by Becca Blake
She tilted her manacled wrists toward him and shook her hands, making the chain clang against the cuffs. “I’ll need my arms to get up the stairs.”
“You’ll make it up.” The vampire pushed her toward the stairs. “Or you won’t.”
Miria took an unsteady step up, taking a few extra moments to find her footing. The rock was slick, damp with the moisture that dripped from the ceiling more on this side of the cave.
“Hurry up!” the guard yelled from several steps behind her. He kept a modest distance between them, enough that she wouldn’t endanger him if she stumbled and fell along the way.
Miria continued, eyes cast downward at the path to guide her steps. The long drop down lingered at the edges of her vision, impossible to ignore. One careful step at a time, and she’d reach the top safely.
She kept her mouth shut on the way up. If the vampire leading her there decided she was too much trouble, it would be all too easy to make her fall seem like a tragic accident. Plenty of elves who were sent to the mines to work never made it back, and Miria had no intention of joining their number.
Better to be silent than dead.
She thought about the vampire behind her, wondering if it would work the other way around—if he slipped and fell, either on his own or because she managed to push him, would it be seen as an accident?
Not likely. Especially since she’d been brought to work the mines for a violent offense.
“Hurry up,” the guard repeated, this time prodding her back for emphasis.
Miria stumbled forward, tilting her body to the side to avoid falling. She caught herself with her hands as she landed on a rock. Pain shot up through her arms from the uncomfortable angle. She pushed herself upright and continued the trek up the path.
When they reached the top, Lucian removed her manacles and returned them to the belt around his waist.
She rubbed her wrists, red and raw from the heavy iron that had been there since she was arrested the day before. The vampire’s wide frame barely fit in the narrow cave entrance. He hovered half in, half out, watching her. He pointed to a rack that secured pickaxes and helmets to the wall.
Miria took one of each. The helmet stank of sweat and dirt as she secured it to her head. The pickax was heavy in her hand, the wood smooth and worn, the metal end dull and scratched.
“Go inside and get direction from the lead in there. He’ll tell you where to go and what to do. You’ll report here for work every day, with one day off every two weeks. When you get your pay, come to the watchtower to pay your weekly fine.”
“What about my job at the tavern?” she asked.
“This is your job until your debt is paid. Get to work.” He pointed down the tunnel.
The claustrophobic tunnel was lit by a string of lights that dimly illuminated the rocky walls. She glanced over her shoulder as she went deeper down the tunnel. It wasn’t until she turned the corner that the guard disappeared from view.
She continued forward, turning another bend, and another, until she slammed into a short man with a clipboard and flashlight. His pale skin and rounded ears told her he was a vampire, one who’d once been human. Behind him, the tunnel split into three paths that led down, deeper into the earth.
He looked up at the sound of her footsteps crunching into the dirt. “They told me to expect you. I’m Derrick. I’ll be your supervisor.” He pointed toward the tunnel in the center. “You’ll be working the middle mine today. Head down and one of the workers will show you what you need to do. Follow the red signs and look for Girard—he’s been here the longest, so he’ll be able to teach you right. Stay with him at all times. You wouldn’t want to get lost in the winding tunnels.” He turned his attention back to the clipboard, scratching down notes.
Miria’s grip tightened around the wooden handle of her pickax.
You don’t have to be better than your opponent in a fair fight if you can make sure the fight isn’t fair.
All she had to do was catch him off guard. She could run and be free of this fate…at least until someone caught her and dragged her back.
Derrick must have noticed she wasn’t moving, as he looked up from his clipboard, eyes narrowed. His gaze drifted down to her white knuckles, then back to her face. He shook his head. “Don’t even think of it.”
“Think of what?”
“You think every single one of you miserable creatures don’t have the same idea when you first get here? I’ve been doing this a long time, girl. None have succeeded in killing me yet, and you won’t be the one to do it. It’s an awfully long drop outside. But I’m sure you saw that on your way in.”
Miria swallowed the lump in her throat and nodded. “A very long drop,” she agreed.
He pointed toward the path in the center once more. “Get to it.”
She followed the twists and turns of the tunnel, guided by signs with red arrows and the loud clinks of metal on rock and dirt.
One of the men turned around to face her as she approached and whistled his approval. “They don’t send us very many ladies to work with.”
“I’m here for beating a man’s face bloody,” she snapped. “Don’t get any stupid ideas.”
He put his arms up defensively. “I didn’t mean anything by it.”
At the sound of her voice, another man turned around. His scraggly grey hair tumbled down over the strap of his goggles. He pushed the goggles up on his forehead so he could look her over. Girard sighed and rested his ax against the wall. He held out his arms, inviting her into a hug.
Miria’s knees felt suddenly weak, and she stepped forward into her adoptive father’s arms. Girard ran a dirty hand through her hair, pulling streaks of brown through the silver strands.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
“It was a damn stupid thing to do,” he said. “But I’m proud of you for doing it. You and Azalea have to protect each other.”
For the first time since her arrest, she let out the fear she’d been holding back. Her chest heaved into a sob as he held her.
