Bloodtraitor (8 page)

Her guest's face registered amusement. “Do you have many of those?”

“A few. They serve their purpose, and do no harm.”

“Except when they bite?”

“
Especially
when they bite,” Jeshickah replied, laughing. She reached down to pet my hair, just as she might reach toward the cat she had referred to me as. The contact—the barest
acknowledgment
—still had the ability to thrill me just a bit. A reflex; that's all it was when my heart skipped a beat. A memory, from years when a gentle acknowledgment from this woman meant everything, meant I had a reason to exist.

“He isn't human,” Theron observed.

“Half falcon, half serpent,” Jeshickah replied. “Unfortunately, the falcon magic didn't take strongly in the product, and the father did not survive long, so I was unable to test other variations.”
Did not survive long.
My father had gone mad, as falcons tended to do even in the best of circumstances. He had nearly killed me and my mother both. It was one of my earliest memories. Jeshickah added, “He seems to have thrived better in the wild, so to speak, than he did in captivity. He has something of a leadership role in the Obsidian guild. They sold us a hawk last winter, and about a week ago they gave Nathaniel a cobra, essentially free of charge.”

The mercenary looked at me, and said, “Come here.” He was either intrigued because of my falcon heritage, or else he was accurately suspicious about my interest in their conversation—or both, of course.

Most people would have been concerned. Vampires could read thoughts.

They could read them even better when blood flowed, a fact that was not lost on me as Theron pulled me close and brushed the long strands of diamond-white hair back from my throat. He was gentler than most as he cradled the back of my head in one hand, guiding me to bare my throat.

“ARE YOU HURT?”
Shkei asked, rising to his feet. “Physically, I mean.” Anyone in this place would be hurt in spirit and heart.

As he moved closer, Shkei realized that she was too warm to be human. She had to be avian, a bird shapeshifter, which meant that someone—probably someone she knew, maybe even trusted or loved—had sold her into this place. Yes, she had been hurt.

“I'm not injured,” she answered. Her voice was soft, precise, modulated, as if she had been trained how to speak. All avians were taught to control their emotions, but her lyrical cadence hinted at further education.

He touched her cheek and she jumped, so he drew back, reminding himself that avians didn't touch casually or for comfort.

She followed, reaching for him in the darkness.

“I hate the dark,” she confided, the polished tone momentarily supplanted by something more honest. “I'm sorry. I never asked your name.”

“I'm Shkei,” he answered.

She leaned against him, so warm compared to the cold cell and loneliness. He tried not to let her hear him sigh. It was pure evil that he felt even momentarily
grateful
that another living being had been put into this hell.

Grateful…and at the same time, full of hatred as he imagined the people who had put her here.

My shame as I felt my brother's revulsion at what we had done to Alasdair far outweighed any discomfort I had about giving blood, though among freeblood shapeshifters I was in the minority.

Others often saw giving blood to be a shameful act, but it meant nothing more to me than sweeping a floor or cooking a meal in this place would have. It helped that, unlike most people, I had no reason to fear the mental invasion that often accompanied it. The particular mixture in my blood turned my mind to a swirling, hallucinogenic vortex—Jaguar's description, from years ago—from which no thoughts could be read.

The pain was brief.

The pleasure of having one's blood drawn was sweet, and seemed to last forever. The touch of the mercenary's mind was enough to make it clear he was from the artists' line despite his profession. He did his best to roll my mind, and I went into the haze willingly, letting myself drift in currents of music and light and color without concern.

When it ended, I regained myself quickly. A vampire's hold could not begin to touch the whispers of a falcon's magic, which I needed to navigate and ignore every instant of my life. Quite the opposite, since most vampires who tasted my blood tended to become incautious and impulsive afterward.

Theron fell backward into the soft, welcoming armchair, releasing me too late to keep me from toppling briefly onto his lap before I righted myself and found a seat on the floor instead. His hand followed me, as if seeking more, and I felt his fingers idly toying with my hair.

I leaned toward him with a silent sigh, justifying it as a means of further dulling his suspicions, though I had personal motives as well. Since Farrell had brought me into the Obsidian guild, I had been raised in a culture that valued touch, but when I was a child, skin-to-skin contact had always brought overwhelming visions. By the time I could control my visions, even newcomers to the guild viewed me as something different, a half-falcon prophet instead of a person, untouchable and remote.

Theron said to Jeshickah, “
That's
why you keep him around.”

“That, too,” she answered with a soft smile.

“I will have to save a deeper drink for another time, though, since we still have work to discuss.”

Jeshickah nodded.

“First order,” she said. “I want you to deliver a message to Brina. If she leaves us for Silver's empire, I do expect her to leave behind all property that is not explicitly hers, which does include the ‘staff' she borrowed from here and the slaves she has been using as models. Also remind her that her greenhouse is on our land, and subject to destruction should she decide that she does not require our alliance any longer.”

The mercenary nodded. Though he seemed more physically relaxed than he had been, I did not doubt that his mind was following every command.

I also had no doubt that Brina would back down after hearing Jeshickah's warnings. The greenhouse was an elaborate affair covering more than an acre, made of a combination of clear and stained glass laid out in dramatic panels, with occasional mesh windows to allow the passage of fresh air. It had been built by Midnight as part of their attempt to raise an Azteka bloodwitch—Vance—in such a beautiful cage that he never realized he was a slave. I suppressed a smile as I imagined seeing it demolished.

The conversation continued along those lines for the next few minutes, with Jeshickah leveling ultimatums against several other members of Kendra's line. I didn't know all the names mentioned, but the overall message was clear:
someone
was fighting for leadership of the vampires. Jeshickah took the threat only seriously enough to make sure her people knew what they would be losing if they tried to defect.

