A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon Book 1)

by Kelsey Quick

  “Unrefreshed?”

  “By the heir.” She clears her throat. “If you go to Jerusalem. If you… commit. You will instill peace and order, allowing the revitalization of human nations for centuries.”

  Ugh, more ‘heir apparent’ talk.

  “What if I had made it over the wall that day?” I ask, accusingly. “What if I had made it to the Mezzanine, or to a benefactor? It could have been a whole hell of a lot easier on me.” I picture Zein as I say it, tears brimming. A once passionate view, now a compilation of haunting memories tainted by lingering feelings of regret, anger, and betrayal. I almost start crying again. But Glera’s voice pulls me out of it.

  “You and I both know that those hills are filled with rogues,” she states. “You tried to escape with no intention of long-term survival. In a sense, I saved you from killing yourself.”

  Although I know she’s right, I don’t reply. Because telling her I would prefer getting torn apart by rogues than suffering like this might be a bit too much.

  “Come on,” her voice changes. “Let’s go take a dip in the baths. We can talk more about the plan for tomorrow.”

  She stands and quietly makes off for the empty bathrooms in the lower level, stepping around and over other supply units in the process. The attendant glances her way, but ultimately goes back to her reading. I hesitantly follow once I find enough motivation to move.

  ✽✽✽

  Her lashes flutter while I study her, locking her face into my memory, as this may be the last time I ever see her. I want to save her; I always have. But despite our friendship, she will never follow me. Even if I told her what I know about Zein, about what he did to me, she could never find the courage to break the boundaries staked around her. Especially not now, because of Gemini. Which is why I won’t explain anything or expect anything. The last thing I want Savvy to do is make a decision that will break her one way or another. She’s far too fragile for that. So I’ll make it for her. I’ll be the horrible one.

  Savvy sleeps soundly as if nothing could go wrong. As if all is right within our little world. I wish it could be. God, I wish things could be easy for once. But they aren’t. And I’ve learned now that they never will be. She, however, will never learn that; Savvy will never stop hoping.

  Even though she won’t willingly come with us, I need to ensure that she does. Because once this night comes to an end, Savvy’s life as a supply unit is over. If I successfully escape Isshar with Glera and the others, Zein would undoubtedly take his displeasure out on my friends.

  Ceti motions for me to come to her at the front of the supply holdings room, away from the other congregated supply overseers. All of the other units are still asleep, save Glera whose eyes shoot open as soon as I move. Carefully, I tread across the mixture of warm woven yarn and cool, gritty sandstone.

  Ceti smiles widely when I reach her. She gives me a once over.

  “Ready?”

  “No.”

  She smiles sadly. “I understand. Here, put these on.”

  Ceti offers two thin and blackened metal wristlets, each bejeweled with several small stones—beautiful amethysts—with slight silver landings encircling the band, the ends in the shape of fleur di lis. I’ve seen them before.

  “Are these… from that room?” I barely breathe, remembering the other objects from that glass case.

  “Yes, during a mission to the province of the stronghold, Thelor managed to grab these. They’ve belonged to every heir since the beginning of the race war.”

  Putting one on each wrist out of sheer obligation, my jumbled thoughts refocus to Savvy.

  “Ceti,” I whisper, my eyes focusing blankly into the center of her long pastel dress. “No matter what they say, or what they do, please… make sure Savvy and Katarii are there waiting for me.”

  Eloquently, the signature Ceti chuckle erupts past her colored lips, “Oh, darn. You ruined my surprise. I was already planning on it, my dear.”

  Like a contagion, her grin transposes over to me. Despite the terrible things that have been plaguing my mind, for a second, I’m relieved. I can’t tell if it’s because Savvy will still be with me after this trying evening, or because Ceti had taken the time to consider something so trivial to anyone other than me.

  “Thank you,” I say, and she cups my cheek reassuringly.

  “I may be a vampire, but I am your friend, Wavorly. Remember that. We are not all bad.”

  I nod, fighting the urge to shut her out of my heart, too.

