“Should we attempt to save Aaron, then?”
I shuddered. Would it have worked, Elise’s plan? She had two other nations on her side, a crucial step that Misha and Aaron had ignored.
“You won’t be able to manipulate Julian after all this,” I answered, “so you need Aaron. That’s how you pick who gets to rule, isn’t it? Who will play your games and be your quiet little doll?”
Theron just shrugged, and said gently, “Frightened little snake.”
He reached for me and I went to him, as grateful for his touch as I had ever been for sunlight after a long, dark night, or a hot meal after days without so much as a dry biscuit. I wasn’t thinking about manipulating him anymore, though part of my mind was aware that I was supposed to be careful, supposed to make sure I was saying the right things.
To hell with Lady Elise or Midnight. Would Farrell still be alive, if I had not convinced him I was some kind of prophet and Misha a future queen and savior? He probably would be. He would have raised Aaron as his own son.
The Obsidian guild, led by Farrell and Melissa, still would have lived on the fringes of serpiente society, but they never would have become the hunted, hated outlaws we had made them. Treason; murder; Melissa had accused Farrell of rape when she left him, probably because she needed a severe enough excuse to abandon him, but could not directly accuse him of Lady Elise’s murder without implicating herself. Both charges carried a death sentence.
I had spent most of my life hating the royal house for what I considered their unjustified, vicious persecution of our guild, and now realized it was my betrayal—not theirs—that had put an ax over the heads of everyone I loved and claimed to care about.
Would I get Vance and Kadee killed next? They still believed in me.
“It will be taken care of,” Theron assured me, before his fangs pierced my throat.
I threw myself into the swift-flowing current of his mind more desperately than I ever had. I didn’t want to return. I also knew Theron wasn’t the type to want to keep me. He wasn’t one of the trainers; he didn’t keep pets or sycophants around. He was interested in my information, my flesh, and my blood.
But he let me sleep there, which was good, because I did not know where else to go except back to the cells where I had begun, before I spoke those foolish, selfish words.
Someday, my sister, you will be queen. When you and your king rule, you will bow to no one. And this place, this Midnight, will burn to ash.
I made it all up like a child’s fancy, then walked across the bodies of the dead in order to get from that day to this one.
Nathaniel had said we needed to fulfill the first half of the prophecy in order to give the others hope that the rest could someday come true. If we could turn my lie into reality, would Farrell’s death be worth it? Would I be redeemed?
This place will burn to ash.
ASHLEY PULLED THE soft woolen shawl more snugly around her shoulders as a cold draft slipped into the main room from the back cell. The slave who stepped through the heavy back door was quiet and unafraid; he had come to clean the tomblike room, and had no reason to fear the trainer’s wrath as long as he performed his task well.
Master Gabriel had just returned to his desk when three sharp raps at the door made him look up with annoyance, as he had every time he had been interrupted while trying to read and respond to the stack of letters and invoices currently in front of him.
Each time, Ashley had watched him anxiously as she tried to decide if there was something else she should be doing, and then been relieved as she realized he would tell her if he wanted her. Until then, like the slave in the cell, she knew her place. She returned to her journal, where charcoal and inks portrayed scenes she couldn’t quite recall.
“Enter,” Master Gabriel snapped, his voice like a thunder crack as the last of his patience eroded and he shoved himself to his feet. If it was Mistress Jeshickah on the other side of the door, or someone else capable of protecting him- or herself, the trainer’s irritation would move to the next convenient target as soon as the unwanted conversation was done. If it was anyone else…
But Master Gabriel’s glare became a grin when he saw who had just walked through the door: a slender woman with snow-white hair, mist-green eyes, and an expression of haughty defiance.
She raised her gaze fearlessly to his—
Then stumbled, flinching, as he closed the door behind her with an ominous click.
“Misha,” Master Gabriel purred. “You must need something very badly if you are willing to come to me for it.”