After Theron had been dismissed and Jeshickah had left, I stood. Carefully. I hadn't lost much blood, but it still took a moment for my head to clear.

I had so much I wanted to talk to Nathaniel about, and absolutely no way to contact him until he deigned to come find me. In the meantime, it was nearly sunrise, I was hungry and exhausted, and unlike Vance my occasional visits here did not involve luxurious accommodations.

At least food was plentiful. I helped myself to stew and bread in the kitchen, unchallenged by any of the guards or the broken slaves, who moved around me with wary glances but would not speak unless spoken to first.

I wondered if I should offer to bring the meals down to the west wing, come sundown. The vampires' personal slaves and current projects would eat—or not, as the trainers chose. Ashley and Hara would need food. Bringing it to them might give me a chance to see—

Leave that alone,
I tried to tell myself.
It's not worth a beating, or worse, just to get a glimpse of them and make yourself feel like scum.

Even so, my feet brought me to the west wing, where the mercenary who had met with Jeshickah earlier was just reaching his room.

“Theron?” I said. My understanding was that Theron rarely dealt with slaves, and did not like to be addressed by a title.

He nodded. “Jeshickah tells me you're behind Midnight's recent acquisition of ruling powers from the avians, Shantel, and serpiente.”

“I wouldn't put it quite that way.”

“Jeshickah does have her own, unique outlook on the world,” the mercenary remarked as he unlocked the door to his room. “Come in.”

I wasn't sure if the words were meant to be an invitation or an order, but I obeyed, curious. Theron was supposedly a powerhouse of information, involved in everything. Did he know about the plot against Midnight already?

“Congratulations on your sister's rise to power,” Theron remarked as he removed his boots and unbuttoned the cuffs of his shirt, making himself comfortable. “I hear that Aaron is pushing to have the coronation ceremony as soon as possible.”

The words were spoken casually, but they had the potential to be a trap, so I was careful in my response.

“I am glad Misha was able to persuade him,” I answered vaguely, wondering if plans had moved ahead since Misha sent me away or if Theron was commenting on the negotiations Aaron had already been making to ensure her safe rise to the throne.

Moving on from that subject, Theron asked, “Can I get you anything to drink?”

I nodded, mostly to be polite, and to conceal my unease and confusion. I could cover why I had walked into this room with the fact that he had
told
me to, so I was not worried that he could learn anything through my behavior thus far.

“Obedient slave” was an easy role to play, if one had a mind to. People talked around and over slaves, or even at them, without much concern. But they did not usually talk
to
them, and the other thing I knew about Theron was that he did not bother with slaves. So what did he want with me?

Did he suspect I was up to something? If so, did he have any idea how big a plot I was involved with? I didn't know any details about Nathaniel's plan, but the fact that there
was
a plan and one of Jeshickah's own line was orchestrating it was the kind of information Theron regularly bought and sold. If I were willing to betray Nathaniel—not to mention every shapeshifter ever dominated by Midnight—I could probably turn a few words into a small fortune. With Theron as middleman, I would probably even survive to enjoy my rewards.

Did he sense that opportunity for profit? If he did, what was he willing to do to get it? Or was I jumping at shadows? I was the brother of the soon-to-be serpiente queen. That could make me a valuable contact, too.

I tried to wait patiently, telling myself it would be better to let Theron lead the conversation, but anxiety got the best of me. I asked, with only a hint of irritation, “Is there a particular reason you asked me to come in?”

He handed me one of the two glasses, and I took a cautious sip. The drink tasted vaguely like spicy mulled cider.

“Should there be?” Theron replied.

This is why I hate mercenaries,
I thought. Did he know something or not?

“If you're hoping I can help you connect with Aaron's soon-to-be queen,” I said, “I'm afraid I will not be much help. Our relationship is a bit strained at the moment.”

“I gathered, despite your evasion earlier. What seems to be the problem?”

This man was too powerful to lie to on a subject that it was very likely he could and would confirm, so I admitted, “Not all of us were behind the plan to send Hara to Midnight.”

“What brought you around?”

I doubted the question was even remotely casual, even if he appeared perfectly comfortable as he relaxed in one of the armchairs, leaving me standing awkwardly nearby.

“What…” I contemplated the question. Again, there was information this man might have, so I was honest
enough.
Jeshickah already knew about the prophecy, though she didn't believe in it, beyond its ability to manipulate people into doing things in her favor. “I'm familiar with your reputation. I'm sure you know the prophecy that Farrell was following from the day he bought me to the day he died. That prophecy said that Misha must take the throne. Whether or not it's true, it was Farrell's living goal and dying wish. The means may or may not have justified the ends, but they were the only means I knew.”

“You sound like you have your doubts as to whether or not the prophecy will come true.”

I shrugged. “I'm the one who said it, but I'm fallible, and falcon prophecies only show what
might
be, not what
must
be.”

“But you still hope it's true.”

“Of course I hope it's true,” I whispered. Part of Jeshickah's arrogance was that she didn't care who spoke up against her as long as their actions didn't interfere with her empire, so I had no reason to lie. I wasn't telling Theron anything Midnight didn't already know, but for some reason the words made him smile.

He said, “And yet you're here.”

“And yet I'm here,” I repeated with a frustrated sigh. Theron had been a mercenary for hundreds of years. I wasn't going to trick him into saying anything he didn't already plan to tell me, so he might as well get to the point already. “And I don't know
why,
so if you wouldn't mind explaining—”

He cut me off with a raised hand reaching in my direction, and the words, “Come here.”

Was that the only reason he had asked me in—because I had demonstrated that I was not averse to being a bleeder? Now that he was not obligated to be professional and controlled, now that it was sunrise and time to relax, he was willing to let down his guard.