  Although I am still unsure of everything beyond it, Zein killed my family nearly a decade ago and hid it from me. All this time. I need to get out of here, out of Zein’s slave pool, out of Cain, or I might go insane. The plan set into motion by Castrel, Glera, Ceti, and Thelor might be my last decent chance to escape and move forward. If I don’t act on the impulse now, I’ll stop moving, and if that happens, I don’t know what I will do.

  A binding chokehold of memories—of my father’s open, wide mouth filled with blood and my mom’s writhing body dripping with sweat—afflict me. While anger and depression linger, right now it’s the frigid and numbing touch of betrayal that ensnares my thoughts. I had fallen for Zein. I had been entranced by him. I fell so deep into his words, relied on them so much that swimming to the surface of sanity is near impossible. Part of me still believes that Zein isn’t the one at fault. That maybe it was another sentry of Cain and he really did save me from scavengers. That he didn’t kill my friends and family, that Glera said all of that to get me on board with their plan.

  But bring Ceti and Castrel into the mix, and any other explanation falls apart.

  Every time my mind tries to consider the unlikely possibilities that are to Zein’s benefit, I force them out. How can I truly think that Zein, with his colorful track record, is incapable of faking everything between us to get what he wants? I can’t deny it any longer. I can’t afford to.

  Soon, the morning introductions will begin for the rulers of Cain. That is, all of them and their cabinets will get together and go over the matters to be presented regarding Abethos—all of the political stuff that suddenly no longer interests me. At that time, we will make our move. When Thelor comes to retrieve me for phase one.

  A soldier steps into the holding room, followed closely by Anaya. My gaze naturally drops to her neck which is sporting a freshly applied arument bandage beneath her crimson ribbon. My eyes trail back up and I meet her gaze. For a moment all is silent and tense until I give her a little nod, which she reluctantly returns. I don’t care anymore. About anything from that life.

  “Seems Lord Zein has quite the appetite today,” Ceti says a bit loudly, grabbing the attention of one or two of the other gossiping supply attendants. “Go on,” she says to me, pushing me toward the soldier that dropped off Anaya, who I assume to be Thelor. He turns to walk out and I jog after him.

  Like I anticipate, we end up turning left at the first junction—leading us toward the hallway with the storage room—instead of toward Zein’s quarters. It’s happening. I clench my sweaty palms. Soon, I will be out of this place. Out of the world of vampires. Out of the grasp of Zein and his lies. There is so much pressure to wade through that I can barely breathe.

  “Okay, we’re here,” the soldier states as he opens the door to the storage closet. But the voice doesn’t belong to Thelor.

  “Castrel?” I ask after a moment’s surprise. “Where’s Thelor?”

  “We had to change a couple things at the last minute. There are obstacles only he can remove. Hurry, inside.”

  I exhale sharply and walk into the dark room, nearly tripping on a crate at the back before I turn around. Castrel shuts the door and all is empty black until he lights the lantern from above, illuminating the grimy supplies and walls. Castrel takes two steps toward me and reaches around his head to take off his mask. His face is covered by the same thin layer of gray dust as Thelor’s from the night before, broken up only by sporadic streams of sweat. I guess my confusion is e
vident because he answers my unasked question.

  “It’s the preserved crushed skin of dead vampires,” he says a bit too nonchalantly.

  “Pardon?”

  “It’s a Mezzanine trick. Covering your body with this will convince even the most sensitive of vampire noses that you’re one of them,” he enlightens, undoing the rest of his armor. “They won’t be able to smell your human scent. But it has to be reapplied often to maintain the effect.”

  I hold back a gag as well as a gasp. The vampire dust is surprising, but the view of him stripping down is totally unexpected. I have never seen the completely stripped anatomy of a male human, nor vampire. That truth becomes so very clear as the sight of Castrel throwing down his armor and revealing tan and taut skin is completely and totally foreign. Thankfully, he only unrolls the leather unitard down to his waist, where he retrieves a small metal canister from a hidden belt. It takes me a moment to shift my focus from his body, and when I do it’s because his sharp, hazel-green eyes find mine. I’ve been caught.

