Bloodkin

by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes

  “THIS ISN’T EASY on Lucas,” Marcel said as I hesitated outside the Family receiving chamber, trying to plan my next move. “It isn’t fair of you to bait him.”

  She had heard my bitter words, and Lucas’s nasty response. Of course she would defend him. He was her prince; he could do no wrong in her eyes.

  “A lot of things aren’t fair,” I replied bitterly, without giving Marcel the benefit of a proper greeting or even looking her in the face. Some wounds were too old, and too deep. “I don’t recall that stopping you.”

  I headed toward the building, which held the common hearth. As long as I was stuck here, I might as well use their food supplies instead of my own. Making a meal and eating it would at least keep me occupied for a while.

  “If I hadn’t taken you away,” Marcel said, matching her pace to mine, “you would have died among the humans. I was barely able to keep you alive long enough to get you back to our fleshwitch.”

  I bit my tongue, because I knew she was right about that—damn it—but I didn’t have it in me to forgive her. She had stolen me out of church while my mother was speaking to the pastor.

  “I thought once you met your own people—”

  “My own people,” I snapped, spinning to face her, “were my father and mother, the man and woman you dismissed like worthless baggage when you took me away. I never even had a chance to say goodbye!”

  Marcel drew back in the face of my fury. I expected her to shout at me. I wanted her to shout, because a screaming argument would have been so satisfying in that moment. Instead, her expression fell and she sighed. “I am not sorry that I saved your life, Kadee, but I am sorry your time among the serpiente has been so hard. I do not know how you fell in with the Obsidian guild, but if it matters, I am proud of you for standing up to them now. I understand—”

  “Excuse me?” Confusion and shock twined now with my irritation.

  “I’ve heard the stories,” Marcel answered softly. “I know that Malachi and Farrell betrayed us to Midnight. It is very brave of you to come here to help us. It is also understandable that you are suddenly longing for another life and other kinships.”

  I started to speak up to defend the Obsidian guild, then snapped my mouth closed again as I considered. The royal family had learned of the full situation from the sakkri, but apparently those leaders hadn’t felt it necessary to tell the truth to the rest of their people. However, Marcel obviously also assumed I was defying my guild now, probably because the sakkri would never have brought me here if I were a threat.

  “You are no longer a child,” Marcel continued, as if I weren’t standing there flabbergasted. “If all you need is sanctuary and protection from the Obsidian guild, you can find that here. If you truly believe you were better off among humans, than I will invite you to accompany me the next time I travel east. Humans rarely travel far; we should be able to locate your … parents. But I ask you to first consider carefully; the life of a young human woman is far less free than the one you have known among shapeshifters.”

  For a moment, the offer took me completely off guard. Home. I could go home.

  It’s not home anymore, I reminded myself. Home these days was a campfire in the wild woods, surrounded by my Obsidian kin. Still … the idea of going home and seeing my parents again was appealing. I imagined standing before my father and telling him, “I remember everything you taught me about kings and freedom and responsibility. I was only a child when I saw you last, but—”

  The brief daydream shattered as I tried to imagine explaining shapeshifters, witches, and vampires to my parents. Would they accept me back, or would they scream and run in horror from a monster?

  If Marcel had been right, and I really was running from the Obsidian guild, the allure of going back to my human family would have been irresistible. I didn’t need to stay forever, but a chance to tell my parents I was alive and they should be proud of me was more than I had ever imagined possible. For now, though, I had responsibilities to the family I had found in this land.

  I didn’t owe Marcel an explanation, but maybe she could help me with another question that had been needling me ever since we traded Alasdair for Misha.

  “Do you believe in prophecy?” I asked.

  A wanderwitch wasn’t necessarily an expert, but the Shantel culture was rooted in the notion that the sakkri’s judgment should be followed without question precisely because of her ability to see into the webs of prophecy. That meant everyone within that world should know a little about magic, right?

