts veered, taking her words entirely, inappropriately out of context. His instincts awoke to the more pleasant implications of her question.
There were situations when it was hard to stop, of course. But that had nothing to do with death and all to do with pleasure.
“That’s not how it is at all,” he said firmly. “It is physically impossible for a Hesperine to bleed someone to death. As we drink, our bodies’ natural regenerative properties enter the mortal’s bloodstream, assisting his or her body in replenishing itself. The healing process always keeps pace with the blood loss.”
“Humans really are ignorant,” Cassia said. “And yet you prefer our blood, such as we are. Or is that a myth as well?”
Heat spread through his veins. Thirst. Already. This should not be happening. “We never subject any human to the Drink who is not willing. It is against our most sacred laws.”
“So it is the blood of willing humans that you prefer?”
What was wrong with him? The deer had already provided for him tonight. Although they might not be ideal, they should be adequate. But he was actually salivating.
He swallowed. “I will not deny humans who are generous enough to provide for us offer optimal sustenance. Animals are quite sufficient, however.”
More composed than he, she listened to him describe the Drink.
“It truly does not disturb you,” he said in wonder.
“No.”
“Lady Cassia, how did you come to have such an unusual perspective?”
“Ah, you know answers to such questions come at the cost of an equal trade.”
“I have answered all your questions.”
“They were questions you wanted to answer.”
He looked at her askance, resisting the urge to reach up and loosen the collar of his robe. “You are not wrong. It is a relief to discover any Tenebran who knows my people are not throat-ripping, child-stealing monsters.”
“Bulls on the temple steps do not survive their encounters with the sickle, unlike the deer that meet with your teeth. I do not see that drinking the blood of a live deer is any more barbaric than hounding a boar into the ground, slaying it, and parading its roasted corpse to the banquet table.”
He winced. “Prescient observations.”
She shrugged. He sensed that shrug all the way to her blood. “Something must die for mortals to live. Even the animals. The deer will consume an entire crop and starve the farmer if given the chance. It is the way of things.”
“Is that what your life here has taught you to believe?”
“I am hardly discussing matters of faith. Merely facts of existence.”
“It need not be so.”
She appeared unconcerned, but he caught the note of bitterness in her veins. “Is it so much easier for you?”
“No, it isn’t easy at all.” Lio sat on the edge of the fountain’s basin.
Her gaze followed his every move. She knew so much, and yet still had unanswered questions. Still watched for the dangers of what was unknown to her.
“Our way of life is an ideal we strive to achieve every night,” he said. “We do not always reach it, but I believe that in the striving, we stil
l achieve much. Suffering only comes when there is a failure…a falling short. But it can always be changed. Even forces that seem the most fundamental can be overcome.”
“Such philosophy! I feel you are about to initiate me into some kind of Hesperine secret.”
“No secret. Just principles I hold close to my heart.”
“Forgive me. I do not mean to make light of something so important to you. Please understand, philosophy has never done me any good.”
“Certainly not when it is used against you.”
“I feel you have another philosophical declaration waiting on the heels of that remark.”
He was hardly fit to debate philosophy at the moment. His teeth ached in his gums, and the rush of his own pulse in his ears made his head pound. But he could not miss this opportunity. “Take philosophy in hand. Turn it to your advantage.”
“Women are not philosophers.”
He snorted. “You’re having this conversation with me.”
“A woman, armed with philosophy? If I entered a war tournament carrying the finest steel blade, the men would take one look at my weapon, call it a wooden practice sword, and laugh me off the field.”
Lio almost didn’t catch himself before he grinned. “With that insightful commentary, you have just proved that women can indeed be philosophers.”
“Very well, then. I give you leave to imagine I am a philosopher and to answer me as such. Tell me more of your ideals. What is life like in Orthros?”
Such a vast request. Such a welcome invitation. He must endeavor not to accept too gladly.
“There are many questions within that single one, Lady Cassia. Do you have so much to bargain in return?”
“As I said, what is willingly given requires no compensation.”
Lio shook his head. “I fear I must insist. I will answer your question…if you will come here tomorrow night and ask it of me again.”
Frustration heated her blood, held in check by caution. The Light Moon cast her face in a spectrum of silvers, while the crescent of the Blood Moon brought out the red on her cheeks. From exertion? From the pace of their debate? The blood that flushed her face taunted him with the knowledge he had nothing more than deer to look forward to for weeks on end.
The realization struck Lio, heating him with thirst and denial. He had actually just thought of Lady Cassia in that way.
He must not stay long enough to answer her question tonight. He took a step back.
His unconscious gesture appeared to affect her like a signal that he was leaving, or that he was giving ground. He heard the debate in her blood and found himself guilty of listening too closely. She wrestled with herself as if his step backward might make him disappear before she had a chance to make her next move. He felt her dilemma as if it were his own, the abrasion of struggle with oneself, of wariness of a mistake. Or perhaps it was his own.
“You have time to think on it,” he said. “Give me your answer tomorrow eve at the prince’s festival. I am sure if I received an invitation to that, then so did you.”
“The embassy was invited to Caelum’s temple day celebration?”
Lio nodded. “There are to be no negotiations. The feast and music are both after nightfall. The king is apparently willing to risk us as dinner guests.”
He might have smiled to remind her it was a jest, but he did not feel at all like smiling, and least of all like giving her a glimpse of how far out of his swollen gums his fangs had now unsheathed. Why could he not utter the word feast without thinking of it in an entirely different context?
“Can you tolerate mortal fare?” she asked.