  He smiles a bit, and I think I can make out a bit of red beneath the dust on his cheeks before he turns around, chuckling. “Um, sorry. I forget about these kinds of things. Didn’t really have to worry about it back in the day, huh?”

  A rush of nostalgia washes over me as Castrel uneasily side steps around one of the metal shelves to partially shield himself from my gaze.

  I force a laugh, turning away. “Yeah, not really.”

  Surprise tears sting my eyes. I wipe them away and say, “I’m really, so happy that you’re alive, Castrel. I thought about you nearly every day after...” I trail off.

  The sound of him clearing his throat reaches my ears. “Me too.”

  We sit in silence, staring at our own walls for a moment when he changes the subject, walking over to me.

  “You will need to put this on, too.” He gestures to the dust. “We have to get ourselves to the loading docks at the base of the two towers. Ceti and the others are going to meet us there.”

  I gulp back my disgust. “Okay.”

  After reapplying the crushed vampire remains on his face, neck, chest, and other areas, Castrel turns to the wall and scours the front shelving meticulously, finally stopping at one of the higher placed bins to pull out an almost identical set of basic leather armor, and a mask.

  “Then put these on after you’ve coated yourself head to foot. We can’t afford any suspicion, so be thorough,” he says, walking over and handing me the canister once he’s suited up again.

  “Here?” I ask.

  He rolls his eyes and I wonder if that’s where I got my bad habit from. “Don’t worry,” he says. “I won’t look. Promise.”

  He turns promptly, walking to the corner of the room—or as close as he can get without mounting the shelves—and stands immovable. “But if you need help applying the cleanser—”

  “I’d rather roll in it first,” hastily, I shoot back.

  He raises his hands up, laughing a little as he continues to face ever-forward. “You haven’t changed a bit, Wave.”

  My heart skips a beat. He was the first one to ever call me ‘Wave.’ It’s because of Castrel that I have a suitable nickname.

  My lip curls into a fast-shrinking smile. “You think?”

  He nods with his hands resting on the top of his head, still facing the wall.

  I take a deep breath.

  “Okay,” I whisper to myself as I start to shed my clothes, checking at least ten times to make sure Castrel isn’t watching. Once my robes fall to my hips—still cinched by the sash—I open the canister. Surprisingly, the dust doesn’t smell at all, and it is as fine and dark as ash. Starting from my scalp, and gradually working my way down, I smear the stuff along my skin. A little goes a long way. I make it to my neck where the chain of Laisse dangles. I nearly rip it off and chuck it across the room, but something prevents me. Maybe it’s hope or delusion, but I leave it on for now.

  “What about my tag?” I ask as I get to the transmitter on my right wrist.

  “We will take care of that later.” Castrel’s voice is regretful. “Just make sure you apply a lot around the stakes. That’s what I had to do.”

  “Alright,” I respond, realizing that Castrel is branded to a vampire as well—to Marina Schovir.

  It takes a while, but I finally manage to get the last of the spaces in between my toes and my backside.

  “Finished,” I say, turning around once I’m in the black unitard even though the armor straps keep giving me trouble. Castrel turns and watches me for a minute.

  “Here,” he says softly, walking toward me.

  I rip away from him when he reaches for a strap that I’d been working on for the last few minutes.

  “I can do it,” I insist.

  “Come on, we don’t have time for this,” he says. I look up to give him a piece of my mind and notice, for the first time in a decade, the depths of his eyes. Hazel and gold on the inside, hunter green along the outer rims, with tiny tree-like lines that go from pupil to iris over and over to form the outline of a sunflower. I forgot about those eyes.

  I swallow and reply coldly. “I don’t need your help.”

  I don’t need anyone. No one is worth the price of trust. I nearly laugh at the irony of my own thoughts.

  He sighs. “At the Mezzanine, back when it was in Avignon, we were given assignments as children and raised learning the arts and skills required to complete our assignments for the future of the human race,” he explains. “You were—and are—my assignment.”

