Bloodwitch (17 page)

He thinks I’m one of them
, I thought. The guard was speaking to me, shapeshifter to shapeshifter. Or bloodtraitor to bloodtraitor, as outsiders would call us.

Well, I
was
one of them, wasn’t I? The Azteka hadn’t offered me a glamorous life, but they had offered me a life. The Obsidian guild might only want me for my power, but they were supposedly “my own kind,” shapeshifters with whom I could have allied myself.

“What does that mean, for a slave to prove herself?” I asked.

The guard shrugged. “Well, the way trainers talk about them, a broken slave is like a work of art. She reflects on the
one who made her.” He nodded to Elisabeth. “He wouldn’t let her go out in a collar unless he trusted her to show well.”

I looked at Elisabeth, about to apologize for speaking about her so impersonally, but the expression she wore was the same placid, accepting one she had in the cell when she said she was willing to let me bleed her.

Was that how she proved herself?
I wondered.

My head was spinning, and it wasn’t from blood loss.

It was another three days before I felt ready, but as soon as I was sure I could do so safely, I rode out to the market. The blood dreams had started again the night before, but they weren’t bad enough yet to exhaust me and destroy my ability to function. I needed to have my questions answered by someone
other
than the trainers.

I wanted to speak to the pochteca.

No luck. The stall belonging to the pochteca was closed. I was staring at it forlornly when the Shantel guard who had taken care of me last time I was there stepped up beside me.

“Are you all right?” he asked.

I nodded. “I wanted to ask them something.”

“Is it something I might be able to answer for you?” he asked. “The pochteca should return in a few weeks, but they rarely answer questions from anyone they see as belonging to Midnight.”

“Why do so many people hate Midnight?” I asked. I
knew what Malachi had said, and what Jaguar had said. This man was allied with Midnight, but he was still a shapeshifter, and he saw the goings-on in the market every day. I wanted to hear every answer I could get, every point of view.

Guard or not, he answered immediately. “Because the vampires are in charge, and they’re brutal about their rule.”

“Then why do
you
work for them?”

“I’m not sure there’s a better option,” he answered. “If you’re thinking about running, kid, you should make sure you know where you intend to go. The Azteka might be willing to put you out of your misery, but they will never trust that you aren’t loyal to Midnight. The Shantel—my people—execute traitors like us on sight. The other shapeshifter nations would sell you back in a heartbeat to avoid an inconvenient moral dilemma. They all say they hate Midnight, but there’s a reason no one has really stood up against the vampires’ empire. They’re afraid of what the world might be like without it.”

“I’m worried that they’ve been lying to me,” I said softly. “Manipulating me.”

“Assuming they have been,” the guard replied, “what does that change?”

“It changes …” I trailed off. “How can I trust them?”

“Trust them or don’t. Does it matter?” he asked. “Sure, not everyone in this world is going to love you for living with the lords and ladies of Midnight, but does that
mean you’re willing to give it all up? I suggest you think it through before you commit to a life of hardship.”

“Thanks for the advice,” I said, defeated. It wasn’t the first time he had helped me, or warned me, but suddenly I realized I didn’t even know what to call him. “Uh, what’s your name?” I asked.

“Doesn’t matter,” he answered. “You should get out of here if you want to make it back to Midnight proper before dark.”

I returned home like a dog with its tail tucked between its legs. Was he right? Was I just being naïve?

Taro appeared in the stables as I brushed down my horse and put away my equipment. I didn’t want to talk to him, and he didn’t force the issue. He did shadow me back to the main building.

Taro had never asked me to be a slave. He had only asked me to be grateful and polite, just as he was. He had never hurt me. He had given me the best of everything throughout my childhood.

I turned, tears in my eyes, and Taro pulled me wordlessly into his arms.

I don’t care
, I told myself.
Is it my job to sacrifice myself, my comfort and freedom, because the world is not a good place? My selling myself to the Azteka or the Obsidian guild won’t make the evil in this world go away. It won’t make Felix live or undo Calysta’s death. Why should I hate Midnight and turn against it for giving me the privileged life denied to so many others?

I tilted my head, exposing my throat—the best apology I knew how to make. I needed to bleed, and my blood was the only gift I had to give.

Taro didn’t hesitate.

He was gentler than Jaguar had been, and when he let me go I was barely light-headed. He held my arms a moment, until we were both sure I was solid on my feet, and then said, “See? That’s what it’s supposed to be like. You still don’t want to push yourself too hard, though. I’ll walk you to your room.”

I nodded. “Thank you.”

Near my door we passed Elisabeth carrying several rolls of different-colored cloth. I had been avoiding her since that day in the stables.

She was probably on her way to the tailor, but she didn’t reach her destination; she swayed on her feet, and the rolls of cloth went tumbling down to the ground, creating a rainbow on the thick carpet. She scrambled to pick them up but collapsed to her hands and knees instead, retching dryly.

Despite my own light-headedness, I knelt to help her.

“What has he been doing to them?” Taro muttered to himself. Then he stepped forward to ask, “Girl, you’re one of Jaguar’s, aren’t you?”

She looked up and nodded sharply. “Yes, sir.”

When Taro reached out to offer her a hand, I saw her
flinch. He waited, and she eventually accepted the offer. However, the moment his skin touched hers, he frowned.

“You’re burning up,” he said. “How long have you been ill?”

“I did not realize I was, sir,” she replied, her gaze downcast.

“Get to the infirmary. Stay out of the kitchens. Leave the fabric. Send someone else to pick it up.” He delivered the swift string of commands with enough irritation in his voice to make my skin crawl. In spite of how sick she was, Elisabeth jumped to obey. “This is what happens when bleeders don’t take care of themselves,” Taro said to me after the woman had darted away. “I’ll have to check on everyone in her group to make sure she hasn’t spread it. Vance, go get some rest.”

