Page 17

Seeing Father Cullard and a new flock of younglings for him to victimize fucked with my mind. For weeks after the sighting, I became withdrawn—an echo of my former self when I’d first arrived in the Firehold. Quiet, reserved, brooding.

Every few days, I’d dream of the sunflower and bloody rain in the window, with my eyes alight in the reflection like a vampire’s.

Most often, however, I had nightmares of Dimmon Plank sliding his stinking, sweaty body across mine, punishing me for defending myself and killing one of his best workers.

Other dreams brought me back to that cursed window at the House of the Broken, where I spied Cullard molesting poor Sister Cyprilis.

I hadn’t seen her in the procession heading for the Temple of the True, and I wondered where she was today—if she even still lived.

Did she reach her sixteenth year and escape?

Guilt dealt a hefty blow to my ego and confidence during those regressive days.

I’d been a coward by leaving Cyprilis at the House with her abusers.

I told myself there was nothing I could have done, and I should have joined Baylen Sallow and the Diplomats earlier than I had.

Then again, that situation had only taken me from a spectator of defilement to a participant once I spurned Baylen, killed Jeffrith, and got locked away with Dimmon.

The city of Nuhav was an ugly, destitute place filled with hucksters, vagabonds, and criminals.

Everyone preyed on those weaker than them.

Houseless people deemed too unworthy or useless to hold honest professions filled the streets, and my recent journey in the Above showed me the situation had only grown worse over time.

According to Lukain, we had the despot vampires of Olhav to thank.

The memory of seeing Father Cullard and his flock dimmed over time, yet the vile emotions remained.

For three months straight, when it was my turn for a surface outing, I declined the offer.

My peers thought I’d gone mad—who would turn down the one day of solace and respite we received in the Firehold?

They didn’t know what I’d seen, what I remembered. I didn’t want another situation like the one I’d had with Antones to muddle my thoughts, so I refused to step foot on the Floorboards.

I became lost in my craft, training like a madwoman—proving my peers true—and taking on women’s chores to busy my hands once my hours of physical training were complete.

Master Lukain finally broached the subject on the fourth month, after a particularly sweaty sparring session where he’d knocked the wind out of me and left me limping around with a nice backhand strike to my calf.

“Your Holdmates think you’ve cracked,” he told me, watching as I winced and sat on a chair on the other side of the small training room.

Throwing my wooden sword down, I reached for my mug of watered-down ale on the table. “Maybe they’re right.”

“Antones doesn’t think you have,” he continued, leaning against the wall across from me and folding his arms over his chest. “He says you saw something in the Above that froze you like a lost doe. Ant isn’t sure what it is. He thinks I should pry.”

I snorted. “Is that what you’re doing, Master? Prying?”

“Not if you don’t want to talk about it.” He grunted to himself. “I’m a firm believer in keeping secrets.”

My brow threaded as I glanced up at him while still catching my breath from the strenuous workout. “That’s a damned wild thing to admit, sir.”

The corner of his lip curled. He pushed himself off from the wall and started to pace the room, his eyes downcast. “I’ll take a stab then. I’m assuming you saw something from your past that riled you.”

Vicious memories filled me. I slowly nodded.

“Can I ask what emotions these recollections filled you with, little grimmer?”

I thought for a moment. Pain? Anguish? Depression? It was difficult to pinpoint. “Emptiness,” I landed on.

“Hm. Can’t have one of my best fighters feeling empty .” His eyes lifted from the rugged mat we trained on, his red orbs landing on mine. “Is it revenge you seek, Sephania?”

“I . . .” His gaze seemed to pierce through my soul.

I swallowed hard, finding a lump in my throat I had to fight past. The way he looked at me, curious and allured, made my body tingle.

I found myself tensing and glancing away quickly, before the familiar throb between my legs could begin. “I don’t know what I want, Master.”

There was innuendo in my words, and he knew it. Is it you I want, Lukain? Even though I’m still so young and have no experience in matters of the flesh—no voluntary experience, anyway.

I shook my head, chewing the inside of my cheek. I was well and truly lost now, staring at the patterns of the mat. “I want to advance.” My voice had finality to it for the first time in months. I lifted my gaze from the ground to Lukain’s handsome face. “I want to fight for my freedom. I’m ready.”

