Bloodtraitor

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  While Julian spoke, I watched Aaron. His outfit had clearly been put together with attention to the serpiente love of color symbolism. He declared his connection to the Cobriana line in royal black: slacks that tucked into boots laced to just below the knees and an open-throated shirt of the same color. The snug vest he wore was likewise black, with a swirling decoration in white thread. The design was vaguely evocative of the letters of the old language, or a cobra’s markings, but the color was clearly a nod to the Obsidian guild. Around his waist he wore two colored scarves, one the deep violet of mourning, and the other white embroidered with gold to represent the eternal tie to one’s mate. Next to Julian’s drooping, beaten shape, Aaron was a dramatic, determined figure.

  Once it was Aaron’s chance to speak, I straightened up, listening to his words while watching the crowd. He didn’t have Misha’s magic. Instead, he had the eloquence that is taught to the royal lines, and passion and dedication I recognized as his inheritance from his father—his real father, Farrell.

  “Hara’s loss is a wound that will not swiftly heal,” Aaron said. Though his tone was subdued, his voice carried through the hall. “To you, she was a princess, soon-to-be queen. To me, she was all that and more. She was my older sister. She was the one I looked to as a role model and competed with as I grew up. She was the one who challenged and inspired me. She—” He stopped, and swallowed thickly. Real emotion, or another calculated pose? “I loved her, but her loss has made me realize that she was far from perfect. She made deals and compromises where she should have held a firm line. And in the end, she paid with her own freedom.”

  He let those vague, ominous words fall on the crowd, who shifted uncomfortably until he continued.

  “I am a son of the royal house, soon to take the serpiente throne, but what does that even mean when the royal line does nothing but dance like puppets on the end of a string manipulated by vile overlords? When we first settled here centuries ago, Midnight acted like benevolent shepherds, guiding lost stock to a safe barn. Since then, we have let them turn us into little more than sheep. We are animals that they control, fleece regularly, and slaughter when necessary. They claim to protect us, but what protection is it really when they take our own flesh and blood whenever they feel we need to be taught a lesson?”

  Again he paused, letting his audience consider those words, before he asserted, “No more. I refuse to be a sheep any longer. I refuse to grovel before a nation that flagrantly violates every sacred mandate that defines us as a people.” I could see the tension building in the crowd as he made this bold—and dangerous—proclamation. Aaron lifted his voice to be heard over the low rumble of dissent. “I am not a fool. I have a plan, inspired by the woman who has helped me see what needs to be done…a woman we drove out, along with her kin, for the crime of daring to speak up against abuse and slavery that this royal house condoned and even perpetuated in the name of obedience to Midnight. Ladies and gentlemen, please allow me to introduce a woman with a lifetime of experience in making the sacrifices that are necessary to safeguard the freedom and dignity once granted to us by the goddess Anhamirak…my mate and your Naga, Misha Obsidian.”

  I was startled by the scattering of applause that greeted Aaron’s announcement, and then became louder as Aaron held out his hand and my sister entered the synkal. She was flanked by guards whose eyes roamed the crowd cautiously, looking for anyone who seemed likely to start trouble for their new queen, but no one accosted her. I wondered how many influential serpiente she had privately met with in order to persuade them to give her this warm greeting.

  I tried not to gag at the sight of my sister dressed, not as a child of Obsidian, but in a Cobriana-black gown. Her skin was pale with exhaustion and too much expended magic, but she shone with triumph as she climbed the dais next to her royal mate.

  “I DON’T WANT to live this way.”

  Shkei lay on the marble floor where he had fallen, too hurt and exhausted to even seek a more comfortable position. Alasdair knelt beside him, but the trainer hadn’t left anything behind that she could use to do so much as wipe the blood from his face.

  She took his hand—gently, because even that was bruised and swollen—and said, “I’m so sorry. This is my fault.”

  “Not your fault,” Shkei managed to bite out. “His fault.”

