Page 66 of A Steeping of Blood (Blood and Tea #2)

JIN

When Jin opened his eyes to the dawn sun, he hadn’t the faintest clue where he was for a moment.

He felt something warm and uneven beneath his head, and then a sound.

He looked up—he was in Flick’s lap. The night before came rushing back.

She was snoring softly, leaning against the headboard and startled awake when he stirred, blinking wearily.

“Hello,” she whispered shyly, and Jin remembered her fingers in his hair, coaxing away his sorrows, lulling him to sleep.

“Hello, Flick,” Jin replied, and she ducked her head when he said her name. A knock sounded on the door, and the two of them rose as the cot creaked, begging for them to stay.

If only. The tribute was tonight, and Jin had little time to waste.

Matteo was on the other side of the door. He glanced between them dubiously. “I take it you two rested well?”

“We did, actually,” Jin said, throwing Flick a wink. She sputtered at the insinuation.

Matteo sighed and turned straight for the corridor without another word.

“See, that’s how you deal with nosy people,” Jin whispered.

“But he’s going to think—I—Jin!” Flick stammered out.

Jin glanced at her sidelong. “Is that a terrible thing?”

She paused because she clearly hadn’t considered that. She was still troubled with the whispers high society would toss back and forth while having tea. But Flick didn’t have to worry about that anymore.

They had far worse to be concerned about, really.

Ward kept his word, leading them from the tavern without complaint.

It was far more tame during the daylight hours, the ruckus replaced with the lonely sound of a mop sopping the wooden floors.

After zigzagging their way through the district filled with places just as shabby as The Brooding Turnip, from teetering inns to rotting shops, Ward led them in a direction Jin didn’t often frequent: near the academies of White Roaring.

The paved walkways were empty here, the schools closed due to the unrest and fear teeming in every shadow.

It was a stark contrast to the tavern last night. In many ways.

Was the Ram truly planning to unleash a veritable army of half vampires onto the streets while the rich were safe with her? What did she stand to gain from killing innocents, other than stoking more fear into the very heart of White Roaring?

At last, Ward stopped at a turreted building. It looked like someone’s house, not where one would find the Council in charge of electing and discharging a monarch over Ettenia.

“Through there,” Ward said. “Be prepared to hand over your calling card.”

Jin tightened his fingers around the coin in his pocket.

“Are you sure this is the place?” Flick asked.

Ward tipped his hat, turned, and left.

“Helpful fellow,” Jin remarked, and he, Matteo, and Flick walked up the wide steps to the arched door, which opened to the face of a woman as dark-skinned as Flick.

“May I assist you?” the woman asked.

She was wearing a housedress, and the place looked even more like a home inside.

Still, Jin held out his coin, and the woman’s face changed, features rearranging from Welcome to my house where I’ve just made fresh tea! to Fill out these forms and I’ll take you to the vault .

She looked from the coin to Jin with a furrow of her brow, then at Matteo and Flick. “Where did you get this?”

She was as surprised as Ward had been, and Jin wondered how few of the coins had truly been made.

“An… old friend of the Council’s,” Jin said.

The woman hmm ed but asked no other questions. She took the coin and invited them inside, and Jin held himself still as a piece of his father disappeared into her pocket.

This had better be worth it.

As the woman led them farther into the house, Jin noticed the pieces that made the house homely slowly disappear. The fresh flowers, the blankets, the cozy armchairs. It turned more stately, more distinguished, until the woman stopped before a grand set of doors.

The three of them paused when she swung the doors open and gestured them through.

It was as if they’d stepped into a different building altogether.

The walls were a washed gray stone. The floors matched, echoing every footstep and sound.

Fluted columns rose high to an arching hallway that widened to a domed ceiling looming over a spacious atrium quite like the kind one would find in a university.

At the center was a round table in which seven people sat.

Each of them wore a mask. One of them was still securing it behind their head.

They were gilded, shimmering in antique bronze. Unlike the monarch’s, their masks weren’t animalistic, but darker. Faces that looked eerie, almost. Beside him, Flick made a sound. They set down their work and fell silent at Jin’s approach, Matteo and Flick on his heels.

There were stacks and stacks of paper, ink staining the tables, books lined along the floor.

Jin, like many in Ettenia, knew very little about the Council.

They appointed monarchs and discharged them, but they did more than that too.

They reviewed laws before they were put into action; they monitored the happenings across Ettenia.

“Thank you, Clara,” one of them said.

She bowed her head and left without another word.

“State your business,” said the mask in the center.

Well, that was a warm welcome. This was already off to a splendid start.

Jin had rehearsed his words, but that didn’t stop the rush of uncertainty as they stared at him with cold eyes. He had one shot to convince them, one chance. If he failed, Flick might attempt to forge a mask, but he’d seen how gingerly she held her hands, how difficult it was to hold anything.

Arthie was counting on him. His dead parents were too. Everyone was.

“My name is Jin Casimir,” he began, and the murmurs were instant. “You may know my sister and me from the tearoom that we once ran, Spindrift.”

“Yes. A criminal,” one of the Council members said.

Jin laughed softly. “Aren’t we all? I’m sure you’re aware that the Tribute to the Written Word is tonight.”

Seven eerie masks stared back at him, and Jin didn’t trust a single one, suddenly grateful he wasn’t here alone, acutely conscious of how alone Arthie was in the Ram’s underground bunker.

“The Ram wishes to honor the fallen members of the press in the palace, but I was there that night. It was the Ram’s very own men who killed them.”

Three of the Council members protested his claim.

“If you’re alarmed by that,” Jin continued over them, “then I’d like to let you know that the Ram is also responsible for the humans disappearing off the streets. She has them caged.”

“Caged? That is preposterous,” one of them exclaimed.