—
The last time I had slept in Theron’s rooms, I had woken feeling more peaceful than I had in years. This time, I rolled out of bed and to the floor, struggling to pull myself out of “Ashley’s” mind before I could see the rest of that scene.
Misha had gone to Gabriel to arrange for Hara’s sale. I knew, just as the trainer would have, that he was the only one capable of giving her the perfect revenge she desired…which meant when he decided he was in the mood to play, she didn’t have any other options. I had seen the bruises when she returned to our camp afterward. I didn’t need to watch them be created.
I splashed water on my face, but passed by the provided breakfast with a shudder. Alasdair had been so beautiful, so powerful and vibrant and passionate. To see her reduced to someone whose single motivation was watching that creature’s every little twitch as she awaited his orders was almost as disgusting as being forced to watch Misha “bargain” for the privilege of giving him a cobra princess would have been.
That wasn’t all.
I paused in the middle of reaching for my shirt, as I reconsidered what I had seen. In particular, I thought about the journal. What did a broken slave have to write about? She hadn’t been writing something dictated by the vampire. She was recording her own thoughts and memories. Was that possible? I had never met a broken slave with the independent thought required for such a task. On the other hand, I remembered the strange tremble of power I had felt the last time I saw the hawk.
Something was left of her.
I resolved to see her again when I had a chance, if only to assuage my own curiosity. I would need to wait until Gabriel was out of the building, but that happened often enough, since he had properties and businesses he managed outside Midnight. I needed to stay nearby anyway, in order to keep an ear out and try to manage Midnight’s response to the serpiente. I could also keep making contacts among the farmers in the village; every ally I had there would help ease the transition after Midnight fell.
In order to accomplish all that, I had to avoid getting kicked out. That meant I needed to make myself useful. I didn’t know enough about farming to make that my primary occupation for the next three months, so my choices were the same tasks I had accepted during my many visits over the years.
One option was to claim a space in the dormitory that housed the regular bleeders. Though the household slaves might be bled on occasion, they needed to maintain enough strength to perform their day-to-day duties, so Jeshickah maintained stock specifically for the vampires’ meals. Those slaves tended to be physically lovely and mentally vacuous. Jeshickah herself might not be fond of my looks, but she knew my blood was valuable. If I put myself in that group, she would not object. It would even give Nathaniel a convenient way to seek me when he needed to do so.
Given what I knew of his reputed preferences, it would also cause Theron to lose all interest in me. That could be useful if I felt his information-seeking became dangerous, but it would also cut him off as a means of funneling information and suggestions to Jeshickah.
The next best choice was the infirmary. My magic was no good for healing others, but I had a steady hand, a working knowledge of herbs and poultices, an intuitive sense of what was wrong with a sick or injured human, and most importantly, a strong stomach.
So many people came and went each day that the infirmary was an excellent place from which to keep track of all the major happen
ings in the building. It also provided ample opportunities for someone to discreetly make contact, which Nathaniel did a few hours after I started working there.
When I reached his rooms with the salves and herbs he had requested, I was startled to discover another second-generation slave huddled on his floor, trembling in fear and pain.
“It’s not serious,” Nathaniel said as I froze, unsure if I was supposed to go to him or to her. “Give the supplies to Aislinn. She can take care of her friend while we talk.”
I handed salves, bandages, and warm water to Aislinn, who accepted them with a lowered gaze and a murmured, “Thank you.”
“I didn’t beat her,” Nathaniel snapped, when I still hesitated to follow him. “That distinction belongs to Daryl. Aislinn brought her back here afterward and asked me to take care of her. It seemed a convenient way to make her happy while also giving me an excuse to see you.”
I nodded, and tried to put the abused slave out of my mind. At least Nathaniel’s ulterior motive meant she was being taken care of better than she would have been if Daryl had been left to see to it.
I had more trouble ignoring the rest of his explanation. “Aislinn asked you to take care of her?”
