Page 53 of Loreblood

“Take a look yourself, sir, and you’ll know.”

The hooded head popped in from the front, near Lukain’s waist. Shadows from the moon behind him silhouetted his features and made him unidentifiable.

“Ah. You’re bringing animals.”

Like I said. Cattle.

Lukain dipped his chin deeply. “At the request of Lord Ashfen. Yes.”

The guard stepped aside. “Carry on.”

Our carriage jostled, rolling past the wrought-iron gate as it slowly opened. The road became a paved trail sloping uphill—first gradually then more severely as we neared the top about an hour later.

The bumpiness of the road and the prickling of my spine got worse. Our bodies swayed into each other. My breath caught in my throat as we leveled off onto flat ground. Others in thecarriage murmured in unison as bits and pieces of things came into view.

A brisk wind swept in through the partition, blowing my short hair about my face. Beyond the partition, past Lukain, was a glint of . . . gold. I couldn’t tell if it was a rooftop, the road, or some other ornamentation of Olhav’s structures.

The effect was clear: We had left the decrepitude of Nuhav and ascended to the home of the vampires, who lived in splendor, opulence, privilege, and nobility, while the rest of us suffered under their heels.

The vampires were wiser and stronger than us. They deserved the world, according to their creed. We were nothing more than slaves and nuisances to them, only offering bodies for them to feed on, such as when Layson of the Diplomats vanished from Jinneth’s side, snatched right off the street to become a meal for these evil creatures.

Ever since childhood, everyone in this carriage had thought the same thing—wondering, daydreaming, standing in awe in the shadow of Olhav above us. Imaging what this place was like.

Now we were on the precipice of discovery, rolling down a quiet street in the sprawling mountaintop metropolis, the oasis to our dry desert. Our minds ran wild, made worse because we couldn’t actually see more than glimpses without any windows in this damned cart.

“Take a good look at it now, grimmers,” Lukain announced. “Because you won’t be seeing much once we arrive. Humans are not permitted to witness the greatness and glory of Olhav. You’re here for entertainment, remember.”

Chapter 17

Manor Marquin was a broad mansion settled on a vast estate covering many acres. Our carriage bumbled past miles of flat fields made violet from the moonlight as the glorious manor shone ahead of us like a golden lighthouse.

This far east from the Olhavian metropolis was a hilly, windswept countryside. I had never seen such expansive pastures or tranquil woods before. It was quiet here, with only the creaking of the carriage wheels and howling of the wind giving any sound. The ridges of the mountains jutted up in every direction around us, black monoliths against the purple sky. It was in the crater of this massive mountaintop terrace that Olhav existed.

Civilization came into focus an hour after we leveled off at the summit of the mountain and started heading east through the valley. Other carriages passed us, conversations and sounds of activity ahead met our ears.

The eight attendees in our cart pushed together toward the front to gaze through the partition like so many schoolchildren in awe of their surroundings.

The manor was kept upright by sturdy pillars. It was a marvel unlike anything I’d seen—three stories tall, stained-glass windows, more like a temple to opulence than someone’s house. Down in Nuhav, it would have taken up an entire city block. Gold-tipped spires reached up toward the heavens at all four corners, giving it a castle-like appearance.

Lukain guided our carriage down a smaller thoroughfare that split off from the main road. Other carriages in the courtyardof the manor shrank as we rounded the side of the stronghold toward the back.

“We will enter through the eastern door, like the other workers,” Lukain explained.

At the rear of the mansion, invisible to the gala attendees entering through the front, was much more chaotic. A dozen tents had been erected and countless white-robed slaves and laborers hustled to and from the tents, carrying goods, wine bottles, plates of food, all in preparation for the evening’s festivities which they would not get to enjoy.

“The lucky ones,” Lukain told us in a low voice. “Highly skilled laborers who managed to transcend Nuhav to work for a lord of Olhav.”

I said, “I thought humans weren’t allowed to, erm, ‘witness the greatness and glory of Olhav,’ Master.”

“These are thralls, not paid workers,” Lukain said with a hint of disgust in his voice. “They have traded their humanity to become vampiric playthings and pincushions. A leisurely life compared to what the common man suffers in Nuhav. Hardly a life at all, you ask me.”

Our master’s opinion on the situation was clear.

The cart pulled up to a long barnyard near the tents. Horses snorted and huffed in partitioned stalls. The stableman took the cart as Lukain had us exit from the back. A man with a white robe approached from one of the tents, bowed to us, and turned for us to follow. He said no words.

Lukain’s voice lowered to a hush as we walked toward the manse. “An acolyte of the manor. He stays mute out of respect for his overlords not wishing to hear his wretched human voice.”

I blinked.Sounds like a vowager of the House of the Broken. Even wears similar garb.