  My heart finds my throat. Of all the things to say or ask, I ask the pitiful one. “Is that why you were my only friend?”

  He grimaces. “No, that is not why I was your friend. But it is why I was the only one allowed to see you.”

  I chew on my cheek, careful not to draw blood.

  “I was never sick with some rare disease, was I?”

  He shakes his head and changes the subject. “Anyway, regardless if you need me or not, I will be helping you.”

  He yanks the straps from my hands to secure them with ease before smiling all smug down at me. I stick out my tongue like I used to back when we would play in the courtyards. He grins.

  “And before you plant the thought in that thick head of yours, we are still friends.”

  I narrow my eyes, unapologetically disbelieving.

  “I am supposed to be your guardian, by your side at all times for the duration of your life. Tending to the heir is the most honorable of positions given, and the only position I ever wanted. Especially after I met you.”

  Again, my reactions disprove my resolve. Castrel still knows exactly what to say to me, even if I still don’t understand this heir thing completely. It was almost enough to sedate the horrific gnawing of my gut inflicted by Zein’s existence. Almost.

  “Thank you,” I say, my voice cracking.

  “...Don’t cry.” His hands awkwardly rest on my shoulders. “You’ll have to reapply the dust if you do. Are you all right?”

  “I’ll be fine.” I pull away from him. “It shouldn’t have come as a surprise. Zein, and what he did...”

  “He’s a demon,” Castrel mutters and his eyes shift to my neck. His lips turn into a crisp frown. Now bare from the strip-down moments before, my neck openly showcases the hardened twin scars. When it’s time to put the mask on, the neck sleeve will cover them, but for now the breadth of their affliction must be a grotesque reminder. For no sane reason I quickly reach up to cover them.

  “I’m sorry that he was able to hurt you so much,” Castrel confesses, cutting his gaze to the floor. “I wish I could have been able to stop it all before it even started.”

  “It’s nothing,” I respond quietly, glancing at Castrel’s neck and noticing similar, though fresher, wounds. My breath hitches. Zein at least treated his supply units well, but what about Marina? Castrel, now that I think about it, seems awfully thin.

  What did he have to go through? Enduring the process o
f becoming a mistreated supply unit in order to end up here, in Isshar—for my sake? Guilt fills my vision. I surprise myself as the well of emotion spills over, causing me to step forward and embrace Castrel like I used to as a kid.

  He returns the affection warily.

  “I wasn’t referring to your physical scars,” he whispers, gripping me harder.

  And that, I can’t refute. At least he knew the truth all this time, whereas I had to be blindsided—with my heart ripped clean out of my ribs.

  I step out of his arms, evading his pity. “I can’t undo the past. I have to focus on moving forward.”

  He nods. “And I’ll be by your side the entire time.”

  Castrel catches my hand with his. Shockwaves fly up my arm, distracting me from my thoughts. He says nothing to explain the action, not even a sweat drop of shame glistens his forehead. As if it is completely natural. All I can do is idly appreciate the comfort traveling through my fingers, across my shoulders, and finally pooling in my chest. It’s a warmth full of security and nostalgia; of bucolic afternoons outside the cathedral, or lunch on the outlook. All I want to do is push these feelings—along with everything else—away, but right now, it’s better than drowning in the fresh and deepening wounds of Zein’s betrayal.

  “Let’s go,” he eventually says, yet refusing to let go of my hand.

  chapter 21

  Hot and moist air fills my nostrils from behind the mask as Castrel and I make our way down one of the wide staircases of the left tower. So far, we’ve already passed a handful of scribes, dwellers, and soldiers, none of whom gave us a second glance. How surprising that a thin layer of dead vampire remains can erase our scent so well.

  “Wait a moment,” Castrel whispers, grabbing my arm and standing still.

  As I lift my gaze to question him, a deafening explosion fills my ears. It rattles the floor, causing the sandstone-marble to sway and knock me off balance, but Castrel catches me.