Nathaniel nodded distractedly. “The primary trait that makes a second-generation slave more valuable than a broken first generation is their ability to take initiative and think flexibly. It makes them better able to predict their masters’ needs. It also means they occasionally show moments of genuine compassion for their fellow human beings. It got Aislinn in trouble the day I bought her; she stepped up to defend one of the other kitchen slaves.”
His gaze drifted over to where Aislinn was washing blood from the other slave’s face, and his brows tensed in a frown.
Too quietly to carry to the two slaves, I asked, “If this is common in second-generation slaves, can we use them in the attack?”
Nathaniel started as if I had poked him with a knife, and then shook his head. “Aislinn made it further than most, probably because she’s so bright, but it’s a trait Jeshickah watches for. If I hadn’t bought Aislinn when I did, she would have spent the last couple of weeks in a trainer’s care.”
“But you’ve ignored it?”
“I’ve nurtured it,” Nathaniel answered. “I’ve rewarded her every time I’ve seen her show any initiative. I’m going to end up spending an absurd amount of money on that girl over there to keep her out of Daryl’s hands, and I have no idea what I’ll do with her after that, but it’s another support that will help Aislinn do what I need her to do on the equinox.”
“Which is?”
Nathaniel hesitated, as if just realizing how close he was to divulging his plan to me…and then he sighed. “I suppose you need to know, since I’m hoping you can help.” Voice sharper, he added, “It’s the only choice, since you obviously aren’t suitable as a spy in the serpiente palace. How is it that you can walk the halls of Midnight without issue, but can’t keep yourself out of trouble with your own sister for more than a day?”
I bit back my immediate, defensive response, and settled on the absolute truth. “Jeshickah doesn’t see me as a threat.”
Nathaniel considered the words, then nodded. “You’re too much of a mirror to Misha.”
“Have you heard from Theron this evening?” I asked, turning the conversation away from my fractious relationship with my royal sibling.
“I heard bits and pieces,” he answered. “I gather he is encouraging Jeshickah to wait before interfering with the serpiente. Your doing?”
I nodded, and briefly relayed what I had told the other mercenary.
“Be careful with Theron,” Nathaniel warned at the end. “He isn’t an idiot, and I’m sure he knows you’re trying to manipulate him. He’ll allow it as long as what you’re saying is in Midnight’s best interests, but he will turn on you fast if he catches you in a lie. So far he believes your only motivations are to protect the serpiente and yourself from Misha, but if he senses more is going on, he won’t hesitate to use either charm or violence to learn what.”
“I understand.” He had already found a way to weaken the foundation of my world with just a few words, which I now sought to confirm. “Was Farrell really hired to murder Elise Cobriana?”
“Yes, and Jeshickah was quite pleased with the outcome,” Nathaniel answered. “The serpiente believed it the work of an outlaw, but the Shantel and avians recognized it for what it was and backed down…at least for a while. Additional measures were taken later when the other queens looked like they might reconsider.”
I had always wondered how the Shantel queen could possibly have been lost in a hunting accident in her own forest. As for the avian queen, it was well known that she had suffered some form of affliction for years now, something serious enough that her daughter Miriam had taken the throne at a rather young age. That illness was assumed to be Midnight’s retaliation for something. It was exactly the kind of example Nathaniel didn’t want made of Misha and Aaron while he was trying to gather allies.
I didn’t need to know any more. “What do you want me to help Aislinn with?”
“I’m still working on how to arrange the attack itself,” Nathaniel explained, “but one thing I’ve decided is that I will need a distraction. I want to make sure Jeshickah and the trainers are too occupied to fight back until it’s too late. The only thing I can think of that would engage all of them would be some kind of major disruption among the slaves in the south wing.”
“Like a fight?” I asked, trying to imagine what it would take to get all five trainers involved.
“Like a riot,” Nathaniel said. “If I tell Aislinn to start something, she will, but she won’t get far trying to convince other slaves to act up. Can your magic help?”