  He tried to sit up but fell again, cursing. She caught him. His blood was already all over both of them, thick enough that her dress stuck to her skin where it had soaked through.

  “Promise me,” Shkei whispered. “If there is ever a chance, any chance, and you can get your hands on a knife—”

  “No,” she interrupted, body going cold, because she knew what he was asking.

  She couldn’t kill the trainer, but Shkei thought she could kill him. Mercy killing was what the serpiente called it.

  “Please,” Shkei begged. “I don’t want to live this way. And I don’t want him to keep using me against you.”

  —

  Hara was in that cell now, sold into the very empire Aaron had just spoken so passionately against. As visions and memories of endless beatings passed before my eyes, my sister warmly thanked the serpiente people for welcoming her. As I recalled the look on Alasdair’s face when we gave her to Acise, and the way Hara had gone ghostly pale when she saw Nathaniel, Misha simply and concisely explained her plan to fight Midnight as if she had not already acted against everything she said she stood for.

  “Midnight is a system with rules,” she asserted. “The vampires who run that empire pretend the rules are there for our benefit, but they are written so only Midnight itself can truly prosper through them. No matter what we do, instead of eventually earning our freedom, we inevitably end up in greater and greater debt, which we are forced to pay by selling Anhamirak’s holy flesh and freedom into a land where slavery and abuse are as ubiquitous as air.

  “Midnight has allowed the Obsidian guild’s reputation to become as tarnished as it is because doing so has kept anyone from looking closely at how we survive. The Obsidian guild pays no tariffs to the vampires’ empire. We accept nothing from them, and therefore we owe them nothing.”

  “Midnight has its own way of interpreting rules that don’t work for them,” a man in the crowd dared to assert.

  Misha shook her head. “Midnight’s creatures are immortals, and that makes them rigid. They will not want to violate their own laws. If we do not use their markets, buy their wares, or travel the roads on their lands, we will owe them no taxes. I won’t attempt to deceive you—we will know lean times before we are truly independent. But we have always known hardship. It’s easier to ignore when the things we sacrifice are slaves sent to Midnight and out of our sight…but it doesn’t hurt us any less.”

  I stopped listening, slipped out, and waited for Misha and Aaron to summon me. They had both ignored my presence in the synkal, but they had to have noticed and wondered why I had returned from Midnight so soon.

  It was nearly sunrise when I was escorted into the receiving room and told that the royal couple would be with me shortly. I waited awkwardly, trying not to make eye contact with any of the half-dozen guards, and fighting off any attempt my magic made to surface. At least one of the soldiers here had been present at my capture and marking when I was twelve—punished for being born the child of a white viper, and declared complicit with a murder we hadn’t committed. I did not want to relive that experience now, from my point of view or theirs.

  One of the other guards I couldn’t help but notice was Jabari, who had been rumored to be Hara’s potential mate. His glassy-eyed expression made it clear that his participation was not entirely of his own will, but I did not think it was entirely due to magic either. The man moved stiffly, in a way I recognized from too many days spent inside Midnight’s walls.

  Was Misha practicing her skills at a trainer’s art?

  No, I told my magic. I did not want to see that either.

  I wouldn’t be able to resist my power’s pull fore
ver, I knew, but I hoped I would be able to hold it at bay until I was somewhere safer than this.

  Misha had barely opened the door before she crooned, “Were my instructions unclear, Malachi? What are you doing back here?”

  “They were clear,” I answered. “But your plan was a bit too perfect. I did as you asked, but now that Midnight is convinced I am in their employ, they felt it was best to send me to watch you. I couldn’t refuse without raising suspicion.”

  Misha looked as if she were about to continue haranguing me about my presence, but Aaron skipped that part of the conversation to ask directly, “What is Midnight saying about us?”

  I considered what Nathaniel and Theron had said, and tried to decide what would be useful to share. “So far, they just seem curious to see what will happen next.” Since I was supposed to be an acknowledged spy, I asked, “What do you want me to tell them about your plans here?”