He walked away, steps swift and posture tight. I stayed on my knees a few moments longer, trying to calm my racing heart. It was much easier to trust him like a father when he wasn’t barking orders and clearly annoyed that a human was ill.

That’s what humans do. They’re not immortal. They die from sickness, from frailty, from age
.

I didn’t want Elisabeth to die.

Maybe I could help. I couldn’t get sick, so I wouldn’t be in any danger if I volunteered in the infirmary. Maybe I could stop Elisabeth from ending up like Felix. First,
though, I needed to recover my own strength. Taro hadn’t taken as much blood as Jaguar had, but trying to move too fast still made me nauseous.

I ate a light meal and lay down for a few minutes. By the time I made it to the infirmary, Elisabeth had already been released.

“The fever broke on its own after an hour,” the healer explained. “We will keep an eye on her for a while, but the illness was mild and seems to have passed.”

Sure enough, when I saw Elisabeth the next day, she seemed fine. Having never been sick myself, I didn’t know how to judge what it meant to humans. I was glad to realize I had overreacted.

I returned to my simple life in the stables and rarely visited the main building. Horses were complex creatures, responsive to the emotions of those around them, but they weren’t manipulative. That made their company much more comfortable than that of the vampires, with all my conflicted thoughts about them.

They knew I would never use my power, but I still had my own room, which was kept magically warmed even on the most bitter winter nights. I enjoyed the work I did when I felt well enough, and the freedom I had. On one of my stronger days, when it had been a while since I had given blood, Jaguar showed me the road from Midnight proper to di’Birgetta lands. He also pointed out the branch that would have taken us to Kendra’s manor, where the
yuletide ball had taken place while I lay unconscious from the blood dreams, and implied that I could probably go next year.

That evening Jaguar introduced me to Gabriel, the trainer I had briefly seen when Malachi came to Midnight. He shared much of Jaguar’s brash nature and bluntness, which explained why the two men seemed friendly with each other, but my first impression of him was colored by the gray cells of the east wing and the way Malachi’s whole body had recoiled when Gabriel asked about his sister.

I almost said no when he asked if I would come to him the next time the blood dreams bothered me. Both Taro and Jaguar had spoken of how powerful my blood was, he said, and he would be “honored” if I was willing to share.

Honored. Really? I doubt it
. Aloud, I said, “Maybe,” which made him laugh.

“I can see why Jaguar thinks you have potential,” he observed. “You’re as much of a brat as he is.” He said it with a conspiratorial grin.

“Tell him no,” Jaguar advised once we were alone. “Gabriel doesn’t hear that word nearly often enough.”

Maybe he was right, but I was curious, so I went. It was a good excuse to see the hawk who had run from Malachi. I wanted to decide for myself whether Alasdair could really be the cold-blooded killer who had murdered his brother. All I saw when I looked at her, though, was beauty, grace, and a slave’s calm, meaningless poise.

MY PEACEFUL EXISTENCE
was full of cracks, like the copper strips holding together the colored glass in my old home. Perhaps it shouldn’t have surprised me that my new life was shattered by the same person who had ruined my last one.

It had been quite a while since I had seen or heard from Malachi, which was why my heart leapt into my throat when he interrupted my morning ride by standing in the middle of the path in front of me. His silver-white hair seemed to sparkle in the sunlight, and his violet eyes were every bit as intense and unsettling as they had ever been.

“Morning, Vance,” he greeted me.

I glanced behind me and could almost see Midnight’s stables around a bend in the road. It had been a couple of days since I had seen any of the vampires—even Mistress
Jeshickah—but I knew there were shapeshifter guards in the trees nearby.

“I wonder sometimes why you stay so close to this place, considering how much you hate it,” I said. I had no desire to get down from the horse or otherwise move any closer, even to be polite.

I started to push past him. I had my own errands to carry out, no matter what Malachi was up to. No human slaves were supposed to go to or from the main building—something about a fever and quarantine—but the blood dreams had returned two days ago, and now the horses were running low on feed. I needed to speak to one of the vampires, whether or not they were busy.

“Some power has been keeping me out of your dreams,” Malachi said as I stepped past him.

“Good,” I replied. “I don’t want you in my dreams.”

“What’s going on in Midnight? They won’t let me in.”

“Why
should
they let you in?” I demanded. “I have my own doubts these days, about a lot of things, but even I can tell you’re trouble.”

He leaned back against a tree, tilting his head up to keep an eye on me. “I hear they’ve made you into a bleeder.”

“What of it? It keeps me alive.” Donating blood didn’t hurt, and since the first time with Jaguar it had never left me feeling more than dazed for a few minutes. It was simply one more thing to add to the list of reasons that it
didn’t really make any sense to leave, no matter what Malachi said.

“Keeps you alive?” he echoed. “So they are threatening you now.”

“No one has threatened me except for you,” I pointed out. “The pochtecatl told me I needed to let blood regularly or my magic would make me ill.”

“The pochtecatl …” He frowned deeply. “Yaretzi told me she would try to heal you and see if Midnight was willing to let her buy you and bring you back to Azteka land. She wouldn’t have told the vampires to bleed you.”

“Maybe she just didn’t want me to die.”

“Your blood is
sacred
to them,” he snapped. “Well, all blood is, but yours in particular, because you have the magic. They wouldn’t feed it to those creatures.” He shut his eyes and took a deep breath. “Not unless they’ve become as corrupt as the other kingdoms. I can’t—” He broke off as a figure appeared between us. I was on my knees on the ground half a heartbeat after recognizing Mistress Jeshickah.

She was not looking at me, though, but staring at Malachi, who had frozen so still he may as well have been made of ice. When he took his next breath, it made his body tremble, as if that simple act were difficult.