Page 38
K IDAN HANDED K ORIL Q AROS AN ORNATE WOODEN BOX WITH engraved Amharic text the next time they met.
“A gift,” she said. “To thank you for your invitation.”
He set aside his drink and took the box. Inside was a fourteenth-century washint flute crafted of a native wood only found in Ethiopia.
Koril lifted it gingerly, admiring its length. “This is an impressive find.”
“I think it’ll look lovely in your Qaros Conservatory.”
New interest flickered in his eyes. He rested the flute on the velvet bedding and noticed the ring. Set with a large ruby that had a noticeable crack at the base, it twinkled like sunset. He shot her a surprised glance.
“Ah, that,” Kidan said casually. “I must have packed it by accident.”
Susenyos had taught her the value of history and it would be helpful—but not enough against a man who sought to possess art, whether it be music or a portrait or antiques.
“Do you know what ring this is?”
Susenyos would be mad if he knew she’d taken it, but she would worry about that later.
“It’s the closest replica to the Last Sage’s lost ring artifact, carved from the same ruby stone found in Axum. Rumored to have been used in the making of the Three Binds.”
“Then you know it’s invaluable.”
“Everything has value. It only depends on what you want.”
This turned his grin serpentlike. His greedy gaze studied her for a long moment before he said, “There is a gathering tonight, if you’re available, that I think will be most fascinating to you.”
Kidan watched him slide the ring onto his bony finger. She had the urge to bend his wrist and take it back. Later, she told herself.
Kidan expected the gathering to be a formal event, black dress and cocktails, like before. What she didn’t expect was to attend a private viewing of a vampire transformation in the Mot Zebeya Building. Koril Qaros escorted her upstairs to where shadowy figures were already seated, talking among themselves.
Tamol Ajtaf’s green eyes shone behind his spectacles. “Hello again.”
Kidan masked her distaste with a forced smile. She hadn’t liked him at Ramyn’s funeral, and certainly not now.
“Kidan here is looking for a life exchange,” Koril said. “I believe we can help each other.”
They shared a pointed glance Kidan couldn’t decipher.
“Perhaps we could discuss safeguarding what truly belongs to you.” Tamol’s cuff links twinkled, encrusted with the thin golden tower of Ajtaf House.
Kidan’s lips formed a line. “You mean the Axum archaeological site.”
“It’s no secret Ajtaf Constructions would love to do business with Adane House. The search for the Last Sage’s settlement must continue. Our company can help.”
So it came back to this. No one had to say it, but the price of her new immortal life appeared to be signing over her house’s business. Was this the 13th’s goal? Total absorption of other houses’ finances? Why would they harm Ramyn or June if that was the case? Kidan was missing something.
“Later, Tamol. We have more pressing concerns,” Koril said before escorting her to the back.
Once they found a secluded spot, he lowered his voice. “I have a task for you. I know you’re close with Yusef Umil.”
Kidan shifted on her feet. “I am.”
“Do you believe he’ll pass Dranacti?”
“I think so.”
Koril’s mouth thinned. “I see. I want you to keep the boy from passing. Can you do that?”
“I… why?”
“The head of House Umil right now is a very elderly woman. She’s easier to convince of our great plans than a stubborn boy.”
“And what plans are those?” Kidan asked carefully.
“All in due time.” Koril smiled before turning his attention to the crowd. “Rufeal,” he called. “You have a partner in your task.”
Kidan’s gut tightened. Rufeal Makary was in the 13th?
“It’s his sister, Sara Makary, who will be receiving a life exchange tonight,” Koril said.
“And who’s the vampire giving up their life?” Kidan asked.
“Someone from Umil House, I suppose.”
House Makary was coming for the Umils—in business, in the art world, and now by poaching their dranaics. Yusef wasn’t being paranoid.
Rufeal was dressed in a smart suit and offered his slippery smile. “Never thought you’d make it here, Adane. Perhaps we’re more alike than I thought.”
Kidan wanted to hurl.
Koril grabbed their shoulders. “I want you two to work together on the Umil boy.”
Once they nodded, Koril moved on.
“It’s not easy making someone fail,” Kidan said.
Rufeal adjusted his expensive watch. “I’ve done it before. And if my plan doesn’t work, we’ll have to resort to less pleasant options, won’t we? There’s no failing a 13th task.”
Kidan stilled. “What do you mean?”