  “You can tell them the truth,” Misha answered. “We’re breaking no laws.”

  “Did you have a chance to speak to any of the farmers?” Aaron asked. Even with Misha’s magic pushing him to actions and conclusions he otherwise wouldn’t have considered, he was more focused on the plan and survival than on spiting at Midnight.

  “A bit,” I answered. I recapped the little I had learned about planting and harvest times, and watched Aaron’s brows draw together. I could see the struggle within him as common sense fought the whisper of Misha’s magic. He knew there was no way the serpiente could be self-sufficient in less than a season, but couldn’t quite break free of Misha’s determination.

  If Midnight fell, the serpiente could claim a share of its crops, but Misha and Aaron didn’t know that was a possibility.

  “How are people responding to the new trade laws?” I asked.

  “Not well,” Aaron answered, sounding both frustrated and puzzled. Of course he was confused; he was too far out of his own right mind to understand why his people might not appreciate Misha’s brilliant plan. Even Misha’s magic couldn’t control the entire serpiente people. “They don’t like the idea of the royal house taking control of so much.”

  “If their freedom is so important to them,” Misha said coldly, “they will soon realize that they were no more free under Midnight than they are now. If a peaceful economic protest doesn’t suit them, they can pick up a weapon and fight.”

  Splash of blood, red on white.

  Not now.

  “If they try to fight Midnight, they will be slaughtered,” I replied with a shudder. So that was Misha’s plan. She knew the serpiente couldn’t win against Midnight just by refusing to trade. She expected hunger, anger, and rebellion, and intended to funnel that fury into a hopeless battle.

  With the exception of us two white vipers, serpiente had no magic. I had seen vampires run through with all sorts of weaponry made of every material, and I had never seen one fall. I didn’t believe they were truly immortal…not really…but I did not think a serpiente army could possibly ever be equipped to stand up against Midnight.

  The fall equinox was three months away. I understood now why Nathaniel was worried the serpiente might not survive that long.

  “Midnight cannot just wipe us all out,” Aaron argued. “If only we could get the other shapeshifter nations to join us, the vampires would need to recognize that they cannot control us all. They would need to back down, or risk a full-scale uprising that even they cannot quell.”

  “They don’t need to control you all,” I argued, “just a few of you.” The possibilities danced behind my eyes, nearly blinding me. “You and Misha. A king here, a queen there, picked off. A young child of royal blood taken, raised like Vance was, in a rainbow-colored box.”

  “You all?” Misha snapped. “You’re talking like you’re not one of us, Malachi. Do you really believe that the people would all give up because one leader falls?”

  “This is your choice,” Gabriel whispered to the young human man he had restrained against the slick marble wall. “I offered rest. You chose battle. I offered peace. You chose pain. I can make all this doubt and frustration and fear go away. You just need to let me.”

  Huddled in the far corner, Misha watched the trainer work with horror…and envy.

  Yes, she wanted to say. Please. Take away the ache of the constant cold, the grumble of hunger, the anxiety of waiting. Take away this knot of despair that chokes me as I imagine dying in this lonely place.

  Sometimes he noticed her when he was bored, and those times would forever haunt her nightmares, but her white-viper magic kept her from ever becoming his primary focus. It kept her safe from that seductive offer: Give in, and all this pain will stop.

  “You want them to take you back,” I said, responding to the vision. The images had tried to force their way into my awareness earlier as I watched Aislinn, but I hadn’t fully understood them then. Now I couldn’t help the words that came out of my mouth as Misha’s despair tried to drown me. “Some part of you realizes that you’re nothing anymore, that you’re hollow, and you’re hoping that if you make enough of a fuss the vampires will get fed up with you and smack you down hard enough that you don’t feel the pain anymore. Aaron at least believes what he’s saying, that this is for the good of his people, but you don’t. You’re just doing this because you don’t know what to do with yourself if you don’t have someone to fight and someone to despise you.”

