“—can’t you try—”
I was vaguely aware of figures leaning over me, but they were dim and colorless, fighting with the fire and the shadows, which seemed so much more vivid.
I lost my tenuous grasp on the real world and sank back into nightmares.
I woke again, this time on a little bed in an unfamiliar room that smelled of herbs, with an underlying odor of rotten blood. I knew that last scent too well. It was as if my dreams followed me, even when I opened my eyes.
I tried to push myself into a sitting position, but I was still too weak.
Just turning my head was enough to wind me. Once I had, I found that I was not alone.
Jaguar was standing in the doorway, his expression blank and unreadable. He was looking in my direction, but did not seem to be seeing me.
Sitting beside me was Yaretzi, the pochtecatl who had tried to drag me back to the market. She looked at me when I turned my head but did not meet my gaze before looking back down.
My arm was stretched out, extending past the edge of the bed. Yaretzi was holding my wrist just below two cuts in the skin of my forearm, which were dripping blood into a gold basin she held in her other hand.
“A bloodwitch is a holy vessel, dedicated to carrying Malinalxochitl’s magic,” she said, looking only at the flow of blood and the elaborate beaten-metal basin in which she gathered it. “When we come of age, we make sacrifice at the temple. Our kin make prayers on our behalf, and after that, Malinalxochitl hears us. We sacrifice our blood to her, and she allows us the use of her magic.
“This boy was never dedicated. Sacrifice was made; someone near him was bled, violently, probably fatally, and so his magic woke.” Calysta. Felix. I had seen enough blood and violence to last me a lifetime, it seemed, but I didn’t comment as she continued. “But the proper rites were not observed. The vessel was profaned. He does not give sacrifice, so the magic just builds within him, and he has no way to direct it. Without kin to guide him, he never will.”
“What can you do?” Jaguar asked.
“I gave sacrifice with his blood,” she answered. “That will quiet the magic for a little while.” She put a hand over my hand. “Ehecatl, Malachi Obsidian tells me you were raised in this world and have never been given the opportunity to choose another. Now the vampires tell me that by their laws you are freeblood. So I will give you this one chance. I will speak on your behalf if you choose to leave here and join our people. Given your espoused loyalties you would not be allowed to study your magic, but you could have a place working in one of the lower households. Malinalxochitl’s priests and priestesses will see that your magical needs are met.”
“You would take one of your holy bloodwitches and make him a servant to your lowest caste?” Jaguar demanded, outraged. “And every few days, he will graciously be allowed to trek to the temple that should have been his birthright, so individuals who should have been his equals may bleed him?”
“It would save his life,” Yaretzi replied flatly. “It is more than we would normally offer a traitor who has lived inside these walls.”
“Does he just need to bleed?”
The question caused her gaze to shoot up and regard him with cold fury.
“I’ve never been a religious man,” Jaguar commented as the silence stretched. “I’m not afraid of offending your goddess.”
She stood, her back stiff. “I’ve done what I came here to do.”
“So I’m right,” Jaguar said as she pushed past him. “You don’t want to admit it, but you don’t dare lie to me, either. He doesn’t need to become a slave in the Azteka empire in order to survive. He just needs to bleed.”
“I am done here,” she said again.
This time Jaguar moved out of the way, and Yaretzi left without another word or glance my way.
Sighing, Jaguar closed the door behind her. When he looked at me, his eyes once more held the kind sympathy I had grown used to from him recently. But I had seen that blank, uncaring expression earlier, hadn’t I? Which one was real?
“You had a close call, Vance,” he told me. “Our healers could do nothing for you. Malachi Obsidian somehow sensed your condition and brought the pochtecatl to us.”
“I suppose I should thank him,” I said. Once again the serpent-falcon crossbreed had come to my rescue. This time I had needed it.
“He seems to be laboring under the impression that you are a slave,” Jaguar remarked. “He keeps offering to buy you.”
