Page 121 of Loreblood

I reeled, struck by the age of the gaunt girl standing in front of us. She might have been fourteen at most, and wore a gray robe—once white but having seen its share of use. Her hands were tucked together in the cuffs in a way that reminded me of the vowagers from the House of the Broken.

The most alarming detail, however, was the ashen tone of her placid face.

This young whelp is a dhampir?I resisted making a face of pity.

The girl bowed low from her hips, dark hair swishing over her face. “Lord Ashfen. Pleased to see you.”

Skar matched the formal bow. “And you, Tecca. Is my comrade in?”

“He is, sir.”

“And your Iron Sister?”

My brow furrowed at the title but I stayed quiet.

“Also present, sir.” Tecca bowed again.

“Quite good,” Skar answered, in what I noticed was a common phrase said by him.

The young girl showed no fear for the tall, imposing Skartovius Ashfen, which was more than I could say about myself. In fact, she showed no emotion at all.

Inside the hall, I could hear the light, airy threads of conversation. The voices were high, feminine.

Tecca stepped aside and we passed.

We walked on creaky floorboards of a narrow hall, passing two open doors on either side. My curiosity piqued—I couldn’t help but glance inside each.

In one room, three girls sat on the grimy floor—the source of the conversation I’d heard—dressed in similarly gray robes. They leaned forward, speaking conspiratorially, and were equally as young as Tecca.

When we went by, they stopped talking, glanced over, and giggled once we were down the hall.

In the other small room, two older women were dressed in robes and aprons, cooking at a small fire pit. The smells were simple fare—root vegetables and meat—but made my stomach growl.

Finding food for a human in Olhav was proving to be difficult.

The older women did not glance over as we passed. They were of middling age—neither ancient nor young. One of them was clearly a human, the other was a half-vampire. Working together to cook a meal.

“Skar,” I whispered as we followed Tecca further down the hall. “What is this place?”

“Patience, love.”

At the end of the hall, the corridor split left and right. To the immediate left was a staircase leading to the second level; to the right, an open archway into a large living room.

We went into the room, which took up the majority of space in the dwelling. A few rickety tables were set up, where a handful of girls sat and conversed or read from books and scrolls. The conversation in here was hush, somber. Everyone wore gray, and there were just as many half-vampires as humans.

At the end of the room, my eye caught a painted portrait hanging from the wall. It was a hard image to miss since it stretched nearly the entire length of the wall, high up and positioned over the room like a lord surveying its fief.

The subject of the portrait was a plump woman of middle age, lying on her side in a leisurely pose. She rested on a couch with her elbow propped up, hand to her face, intense but kind eyes staring out at the viewer. The woman in the painting was completely nude, each roll and curve of her flesh, every shadow of her portly frame, expertly brushed.

A homely woman, human, walked up to us and nodded to Tecca, who bowed and then skittered off down the hall, assumedly to join the group of gossiping girls from the first room we passed.

This new woman looked no different than the others. She wore no ornamentation to denote her status, though by the tiredness in her eyes and the set of her jaw, I could tell she was in charge of this place. The weariness crinkling her eyes made herseem much older than she likely was. Her hair was prematurely graying and she walked with a slight limp.

“Lord Ashfen, well met. I am pleased to see you.” The woman’s voice was deeper than I expected. She had her hands clasped behind her, the very picture of passivity. Despite being a head shorter than me and two shorter than Skar, she showed no fear—only resilience and endurance in her features.

Skartovius dipped his chin. “And you, Iron Sister.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “This is Sephania Lock.”

The woman shifted her gaze to mine. Her eyes were yellow and gray, intense, her scrutiny curious without being suspicious. A slight smile curved the corner of her thin lips. “A pleasure, Madame Lock.”