  I saw it coming, and I could have dodged, but I let the blow fall because she needed to hit someone. The punch was strong enough to send me stumbling to the side. Pain bloomed and I tasted blood in my mouth.

  “Misha—”

  She shoved Aaron back when he tried to protest.

  “You are my brother!” she shouted at me. “Of all people, how could you…” She trailed off, green eyes narrowed. “You don’t understand.”

  “You’re queen, Misha,” I said, trying in vain to appeal to any spark of reason within her. “You could have so much power to do good, but you can’t starve people until they raise up arms. They won’t raise them against Midnight. They’ll raise them against you.”

  “Why am I wasting my breath arguing with you?” she asked. “You used to go to Midnight as if you were on holiday. You can’t handle being without a master for too long. Cradle to the coffin, isn’t that the description they use for second-generation slaves?”

  “This isn’t necessary,” Aaron tried to interject. “Neither of you means what you’re saying. Misha, he’s your brother. You don’t want—”

  “Guards, arrest him,” Misha said, looking at me.

  “On what grounds?” Aaron demanded, so startled he momentarily freed himself of Misha’s magic.

  “Treason.”

  I had expected her to hit me, scream at me, and probably throw me out of the building. I had not expected her to accuse me of a high crime and turn me over to the guards.

  “Malachi Obsidian,” she continued, “I love you as my brother, but I cannot continue to protect you.” I anticipated where she was going only as those beautiful, soulless green eyes fell on my face once more. “You’re a bloodtraitor and always have been. And you are under arrest for the abduction and murder of Hara Kiesha Cobriana.”

  I saw Aaron open his mouth to object, and shook my head at him. Anything he could say to defend me would just reveal his own guilt.

  That didn’t mean I intended to be taken and executed. I threw Aaron in front of the guards, and dodged my sister’s clumsy attempt to grab me. I had almost made it to the door when I felt a strong hand close on my wrist. I pushed magic at those around me, but it wasn’t enough.

  Grabbed, dragged. Something hit me.

  Gone.

  “PLEASE.”

  Alasdair knew that voice would reverberate in her dreams and nightmares forever.

  Shkei, bleeding, broken, begging…and her with a knife near to hand. The trainer had left them alone, because he didn’t believe she would ever do this.

  He had made her do the work of hurting Shke
i this time. He had assured her it would be worse if he did it, and so she had…

  The memory, the thoughts, made her dry-heave.

  And Shkei just said, “Please.”

  He had given her a weapon.

  I can’t.

  But she also couldn’t even say the words aloud, because the light was already gone from his eyes. In his mind, he had given himself to the next world already; he did not want to live, not in this place, where he would only be used to hurt others.

  He had been so good to her…

  She heard Master Gabriel finishing his conversation. He would be back in the room in moments. She only had another second.

  “Please.”

  She held him close, and balled one hand in his hair to keep him still. She didn’t trust herself to hit the heart with one blow, and wanted to make sure the end was quick, so she held the knife in a tight fist and drew it across his throat as firmly as she could.

  The blood seemed to fly at first, as the last few beats of the heart drove it up into the air as if it would soar to freedom…but then it just gurgled, and finally slithered, out and down his skin.

  She wasn’t crying. The tears were gone.

  There was nothing left as the trainer knelt beside her, took the knife from her hand, and said, “I’ll let you dig the grave.”

  —

  Alasdair had killed Shkei, and it had been a mercy, but it had broken her. She had given everything for my brother: her freedom, her pride, her soul, and finally the last bit of self she had, because Alasdair Shardae was not a murderer.

  Alasdair Shardae could not dig a grave—even a shallow one, which was all she could manage in the frozen ground—and cover her last friend up with earth without even looking up at the sky. It had been the first time she had been allowed outside since she had been sold into that place, but the notion of escape never occurred to her.

  Alasdair Shardae was not the one who had returned to the trainer’s arms, after, and let him comfort her. That queen was gone. Only Ashley remained.