“Are you blaming the monarch for the actions of rogue vampires?” another countered, parroting the response as if he’d read it off the newspaper folded on his desk.

Jin didn’t know how much longer he could tolerate this pretentiousness. “Oh, the Ram’s done worse, but you knew that, didn’t you? You know what our monarch is capable of, and yet you allow it.”

“Do you know who you speak to?” one of the members snapped.

“Do you know who you speak to?” Jin asked. “I am the son of Shaw and Sora Siwang. A pair of scientists you once applauded before the Ram stole them away for purposes you blatantly disregarded.”

Jin didn’t know if his words were true. The Council may well be unaware of the Ram’s affairs, but how ignorant could someone so close to the monarch truly be? At some point, one had to look the other way to allow such atrocities to continue.

“Words are easy,” one of them said. “How are we to believe you are their son?”

Jin was relieved they didn’t call his parents traitors. That meant the Ram hadn’t fed them that particular lie. Just paces away, Flick wrung her hands, holding herself back from reaching for him.

“I came with a calling card you had given them.”

“And are we to believe the word of a boy over the monarch themself?” one asked.

“You don’t have to believe me,” Jin said. “You can question the Ram yourself if you’d like. As an Ettenian, my duty lies in telling you, and warning you that worse might happen tonight.”

“Tame yourself, Jin,” Matteo hissed behind him. The Council members murmured among themselves.

“That sounds quite like a threat,” one of them said.

“Precisely,” Matteo whispered.

“Or a warning,” said another, glancing at his brethren. His mask had beautiful eyes.

“You take the word of a child?” asked another.

“I take the word of a troubled citizen when it concerns his empire.”

“And is that why you came?” another asked. There were indents along the bridge of the mask’s nose, making it appear as though it was studded in jewelry. “To warn us?”

Jin’s head was beginning to hurt.

“To implore you that the Ram is not the person Ettenia needs. We need a new leader. The people are divided, some scared, some brimming with hatred,” Jin said.

“I want you to demand that the Ram unmasks in front of the audience tonight. If our monarch has no wrongs to keep hidden, it won’t be a difficult request to heed. ”

To say this was faring poorly would be an understatement. Arthie was trusting him. After a decade, she wasn’t only trusting him to see this through, she was trusting him with her life .

Jin could not fail.

“You’ve come to ask us to discharge the Ram of their seat of power?” the Council member in the center asked.

Jin could hear the derision in his tone, and he decided then and there that he did not need the Council. He didn’t need their snobby words and ridicule. He didn’t need Flick hurting herself any further either by trying to forge a mask.

He would be the criminal they said he was. He would steal one.

“I will leave you with one last question: How long will it be before you become the enemy when the Ram tires of demonizing vampires?” he asked, skimming the room while he spoke.

There was a window farther down the wide atrium, tucked between two whitewood bookshelves. The Council was bound to rise from their round table at some point, and Jin had seen one of the members donning their mask only after their arrival. They didn’t wear them all the time.

He would sneak in before they left for the tribute and snatch one for himself.

Because he was done trying to appeal to a table of snooty old folks.

Jin turned on his heel before they could speak another word.

He didn’t know if that was how one should not leave a high-and-mighty Council, but he certainly hoped they were miffed and disrespected.

Matteo and Flick hurried after him, and Jin could hear the Council dispersing in their wake, feet shuffling, voices rising and falling as they likely mocked him behind his back.

“Halt!”

Jin was unsure he’d even heard the voice for how quiet it was. Matteo and Flick hadn’t, only realizing when Jin stopped and turned. It was the Council member with the beautiful-eyed mask. The only one who’d spoken somewhat in their favor.

“Are you truly the Siwangs’ son?” the man asked, then he tilted his head and stepped closer. “Great seas. You’re a spitting image of Shaw, aren’t you?”

Jin nodded, wary.

“I gave your father that calling card,” the Council member said, tilting their head. It was only then that Jin caught the slight hint of an accent. “Your parents were good people, and I always suspected the Ram had something to do with the fire that burned down their house.”

He’d suspected, but had done nothing? Jin bit his tongue against a snide remark.

“I cannot stop the Council from attending the tribute,” the Council member continued, “nor can I strip the Ram of power, not unless we are shown tangible proof of the monarch’s crimes.”

That, Jin could understand. It was why Penn had been moving so slowly—to gather what the Council required would take far too long. And require far too much patience.

Jin found that his own patience was running thin, and there was also the small issue of the longer the Ram remained in power, the higher the dead bodies piled.

“I can, however, aid in your efforts on my own, if your requests are within means. How might I assist you?”

Jin studied him; the eyes that stared back at him through the mask were as dark as Arthie’s, the skin the same shade, wrinkles crowding the edges.

“How can we trust you?” Matteo asked.

After a fleeting glance back to the winding walkway, the Council member nudged them to a corner, where he hesitated before deciding upon something.

He removed his mask. “The same way I trust you: out of choice.”

He was an older gentleman Jin had never seen before. Nor had Flick or Matteo, by the looks of it. He was brown, possibly from Jeevant Gar or even Ceylan. Jin hadn’t expected anyone but a peaky to be on the Council. It gave him hope.

“Are you allowed to show us your face?” Flick asked, aghast.

“No,” he said simply. His eyes were a light shade of brown, keen in the shadows. “Nor am I allowed to tell you my name. Rayan. If I were to walk in public, no one would know who I am, but I quite like the idea of three champions allowing me to be a part of their victory.”

“We’re talking of toppling the Ram,” Matteo said carefully, as if the man might have misheard.

“I’m aware, and I ask again. How might I assist you?”

“Well,” Jin said, tossing a glance at Matteo and Flick, then down to the mask clutched in Rayan’s hand. “Since you insist, there is one thing.”