“How long will you be keeping me company?”
“I don’t know,” Miria said, wiping the tears that stung at the corners of her eyes. “They said until I paid off the debt for Aeidan’s medical expenses. He’s still in the infirmary, so they don’t know how much it’ll be yet.”
He kissed her forehead. “You’re young and healthy. You’ll make it out of here. This won’t last forever.”
“I hope you’re right,” she said into his chest.
“Of course I’m right. If there’s one thing I know about you, it’s that you don’t give up. I’ve never met anyone so stubborn in my life. And considering how long my life has been, that’s saying something,” Girard said.
“I guess I didn’t make things easy for you and Avaline after you took us in.”
“It was two whole years before you said a single word to either of us.”
“Enough chatter!” Derrick appeared from around the corner, a whip in hand. “Get back to work!”
The whip cut through the air, catching Miria on the back. Even through her shirt, the contact stung. She looked over at Girard, who rushed to return to his work, his swings faster and more urgent than they’d been before. She gritted her teeth and swung the ax against the rocky wall, mimicking Girard’s movements. The whip cracked in the air again, landing on the same sore spot.
“I don’t want to hear anything but the clinking of those axes for the rest of the day,” the vampire said. His footsteps faded down the tunnel.
Miria set her ax down and peeled her sweat-drenched shirt away from the skin on her back. The spot he’d hit was an ugly red, but he hadn’t broken the skin. A few more hits would have done the trick, though, even through the thick material of her shirt.
Girard waited until Miria calmed down before picking his ax back up again. “Let’s get to
work.”
He showed her how to hold the ax and mine for the fist-sized crystals buried in the walls and where to strike so the tunnel stayed safe. As he chipped away at the dirt, the glimmering leyline crystals caught the light, and patterns of glowing blue danced on the walls.
She heaved her ax against the back wall of the tunnel. She dug out her first crystal and tossed it in the cart behind them. It was already nearly full from the work Girard and the other elf had been doing that morning. They’d need a new cart soon.
Without conversation, Miria had nothing to distract her from the grueling labor. Her arms were sore, her body exhausted. The raw spot on her back rubbed against scratchy fabric with every move she made. But still she worked as hard as she could, not knowing when the vampire would return to observe them and hand out further punishments.
She swung the ax, slamming it into the rock. Again and again she struck.
Just as she’d struck Aeidan.
Again. Clink.
His blood pooling beneath the ax.
Clink.
The blood of the vampires who held her captive.
Clink.
The blood of Nero Cineris, the one who’d kidnapped her and Azalea and brought them here, splattering across the stone and dirt until there was nothing left of him for her to hit.
Over and over again.
Clink. Clink. Clink.
Someday, she swore, it wouldn’t just be in her head.
8
Miria flung herself into bed, covered in more layers of dirt and grime than she could ever hope to wash away. She peeled away her blackened clothing to reveal skin that was equally stained from the filth that seeped through the fabric. She ached more than she ever had before, in more places than she’d thought it was possible to ache.
And this was just her first day.
Gods, she wanted a warm bath so badly. That would have to wait for another day—a day when she had the coin to afford one at the bathhouse.
She looked over at the desk, then at the bed across from hers. Both were empty. Azalea didn’t keep a regular schedule, so it wasn’t unusual for her not to be home at the same time as Miria. Still, she wished her friend was home. She would know what to say—she always did.
Had Zephyr heard about what happened? He must have, if the bar was closed down by the vamps afterward like Girard had said. She wanted to go visit him, but her aching limbs had other plans. Maybe he’d come visit her.
She could hope.
Miria stared at the ceiling, exhausted but unable to sleep. Minutes that stretched into hours until the apartment door creaked open.
“Will you be okay, miss?” a male voice came from outside.
Miria craned her neck to try to get a look at the person the voice belonged to, but the door wasn’t open wide enough.
“I’m fine. Thank you for escorting me home.” Azalea pushed the door open. Her arm was slung around a vampire guard for support.
“Stay safe.” He waited patiently until she supported her own weight before nodding to her and disappearing down the hallway.
Azalea closed the door behind her and leaned against it with her eyes shut, seemingly unaware of Miria’s presence. Her disheveled hair pointed in every direction, tufts of black shooting out from braids that had fallen apart. A shiny, blue dress came down to her knees, revealing slender calves spotted with purple bruises, and she wore a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.
“Zel?” Miria asked softly.
“Miria!” Azalea’s eyes shot open, and she limped across the room. “You’re home! What happened? Are you okay?”
Exhaustion be damned, Miria leaped out of bed and rushed over to meet her. “I should ask the same of you.”
Azalea shook her head and looked away from Miria. “Nothing. I’m fine.”
Aeidan took his revenge. It had to be him.
Then again, that didn’t explain Azalea’s strange attire, and if Aeidan was in as poor of a condition as they’d said, he wouldn’t be out of the medical center so soon. But if not him, who?