His eyebrows jumped. “To fight adversaries at a shadowgala? To entertain the noblebloods of Olhav? You aren’t ready.”

I opened my mouth to push back—

“But you’re in luck,” he cut in, lifting a finger. “Because that was the next topic I wanted to discuss with you.”

My lips remained parted. Excitement and anticipation sputtered across my veins.

His face was wickedly smug, hiding a secret from me he knew I wanted to access.

Smiling slightly, Master Lukain said, “I believe you are ready for the next stage of your training. I know another young man who is equally champing at the bit. So I will let you two duel each other to get your aggressions out.”

“When?” I breathed, jumping to my feet.

“In a fortnight.”

The past two weeks had been a blur, and now I stood in the sacred ring—the Firehold. Though we referred to the entire underground network of tunnels and rooms the Grimsons inhabited as “the Firehold,” it was really this room that deserved the name.

The chamber where you were tested, feet to the fire. The place where months and years of training led you, gifting you the opportunity to speak your truth through action. The outcome would only be decided by your own grit, mettle, and perseverance.

I had become more religious and awed by the Firehold than I ever was about the Truehearts or the House of the Broken. Part of it was the mythical quality of this room—I had never been in here because only active fighters were allowed.

Today was my day of activation. I had been part of Master Lukain’s Grimsons for almost a year and a half, and I had finally crested the first ledge of the mountain.

From here, if things went well, would be the summit of the mountain: Olhav and the shadowgalas. That was where I would begin to fight for the entertainment of the vampires and for the chance at freedom from my chains.

First, I had to get through Culiar.

The young man sneered at me from the other side of the ring. Only fifteen feet of empty ground separated us. Four tentposts held up waist-high fences in an oval circling the ring—our battleground. On the other side of the fence, surrounding us, were the worthy spectators.

Since only active fighters could step foot into the Firehold, only active fighters could watch matches take place. That meant my peers were men older than me, including the middle-aged Antones and the unknown-aged Lukain Pierken.

Sixteen people in total stood on the other side of the blackened fence.

At the front of the room—I assumed as symbolism—a bonfire raged.

The carved stone ceiling in this room was higher than in other rooms, allowing smoke to billow upward.

Small holes were chiseled in the ceiling, letting the smoke waft through in thin strands.

When I’d inquired about the fire and ceiling holes to Lukain before the match, he’d told me, “So those on the Floorboards know there is a duel taking place, and know not to intervene. A section of the street above will be drizzled with smoke, heat, and fumes. Passersby will avoid that section of the street. It’s a show of respect. ”

He cleared his throat and went on. “Conversely, it is also a lodestone for fight-seekers. If, after this match, I go aboveground and find someone standing in the patch of smoke, or unconscious from its fumes, then that person will be brought to the Firehold as a potential new member of the Grimsons.”

My brow furrowed at the explanation. Either avoid the smoky street or run toward it. “You’re telling me some people come here willingly ? No offense.”

“Some youngsters have nothing, Sephania, as you well know. They get passed up at auction, too, because they’re either too scrawny or weak or unworthy at the time. So they grow, build themselves, and come seeking us out. It’s rare, but it does happen.”

His words lingered in my mind long after. I found it unfathomable people would come seeking this out.

Truehearts flog me, who am I kidding? I sought this out! I practically begged Lukain for a fight, and he’s given me my opportunity.

All other thoughts dwindled away as I locked my mind tight to focus on the challenge at hand.

Culiar.

He stood in front of me, casual stance, eyes narrowed dangerously. He was half a head taller than me but lighter in weight because of my natural curves and the broadness of my body. He has the height and reach advantage, I have the weight advantage. Which means he might have speed on me, too.

It was a daunting truth to recognize.

Culiar was at least a summer older than me, which meant he had trained longer. I doubted he had trained more than me, however, even with the extra time. He and Rirth were two of the biggest hound dogs in the fucking Hold, finding more interest in chasing girls than chasing glory or freedom.

I wondered how much advance notice Lukain had given him about this duel. How much time has he spent preparing? I hoped he’d only known about it for the same two weeks I had.