“He’s fixated on me.” I thought about Malachi, his odd obsession with me, and his warnings about what would happen once the vampires knew I would never be able to use my magic. “Do you believe the pochteca, that I can’t ever use my magic?”
“Malachi’s father’s people said he would never have magic, either,” Jaguar replied. “They said his father’s magic was bound and could not be passed down, and that a half-breed falcon, or any falcon born outside their empire, would never survive infancy. Yet he seems to have survived, and if serpiente rumors are to be believed, the Obsidian guild started to demonstrate interesting magic once Malachi came of age.”
“He was really born a slave?” I asked. He had told me as much, but I had scarcely considered it. A slave was a slave. It was hard to imagine one becoming anything different.
Jaguar nodded. “Farrell Obsidian, the man who leads that guild, bought Malachi when he was a child. It was apparently a good investment for him. I can understand why he now seeks to purchase you, too. With a bloodwitch’s power on his side, he wouldn’t need to fear serpiente law.”
I frowned. It had never occurred to me that Malachi might be working on someone else’s behalf. Could he be pointing the finger at Midnight and all the while wanting me for the exact same reason? “What is the Obsidian guild?” I asked.
“A band of serpiente outlaws,” Jaguar replied. “We know them well here because the serpiente king considers Midnight a convenient place to dispose of criminals.”
“Like Malachi’s brother?” I asked.
Jaguar nodded.
“How did he die?” Had they—we, if I considered myself one of Midnight’s people—killed him?
“Another slave killed him. The hawk. I believe you’ve seen her.”
“Why?” I asked, with the same horror I had felt when Malachi had first told me of his brother’s death.
“She’s a bird. He’s a snake. The two races were always at war. If it weren’t for Midnight’s laws keeping the peace on our lands now, the market would be total chaos.” He took a deep breath and shook his head, as if frustrated. “But never mind all that. We need to think about what to do with you. Why didn’t you tell me you were ill? The pochtecatl says you must have had symptoms for several days, if you were this far gone.”
“I … there was so much going on,” I said, but the excuse sounded feeble given the extreme results.
“It was a very irresponsible decision to go riding when you knew you were exhausted and distracted. In addition to your own safety, you’re directly responsible for the loss of one of Mistress Jeshickah’s prime breeding dams. By the time we found Dika, she had been limping on a fractured leg for hours. She wasn’t salvageable.”
“I’m … sorry.” I whispered the words, because my throat had tightened.
“Don’t waste your apologies on me,” Jaguar replied. “As soon as you’re well enough to walk, Jeshickah expects to see you.”
Every beast here is more precious to Jeshickah than you or I.
Jeshickah has given me permission to teach you to ride.
She had trusted me with this privilege, and I had abused it. How many times had Felix warned me that horses responded to emotions, and I must never approach one unless I was calm? How many times had he cautioned me to keep my attention on my task?
I remembered Mistress Jeshickah kneeling in front of Dika, leaving herself open to the witch’s attack, because she was so concerned with her beloved horse. Now my carelessness had led to its death. Would my punishment be any
less severe than Felix’s?
The makeshift sickroom turned out to be in one of the cabins where the other stable hands lived and did their work. Yaretzi, Jaguar explained, had refused to enter the main building no matter how sick I was.
Though it only took a few minutes, my heavy steps and nervous heart made the walk to Midnight proper, and then to Mistress Jeshickah’s rooms, seem like it took days. Jaguar returned to his room and left me on my own. I was trembling by the time I knocked on the door.
A slave let me into Mistress Jeshickah’s study and told me to wait. I stood in the middle of the elegant room, staring at the heavy black door on the opposite side. It was almost exactly like the one in Jaguar’s rooms, and I suspected the same thing existed beyond it: a cell, like the one where Jaguar had run his “experiment” with Elisabeth.
When that door opened I sank to my knees.
The witch who had assaulted Mistress Jeshickah was chained against the wall, his tanned skin bruised and bloodied. Why is he still here? I wondered, trying not to stare. I had expected … I didn’t know what I had expected her to do with him, after he had tried to take the life of the Mistress of Midnight. I didn’t know what should be done with him.