Azalea pushed Miria away and continued limping toward her bed. Miria dipped her shoulder under Azalea’s arm to help support her the way the vampire guard had. Her arm, still sore from swinging the ax all day, ached under her friend’s weight, but she kept that to herself. There was no need to worry Azalea about something that didn’t matter.
“Who did this to you?” She helped lower Azalea onto her bed, taking care to avoid the obvious bruises on her body as best she could.
“No one who matters anymore. This won’t happen again.”
“Whose dress is that?”
“Please, can you just drop it?” Azalea’s voice was nothing more than a distressed whisper. For the first time since she’d arrived, she met Miria’s gaze. “It won’t happen again, and I would rather forget it ever did.”
As Miria lowered her eyes, they rested on Azalea’s neck. The dress shifted as Azalea moved, revealing small splatters of red along her collarbone. Blood. That was dried blood on her neck.
“Fine,” Miria said, not tearing her eyes away from the splatters for fear she’d imagined them. “I’ll drop it.”
“Thank you,” Azalea said, sounding relieved. “Tell me what happened to you.”
“They kept me in a cell overnight.”
Azalea looked Miria up and down, then raised an eyebrow. “Was it that dirty?”
Miria crawled back into her own bed and sighed. “This morning, they took me to the leyline mines.”
“The mines?” Azalea squeaked out, her face a few shades paler.
“It’s not forever,” Miria said. “It’s really not a big deal. I’m only there until Aeidan’s medical expenses are paid off, and then life goes back to normal.”
“I have savings. I could pay off your expenses,” Azalea said. “It’s because of me—”
“No.” Miria turned off the light on the table between them. “I won’t take your money for my own stupid mistake.”
Azalea bit her bottom lip, like she was thinking of saying something but thought better of it. “Okay,” she said finally.
Miria rolled over to face the wall, tracing patterns in the dark. For a vampire guard to escort Azalea home, to show her any amount of compassion, something serious must have happened. Did Aeidan have friends who would go after Azalea for him? Miria didn’t know him well enough to know if that was a possibility.
But what about the blood on Azalea’s neck?
A vampire. It had to be. But if that were the case, why wouldn’t Azalea just tell Miria the truth about what happened?
She doesn’t want you to do something stupid again, a voice in her mind chided her.
It wasn’t long before Azalea’s breaths turned deep and slow, and sleep took her. Miria lay in bed, staring at the ceiling. Her body ached with a dull exhaustion she couldn’t shake, an exhaustion that seeped into every muscle. But her mind raced with thoughts that denied her the rest she so badly needed.
She glanced over at Azalea, her form bathed in dull light from the street lamp outside their window. Her chest rose and fell, peaceful and calm, belying the blood caked on her collarbone from her violent evening. Miria wished Azalea would confide in her about what had really happened, but she wouldn’t. She’d rather fall asleep and wake up the next day like nothing had happened—forget and move on.
Miria wouldn’t forget. She would hold on to every painful memory for her friend, and someday, she would get justice. It was just another addition to the list of debts she would repay someday.
Despite her sore limbs, she shook with jittery energy that begged to be released. Thoughts of vengeance taunted her, along with fantasies of escape and retribution.
Going to the medical ward and smothering Aeidan in his sleep.
Setting fire to the mines and burning all of Terra Nocturne to t
he ground.
Climbing to the First District and just walking right out the front door, only to return with an elven army who would slay the vampires and free the elves they held captive.
They were all lovely dreams, but that was all they could be. Still, she couldn’t stay in bed, lying around doing nothing.
In the dark room, Miria put on fresh clothing and fastened a dark cloak around her neck. She pulled up the hood and slipped out into the hallway, softly closing the apartment door behind her.
The city looked no different in the dead of night than it did during the day. Without the moonlight above, the street lamps that illuminated the streets and buildings were an ever-present source of light even while the city slept. The only difference between day and night were the eerie streets, empty after curfew.
Her feet brought her to the market, which was devoid of the hectic crowds that normally defined it. Carts were covered with blankets and tarps, and tents were tied shut for the night.
“This way!”
Miria froze at the sound of the high-pitched squeal, followed by the ring of feminine giggling. It was past curfew. She couldn’t be found alone outside without a vampire escort.
The same was true for the other woman, who led another figure through the market streets without any care for the noise she was making. Miria’s eyes darted down the row of carts. The woman was going to attract attention and draw the guards out in this direction. After all the trouble she’d gotten herself into, Miria couldn’t let herself be caught outside after curfew.
“I shouldn’t be out here tonight,” a male voice said. “We’re tightening up security after what happened to—”
“Oh, please,” the woman said, her voice soft and pouty. “What are they going to do to you?”
As the couple turned down the street where Miria stood, a street lamp at the corner silhouetted them, its light glinting off the hilt of a sword at the man’s hip.
Miria had only moments before a member of the Third District’s vampire guard was upon her, out in the streets after curfew.
“Shit,” Miria muttered. She looked around for a hiding spot, and settled on Marvin’s tent, just in front of her. She slipped inside and ducked under the table. The hood of her cloak fell across her eyes, and she pulled it aside so she could peer out from the shadows.