I could hide the Obsidian guild camp from serpiente guards, and convince trainers to let me walk out of a room without a beating—most of the time. Could I get broken slaves to fight their masters, even for a few minutes?
“If one or two slaves act out, a trainer restrains them and throws them in a cell until they can figure out why,” I pointed out. “Broken and bred slaves are too valuable to damage unnecessarily. But if there is enough trouble that they all need to be there to subdue it, the trainers will start killing.”
Nathaniel nodded. Clearly choosing his words with care, he asked, “What do you think will happen to the slaves once Midnight falls?”
“They…” I trailed off. The Shantel had a standing policy to execute escaped slaves on sight. Would that continue after Midnight fell? All the shapeshifters would be facing scarce food and other resources this winter. They might take in broken slaves who had once been their own kin, but they wouldn’t offer the same charity to humans with whom they had no blood-ties.
“You have the Shantel as a resource, if you can use them discreetly,” Nathaniel said, taking my silence for acceptance. “They might be able to provide some kind of illusion or drug or—I don’t know. Magic isn’t my field.”
“So, you’re planning a distraction,” I said. “What about the rest? Do you have any idea yet how you’re going to make the attack itself work?”
Nathaniel nodded again, slowly. I didn’t like the expression on his face.
“Fire,” Nathaniel answered. “The prophecy says this place ends in fire, doesn’t it?”
I scowled at the vague response. “Do you have a plan?” I knew he had lied about having stronger allies than he actually had. I couldn’t remember exactly how he had phrased his statement about his grand plan—had he avoided the Shantel’s truth magic then, too?
“Do you remember what Shevaun said when Vance asked about killing Theron?” Nathaniel asked.
I nodded. The vampire at Nathaniel’s big meeting had made it clear that she would avenge Theron. “What’s his relationship to her?”
“He’s the one who changed her,” Nathaniel answered. “They used to be lovers. Most of the vampiric community is like that. Everyone has allies who would be willing to r
aze heaven and hell to avenge particular deaths. Everyone. And no matter what precautions we take, given sufficient motivation, anyone who sought revenge would be able to divine our identities.” He paused to let me consider that statement. When the trainers were dying, Jeshickah had for a while blamed the Obsidian guild; she had promised to break every member of the guild and turn Aaron into the first of her new trainers if we did not break the spell. If she died, her sisters, Acise and Katama, would probably be just as vicious with their retribution.
“You wouldn’t have taken the job if you thought it was a suicide mission,” I said. I was willing to die if necessary to destroy Midnight, but I doubted the mercenary was so self-sacrificing. He had to have a plan.
“The assignment I accepted was to destroy Midnight, and leave a path for Silver’s line to take over,” Nathaniel said. “They plan to end the slave trade, among other things. I wasn’t actually hired to kill anyone.”
“Then how—” What do you think will happen to the slaves once Midnight falls? The demonstration with Aislinn hadn’t been intended to convince people Midnight’s slaves wouldn’t help us. It had been done to show people we couldn’t help them. “You can’t kill the vampires, so you mean to destroy the…the property.” I spit out the last word. Such a bloodless, passionless way of describing people.
“You know they wouldn’t survive Midnight’s fall anyway,” Nathaniel argued. “Broken slaves, second-generation slaves, need their masters. We can’t save them.”
“You really think Jeshickah will give up just because you kill a few slaves?” I could have been one of the children Nathaniel was talking about slaughtering. Shkei. Alasdair. Misha. The last thought rocked me because it supported what Nathaniel was trying to say: it was too late to save them.
“We only need to weaken Jeshickah long enough for Silver’s line to step in and take over. And I’m not talking about ‘a few slaves,’ ” Nathaniel answered. “If we can gather a strong enough force, and distract the trainers long enough, we can gut Midnight. Every private home and property, every market and field Midnight owns, even—”
Bloodtraitor Page 12