He didn’t elaborate, but the gleam of his eyes made her spine shiver. Was this why Yusef kept failing?
“Please take your seats.” A soft sound came from below.
Rufeal crossed to his mother, hooked an arm through hers, and descended the stairs. Kidan stood by the rail, leaning forward to see.
The altar below had ominous black curtains. A young girl who Kidan guessed was Sara Makary parted the curtains, dressed in a loose, ankle-length traditional kemis. Flowers, brilliant white ones, were carried forward and laid before the girl by Mot Zebeyas, faithful servants identified by the finger bone chain wrapped around their neck, wrist, or belt.
One of the Mot Zebeyas lifted his head, making her breath catch. GK set up along with the others, not glancing at the higher deck.
She quickly took the stairs down and slipped into one of the multiple rows of benches illuminated by soft amber light.
GK spotted her, surprised, and came over. “Kidan? What are you doing here?”
“What are you doing here?”
He frowned at her tone. “Helping with a transformation.”
“Do you know the people upstairs?” she asked, pensive. Was he in the 13th?
God, she hoped not.
He glanced up. “No, but there’s always a viewing with these things.”
Kidan’s heart rate slowed. “So how does it all work?”
“You’re taking Introduction to Dranacti and don’t know how transformations work?” He didn’t sound rude, only curious.
She slid aside and patted the seat next to her. “You could tell me. I’m a quick learner.”
He glanced back at the altar.
“Come on,” Kidan said.
GK appeared torn before sitting down.
Sara Makary sat on the stone bed, and the vampire giving up her life knelt in front of the girl. Kidan glimpsed a familiar shape, a horn with circular ridges crafted into it, from her Weapons of the Dark book. Her world stilled, fingers twitching at her side.
An impala horn. If she could somehow steal one, she’d finally have a weapon against them.
An elderly Mot Zebeya took the horn and cut along the vampire’s wrist, weakening the dranaic. Sara Makary drank the blood slowly.
Kidan’s tongue filled with salt. Was she really going to witness another creation of these creatures?
“So, she drinks from the vampire and wakes up as one of them?”
“Sort of.”
“I thought it’d be more complicated.”
GK’s body stiffened. “There’s a forbidden one called death transformation. It’s where humans can be changed after they die.”
Kidan’s stomach turned. After death…
Her voice became hollow. “I didn’t even know that was possible.”
His eyes hardened. “It can happen only in the early hours after death, before certain irreversible changes in the body take place. If dranaic blood is infused directly into the heart before it’s too late, a lawless transformation will take place.”
Her throat nearly closed. “That’s… awful.”
“Rogue dranaics usually practice such a thing. It’s a last desperate move, with horrifying consequences.” She didn’t miss the note of revulsion in his words. “Those changed like that are more bloodthirsty and violent.”
Kidan found comfort in his disgust. They were united in seeing evil when they imagined that scenario.
Sara Makary continued to drink from the vampire’s wrist for the next twenty minutes. Gradually, the vampire’s posture slackened, eyes dimming, before she fell on the stone bed. Dead.
Sara Makary’s eyes fluttered awake, then closed, before she slept.
“She won’t wake up for two more days,” GK explained.
“Why?”
“Everyone says different things, but I believe it’s because she’s reliving every memory, thought, and emotion the vampire had. The exchange of life is a powerful thing given to us by the Last Sage.”
Powerful, yes, but an act that should never exist nonetheless.
One of the elderly Mot Zebeyas approached, crinkling and smelling like an old piece of paper. GK jumped to his feet, bowing slightly.
“What’s your name?” the Mot Zebeya asked her in a deep, curious voice.
She blinked. “Kidan.”
His thick finger bone necklace jittered along his hunched neck. “You should come to the monastery. I’d like to give you a reading.”
Kidan swallowed. This again. Did all Mot Zebeyas sense death?
“She doesn’t want one, but I’m looking after her,” GK said, and she smiled a little at the words.
The two went off to the side and spoke in quiet voices, eyes sliding to Kidan. Maybe she wasn’t welcome here.
On the stone bed, Rufeal brushed his sister’s cheek, whispering softly. When his eyes landed on Kidan, his lip curved slightly.
And if my plan doesn’t work, we’ll have to resort to less pleasant options, won’t we?
Kidan rolled her neck, fingers clenching. If he laid one finger on Yusef, he’d join his sister on that stone, with his heart missing so he’d never be resurrected.
Table of Contents
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