  “Yes,” Marcel answered without hesitation, though she sounded puzzled by the shift in topic. Perhaps she didn’t know how much of my life in the Obsidian guild had been guided by words of the future. Even our sins—especially our sins—had been committed in the pursuit of Malachi’s prophecy.

  “And you believe they always come true?” I asked.

  “Yes, always,” Marcel said, “but they do not always come true the way we expect.”

  “Then if a prophecy predicts something very important, at what point do the ends justify the means in fulfilling it?”

  We had sold Alasdair to save one of our own, but that alone wouldn’t have driven us to slave-trading … I hoped. Far more important than the life of one person was the fact that Misha was supposed to destroy Midnight. How could she do that, if we allowed it to destroy her?

  More hesitantly now, Marcel said, “These are questions that would be better asked of the—”

  “I don’t want to talk to the sakkri,” I interrupted. “I want to know what you think.”

  “Well.” She paused, considering my words. “I think you misunderstand prophecy. What is foretold will come to pass. Fighting to make prophecy true or false is a fool’s errand. On the other hand, as I understand it, these things do not always mean what we think they will. It’s …” She shook her head. “I’m sorry. I know only as much as any Shantel. If the sakkri gave you a prophecy you do not like, then I suggest that you talk to her.”

  I frowned, and leaned back against the wall of the Family home. “This prophecy isn’t from the sakkri,” I said.

  “Oh.” She immediately brightened, as if that answered the question all on its own. “In that case, concern yourself with the reliability of the prophet, not with the prophecy.”

  The prophecy around which we had done so much had been spoken by a child who had been judged too mentally unstable to keep as a slave. Jeshickah had sold Malachi and his white-viper mother to Farrell Obsidian for a pittance, after deciding they were worthless to her.

  Marcel put a hand on my shoulder, probably intending to be comforting. “If a prophecy is true, what it foretells will come to pass. If it is false, then that, too, will sort itself out. In the meantime … will you consider my offer? I do feel responsible for you, Kadee.”

  I pulled away from her, nodding absently to acknowledge her words. I even managed a rough “Thank you. I—”

  I lost my train of thought as I noticed Shane. He was sitting at the base of a tree with his knees up to his chest, his arms resting across them, and his head down. He didn’t seem to be crying, but exhaustion and defeat were obvious in his posture.

  My preference would have been to back away quietly, but he looked up at us and then beckoned me over, saying, “Come sit with me, Kadee?”

  Spending time chatting with the man we were working to sell into slavery was not high on my list of things I wanted to do, but he had done as much for me, once.

  Marcel hung back as I approached the younger Shantel prince.

  “Vance went,” I said, unwilling to be more explicit. Shane would know why. “He told me to stay here.”

  “To watch me.”

  “To get me out of the way,” I admitted. “He … isn’t happy with our guild at the moment … or with himself, I think, and the whole idea of going to Midnight.”

  “I feel the same way,” Shane sighed.

  I sat beside him, leaning against the wide tree trunk and trying to think of somet
hing to say that wouldn’t sound stupid. I checked my instinct to jerk away when he reached out and put a hand over mine, on my knee. Shantel touched even more than serpiente. Pulling away would have been cruel.

  I couldn’t talk about the present or the future, so I reached into the past instead. “I don’t think I ever said thank you.”

  “For?”

  I spent so much time feeling angry and defensive that I had never become very good at expressing gratitude. I stumbled over my words as I tried to explain. “When Marcel first brought me here, you were … kind. In a way no one else was.”

  “Oh.” He smiled, though it had a sad tilt to it. “It wasn’t entirely selfless. Your fear gave me nightmares.”

  “My … what?” Apparently, he was no better with accepting thanks than I was at offering it.