“I don’t have time for you right now,” Mistress Jeshickah said bluntly, “so I will be brief, you will listen and obey, and then you will leave. Your carelessness cost me one of my favorite horses. My first inclination was to put you down as well, or at least grant Malachi’s request to buy you, but Jaguar spoke on your behalf. He still thinks you have value, and I do still owe you a reward in exchange for your actions during the fight, so I will give you an opportunity to show your merit.
“You will take over the duties of the slave who is attending to Felix’s tasks. Prove to me that you are worthy of my trust and my leniency, and your situation will improve. Fail me again, and your life will become far worse than you can imagine.”
She turned her back on me and returned to the cell and the witch chained within. At the threshold she paused and glanced back over her shoulder.
“Or you could run,” she said. “You are freeblood. Leave, and no one will chase you. You will also never be allowed to return.”
When the door shut behind her, my breath flew out in a whoosh.
My skin was still intact. Yes, I had been demoted, but not permanently. She was giving me a chance.
Besides, where else could I go? To the Obsidian guild, which apparently wanted me for my power, so they could continue their fight with another king in another civilization? To the Azteka, who would let me serve them, forever a distrusted traitor, who was only allowed inside their walls out of pity? I would stay, and I would earn back Jaguar’s trust and Mistress Jeshickah’s.
I THREW MYSELF into my work. I started my day with breakfast for myself and for the horses, then spent the hours until sundown brushing, washing, mucking, and sweeping.
In the next few days, I grew calluses on my fingers and muscles in my arms. I moved from my room in the north wing to a loft in the stables where Felix had previously lived. Others might think it was a step down in living quarters, but the wooden walls, soft breezes, and open air reminded me of my childhood in the greenhouse. One of the stable cats slept on my feet, and I once again woke to the music of songbirds greeting the dawn outside.
For the first time since I had left the greenhouse, the nightmares were gone, which meant that despite all the hard work I felt better than I had since coming to Midnight proper.
I saw Mistress Jeshickah whenever she took one of the horses out to ride. She rarely spoke to me directly, but I saw the approval in her gaze when she saw the attention I gave to my task. After the second day she gave me permission to ride again—short trips, when the horses needed to be exercised, but it was enough encouragement for me.
A little less than a week later, the blood nightmares returned. I knew the treatment for them was a simple one, and I contemplated pursuing it myself. There were plenty of sharp tools in the stables’ workroom.
I didn’t dare bleed there, though. Blood attracted rats and flies, both dangerous pests in a stable.
Besides, my blood had value. To the Azteka it was holy. Here, it was a gift I could give to those who had raised me. Sacrifice, I thought, but not to the Azteka goddess Malinalxochitl. I had seen Calysta give blood many times; Lady Brina had said that a shapeshifter’s blood was powerful and inspiring, richer than a human’s. Surely mine would be worth something.
I didn’t dare approach Mistress Jeshickah, but I found the nerve to go to Jaguar. I wasn’t worried about the blood donation itself. Calysta had always walked away fine—
Until she killed herself.
No. That hadn’t had anything to do with Lady Brina feeding on her. Calysta had given blood on dozens of occasions, perhaps hundreds, in the time I had known her. I still didn’t understand why she had killed herself. I thought it had something to do with Malachi and the painting. But it wasn’t because of the blood.
But who was I to propose this to Jaguar?
A free man, I thought. If I were a slave, they would all know they could just take what they wanted. It was my right to offer—or refuse—as I chose.
“My blood has too much power,” I said to Jaguar, my voice wavering just a little. “If I understand right, I could just take a knife and let the blood fall into the dirt somewhere and I would be fine. But I’d rather not waste it. Unless you think it should be so.”
Jaguar didn’t hesitate long. He pushed my hair gently off my throat, but the grip he used to hold me in place was harder than it needed to be. I wasn’t going to try to escape.
Unless it hurt?