Lio cleared his throat, putting a hand to his mouth. When he was certain he would not indulge whatever curiosity she might entertain about the length of Hesperine fangs, he answered her with facts. “We can eat and drink most human food and beverages, provided nothing suffered and died to produce them. Our bodies simply absorb them without gaining nourishment.”
“Can you taste them?”
Lio’s mouth watered. “Yes. Hesperines enjoy culinary experiences.” He cleared his throat again. “At the celebration, you can verify my claims by observation.”
“Agreed,” she said. “I will give you my answer tomorrow eve.”
Lio bowed, and this time it was he who walked away first. Just at the edge of the clearing, he concealed himself from her sight. The last thing he listened to was her gasp of surprise at his disappearance. He went to find another deer.
40
Days Until
SPRING EQUINOX
War Games
Cassia spent the afternoon’s bloodletting tucked away in the temple gardens.
It proved more boon than curse that the palace cook had disdained her help. Cassia began the prince’s thirteenth temple day among the mages of Kyria, instead of at the palace with the women of the royal household who must break their backs to ensure plenty of alcohol, food, wreaths, garlands and candles were prepared and in their places. She avoided the madness of beating out and rehanging ancestral tapestries and laying down new rushes. Along with other women fortunate enough to be unattached to husbands or lovers, she was not called upon to endure the randiness of males excited over the war games. While the warriors beat away at each other on the tournament field and their women cheered at each tooth spat in the dirt, Cassia turned over new garden rows.
But that was all the devotion she could afford today. When the sun’s descending arms barely reached over the temple walls, Cassia cleaned her spade in haste and trudged back to the palace. For once she envied the mages their rites, songs sung amid a haze of dusk light with dust dancing attendance about them, to be followed by the easy companionship of their evening meal. Caelum would feel little enthusiasm for the presence of his bastard sister at his temple day feast, if he paid attention to her presence at all. He would be too busy bragging about the challenges the knights had let him win. Unfortunately, the king expected everyone from his champions to the dung sweeper’s mewling infant to appear for a show of loyalty to his heir.
The nearer Cassia got to Solorum, however, the easier it became to make herself walk back. The festivities would not be entirely useless to her tonight. There was one person who anticipated her arrival and, it would seem, desired it. If she could bargain her attendance at the festival to Deukalion for more information, it would not prove a wasted evening.
Cassia had pushed her luck staying at the temple so late. The moment she returned to her rooms, Perita descended upon her, divesting her of her tools and gardening dress with record efficiency. The girl had reinforcements, as well: the seamstress, standing by with the new festival attire the king had allotted Cassia. The old woman smiled, baring her crooked teeth, and gave Cassia a glare that burned with spite.
It appeared the seamstress did not anticipate a bright future for her son, once his lord finally made it back from eastern Tenebra, having discovered his information on the whereabouts of the king’s daughter had been worthless. Knowing Lord Ferus, the young man’s prospects were certainly ruined. It seemed the old woman would not forgive the king’s bastard for dooming her own. The hatred in her eyes said she blamed Cassia for being the reason, even though she had no idea Cassia had been the cause.
Oh dear. Having the person who made your clothes for an enemy was an undesirable situation.
As the seamstress closed in, Cassia balanced potential pinpricks and faulty seams against meeting a Hesperine at the festival and felt satisfied with her ledger. But she resolved to be on the lookout for the old woman’s revenge.
With a snap, the seamstress shook out a fine linen tunica. “Allow me, my lady.”
“How kind of you to offer, but I’m sure the king’s own seamstress has many more important tasks to occupy her.”
“Not at all. I can’t call any creation complete until I see it on the one I made it for. I need to know if any adjustments are necessary.”
“I’ll do the alterations,” Perita insisted.
Bu
t the seamstress was already swaddling Cassia in the tunica. Next came a bronze gown that evoked the royal gold without really aspiring to it. As soon as the seamstress had Cassia trussed up, the old woman held her in place by the hair and stabbed a beaded headdress on her with a handful of pins.
Cassia blinked her watering eyes. She was still waiting for her scalp to stop stinging when she saw what else the seamstress had in store for her.
“No,” Cassia said. “I do not wear scent oils.”
“The right fragrance is part of the gown, as surely as the fabric and trim. You cannot go to a festival without scent.” With wizened fingers, the seamstress opened the bottle she held.
The pop of the cork echoed through the bare chambers.
Heat flared under Cassia’s clothes. “I. Do not. Wear scent oils.”
The old woman took a step closer, brandishing the vial under Cassia’s nose.
As Cassia reached a hand toward Knight, he was already advancing. His growl started low in his throat and erupted out of his bared teeth, drowning out the sound of that cork as if it had never been.
The seamstress jumped back, dribbling oil down her hands and the front of her clothes. Her smile turned into a grimace, but she could not match Knight’s. As she sealed the bottle, her fingers fumbled. She drew herself up, but her face had gone paler than her bone needles. “When the court ridicules you for presenting yourself so poorly, it will not be my fault.”
She left, taking the putrid fragrance of distilled flowers with her. The moment the door shut, Cassia peeled out of her gown.
“Lady!” Perita squawked. “What are you—!”
Cassia finally got down to the tunica and yanked it off. She threw it to the floor on her way to her bedchamber. “Don’t touch that.”
Knight growled at the heap of linen, then posted himself at Cassia’s bedchamber door. She dumped a waiting pitcher of water into the washbasin, then grabbed up her tallow soap and rag and began to scour herself from head to toe.
“There’s no time for washing, Lady!” Perita looked ready to charge into the bedchamber, if not for the large obstacle that sat on his haunches in her way. She kept her distance from Knight and settled for glaring through the doorway.