  “Part of Shantel magic is our tie to the land and the people on it,” Shane explained. “The royal house has a stronger tie than most, and I have always had a particularly strong ability, even when it comes to outsiders. I can tell you if an intruder crosses the boundary of the Family Courtyard, or if a woman goes into labor … or if a child in the healer’s hut is terrified.” He shrugged. “It took years of study in the temple before I could master that magic, and back when you came to us, I was still a child myself. I couldn’t block your nightmares from my mind, but music made them go away.”

  The fact that the act had been partly selfish didn’t make it mean any less to me. I was about to say so when another thought crossed my horrified mind.

  “Is that ability limited to Shantel land?” I asked. “Or will it happen anywhere you go?”

  “To varying degrees, it is the case with any land I am in. Beyond my own people, it happens the most with the serpiente, since they are a somewhat empathic race themselves,” he explained. “I sense almost nothing when I visit avian land, because their people are very guarded with their emotions. I have never been to Midnight.”

  He said the last bit flatly, but it was clear he knew why I had asked, and that the thought had already crossed his mind—probably repeatedly.

  I tried to imagine what it would be like to sense the emotions of the scores of slaves inside Midnight’s walls. So much pain, terror, and despair.

  “Isn’t there any way for you to fight?” I blurted out. “One of your witches used Vance to nearly kill every trainer in that building!” His eyes widened, and I saw the warning in them, as if discussing this—even here—was too dangerous. I lowered my voice, but pressed on. “You’re acting like you’re helpless, but everyone knows how powerful Shantel magic is. You—”

  I broke off, realizing that if the Shantel did have some plan to fight Midnight, they probably wouldn’t want to tell me about it.

  Shane shook his head. “Our magic isn’t well suited for battle. Even a bladewitch weighs every action against the balance of natural life and death when he hunts for meat in the forest.”

  “What about a deathwitch?” I asked. The witch who had poisoned Vance’s blood had implied that he had power over the vampires because of their strange un-life.

  “Among our people, deathwitches prepare the dead for burial,” Shane said. “They help souls find their way to the next world, and comfort those who remain behind and mourn. They aren’t warriors, or assassins.”

  “But one of them did find a way to fight,” I pointed out.

  “Ask Rachel about her craft if you wish,” Shane suggested. “She is our current deathwitch. Perhaps a child of Obsidian can find a way to plot treason where we law-abiding fools are blind.”

  If there was a secret plot, I decided, Shane didn’t know of it either. Did I dare pursue such a dangerous task myself? The alternative was sitting back and doing nothing.

  I had to at least ask the question.

  Shane gave me directions to a clearing at the edge of the courtyard, where a woman was sitting, playing a flute. Her eyes seemed focused on the fire before her, which burned inside a circle of stones whose outsides were milky white, in stark contrast with the soot-black sides facing the flames.

  The tune was melancholy, which matched my mood, and the serpent in me could not resist watching the hypnotic movement of the fire, the woman, and the instrument swaying. I sat beside her and waited to be acknowledged, watching the way her fingers danced on the flute. Black marks decorated the backs of her hands.

  “Who are you mourning?” she asked me as the song came to a close.

  “Mourning?” I asked. “I’m sorry. Is this some kind of memorial? I didn’t mean to intrude.”

  I imagined I would always hold some bitterness toward the Shantel, but I would never knowingly intrude on a private ritual.

  “You are not intruding,” she replied. “You are replying. So I ask you, whom do you mourn? The music would not call to you for any other reason.”

  “I’m not mourning anyone,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you about …” I trailed off. Was I really about to tell a complete stranger that I had once been involved in an assassination attempt that had nearly killed Jeshickah herself? And I wanted to try again?

  The witch’s eyes widened slightly, and she said, “I can only hope that his rest is peaceful. I cannot go to that place to help guide him back to our land. I do not think Midnight even buries its dead.”

  “I think they burn them,” I said, my mouth suddenly pasty. She was talking about the deathwitch I had been thinking about. “Can you read my mind?”

  “No,” she answered, “but I can feel the deaths that you have known, especially when your mind turns to them. Two of your deaths occurred in Midnight’s cells.”