I tensed and tried to brace myself, thinking that even if it did hurt I wouldn’t struggle.
There was a pinching feeling at my throat at first, but that went away quickly. The bite itself grew numb, though a tingling sensation spread across the rest of my body. I had to fight to keep still, not because I was in pain, but because it tickled, especially in places like my wrists, where I normally felt my pulse. I wanted to scratch at that spot, but Jaguar was holding on to my arms in a way that kept me from doing so.
Jaguar often laughed, but after he pulled back I heard him giggle for the first time.
He dropped me negligently, so that I nearly fell, and I almost objected before he stumbled back and his shoulders hit the wall with a thud. With his eyes closed and his head bowed, he bit his lip and took a deep breath, as if he were struggling to control himself.
Then he giggled again and slid down until he was sitting on the floor.
Dizzy, I decided I would join him, but he waved me away.
“No, go,” he said. “Get out of here, or I’ll take too much. You …” He trailed off and shook his head. “I guess you might be worth keeping around after all. Go, go, go. Wait. Go to the kitchens. You should eat something. They’ll know what to give you. Then lie down for a while. Don’t go back to work today. I took more than I should have.”
He didn’t seem worried, just cautious, so only one thought crossed my mind after all those instructions: Free time? Apparently I had done something right.
I stumbled and slid my way down to the kitchens, fighting occasional spells of dizziness. Despite my excitement for free time, I ended up eating and drinking what they gave me mechanically. I didn’t have the energy to go back to my room above the stables, so I let them put me to bed in one of the vacant cots in the east wing.
If I had dreams, they disappeared into the mist when I opened my eyes.
I was still a little groggy when I woke, and very thirsty, but the nameless, voiceless humans who lingered around me provided everything I wanted before I even asked for it. Once I felt capable of walking, and my attendants declared it safe for me to do so, I wasn’t sure where to go.
What did I want to do? In the greenhouse as well as here, I hadn’t ever had many hobbies beyond my chores. I didn’t dare ride, not when my head still felt a little floaty if I moved too fast.
I should check on Felix, I decided, and Elisabeth.
I wasn’t sure where to find Felix, so I started in the infirmary. They would know when he had been released, and might know where he had gone to work. Barefoot and wild-haired, I padded down the hall.
It was midday, a time when most vampires slept, and even the infirmary was quiet. There was one sleepy-eyed slave present, who greeted me with a nod and a “sir,” but otherwise the main room was empty. The bloody water and cloths used to wash Felix’s wounds had been cleaned up, and all the herbs, poultices, and salves were arranged neatly on the shelves. Where there had been anxiety and carnage, I now found sterile stillness, as if the previous week’s violence had never happened.
The next room was starkly utilitarian, like the cells in the east wing. Gray stone walls and floor, with six cots, half of which were currently occupied. The blankets atop them were gray-brown, practical things, without embroidery or quilting.
Three people looked up at me the moment I stepped through the door.
The first was a boy, probably several years younger than me. From brow to jaw, one side of his face was livid indigo and cranberry, dark bruises that had swollen one of his eyes mostly shut.
Did he fall? I wondered. Or did someone do this to him?
The second cot held a woman. She wasn’t old, but she had fine lines at the sides of her mouth and on her brow. Her face was flushed, and she had pushed the blanket off her shoulders.
Felix was in the third cot. When I looked at him, he said something, but the words were meaningless to me.
I leaned close, trying to make sense of the whispered sounds.
“Te extraño, niña.”
If he was speaking any language but gibberish, I didn’t recognize it.
I could feel the heat rising off his body, and my nose caught the rank smell of sweat and decay. It brought back the memory of the scalding river in my nightmare. I reeled and retreated to the main infirmary room. I asked the slave there, “Will Felix be all right?”
“I’m sorry, sir, but it’s unlikely,” he replied. “He rallied for a little while, but then the infection took hold. Mistress Jeshickah has approved the best medicines for him, but we cannot seem to clear the blood poisoning.”