  I frowned. The witch had been the only … “Oh,” I whispered as I realized who she meant. “Shkei. I wasn’t there when he died.”

  “Your heart was,” she answered. “You mourn for him.”

  “Can you tell me anything about him?” I asked. I didn’t really want to hear about my friend’s grisly demise at a trainer’s hands, but if he had to die alone, how could I shut out the details?

  “He wasn’t alone,” the deathwitch said.

  “He was with the trainer, I assume.” That wasn’t any better.

  “No.” Staring deep within the fire, she said, “He was with someone who cared about him. Someone he cared about.”

  Misha? No—she had been back with us by the time Malachi told us Shkei was dead.

  “I’m sorry,” the witch said. “I know nothing more.”

  That was fine. Mourning the dead was important, but I would far rather save the living, if I could. “Do you know about the spell the other deathwitch created, to poison the vampires?”

  She winced. “Yes,” she said, barely a whisper. “So many deaths. I felt them all. I do not know how one of us could have crafted such a poison. It is a perversion of our power to destroy any life, even one we despise.”

  So much for hoping she would try again, I thought.

  “They were all children once, you know,” the deathwitch said, again looking away from me. “Even the mighty Jeshickah was born human. The trainer known as Jaguar has a blood-sister among the Azteka who cannot help but seek the brother she once knew. The one known as Gabriel is as dark a villain as any of us can imagine, but they say he loves his hawk.”

  Alasdair. The woman we sold. “His slave, you mean.”

  “I do,” she agreed. “He loves her, nonetheless. But he is broken, and does not know how to love something and let it be free at the same time.”

  “Are you trying to convince me the trainers aren’t evil?” I asked incredulously. With her own prince on the brink of belonging to them, how could she make such a claim?

  “They are evil,” the witch said flatly. “But once, they were children. I cannot prophesy the future, the way the sakkri can, but I can see and mourn what they might have been, if they had not been twisted into what they are.”

  Can you see who Alasdair would have been, if we hadn’t sold her into that place? What about Misha—who would she have been, if she had never enter
ed those stone walls?

  I didn’t ask. Some questions were better left unanswered.

  I TRIED TO conceal my frustration as I returned to Shane, though I realized it was probably futile. What was the point of prophecy, of magic, if it did nothing to help us? I was sick of saying “someday, things will be better,” but not being able to do anything!

  “Your people have spent centuries refusing to bow to Midnight,” I told him. “You can’t convince me they’ve never threatened you before. How is this time different?”

  “Part of Midnight’s hold on people is its rigid adherence to its own laws,” Shane answered. “As long as Midnight doesn’t cross its own lines, obeying the vampires’ laws remains safer than standing against them. Submission ensures safety and survival, while rebellion … well.” He shook his head. “Midnight could never bring its full force against us without breaking its own rules. Arbitrarily crushing us would send a message to everyone else they rule that there is no safety in obedience. It would ensure an uprising.”

  “But now Midnight can blame you,” I said, filling in the blanks. “You struck first.”

  “So they can strike back as hard as they want,” Shane replied. “They cannot afford to back down, not when they say we tried to assassinate the trainers.”

  “You’re really going to go through with this?” I asked stupidly. Did he have any other choice?

  “Sometimes, there are fights you can’t win.” He sighed heavily. “We tried to stall and wheedle our way out of this, and Amber paid the price. She was just a merchant delivering a message, but when Midnight stopped playing around, she was the one within their reach.” His gaze slid to me, and I saw the wry acknowledgement in it. “I suppose that’s the kind of sin a child of Obsidian expects from a prince. The Family played power games while inside this forest, and let one of our subjects pay the price. We should have protected her.”

  What could I say to that? You should never have let one of your people try to fight Midnight. Or, You should have rolled over the moment Midnight asked for payment and given them anything they asked. Those options weren’t any better. You should never have hoped to win. I couldn’t believe that.