Page 21

Overhead, the wheels of a carriage squealed to a stop on the cobbles. A dust cloud fell from the ceiling. Our group stared up longingly through a grate.

We were eight strong, nine including Master Lukain. Rirth, Kemini, and I were the three chosen fighters for the shadowgala. The potential broodstock being sent were Jinneth, Helget, Aelin, and two other young women I didn’t know as well.

The group stayed quiet and anxious, boxed together in a small holding room as the sun’s final rays disappeared from the grate above us. The veil of night arrived, which meant it was time to be off.

Holdmates came to send their well-wishes. Some of us would not be returning—fighters who died in the ring, girls who were chosen as human concubines.

Imis the letter-writer came to my side, smiling devilishly at me. Before I could open my mouth to say anything, she went on her tiptoes and kissed my lips. Hers were soft, and the kiss was innocent if not a bit abrasive.

Unlike when Sister Cyprilis did the same thing to me years before, I did not reel. I simply raised my brow, slightly flustered. “Erm . . .”

“There,” she said, standing back on her heels with a small sigh. “I think I’ve broken the spell.”

“The spell, Imis?”

“My obsession with you as champion of the Grimdaughters. Since you might not come back, I’ll have to let you go. No one else was going to give you a fonder farewell.”

My head slanted, confusion wrinkling my brow. “But you and Palacia . . . are you not, um, together?”

“Oh, we are.” Her smile became expectant. “I needed to prove to myself you were just like any other flesh-and-blood woman. Stronger, yes, but not a deity. I enjoy the fairer sex, as you know, Sephania. Similar to how Rirth and Culiar enjoy each other.”

“They do?” My voice came out more incredulous than I’d meant it to. This was news to me.

She laughed lightly. “Your ambition has blinded you to everything going on outside of your goals, love. You’ve seen how Palacia makes me happy.”

I blushed, averting my gaze. I didn’t need Imis to explain herself to me. This was not the conversation I had expected to have before leaving for my first shadowgala.

Perhaps she was right and I’d not put enough attention on the people around me. My selfishness caused me to forget my friends were living their own lives. They had their ambitions and goals and, apparently, Imis had been fixated on an obsession with me.

Problem was, I felt I’d ignored the desires of my friends because I wasn’t interested in them in the same way. Only Master Lukain awakens any kind of lust inside me.

I recalled the lurid memory of walking in on Imis bent over a table, Palacia thrusting eagerly into her from behind, hands clutching Imis’ hips.

The moans that followed me down the tunnel as I dashed from the room in embarrassment.

“Yes, Imis,” I eked out, clearing my throat, “I’ve seen more than enough of Palacia and how she makes you happy. ”

Imis rolled her wrist, explaining herself.

“Who better to satisfy my every craving than a hung woman? I get the soft understanding of a woman plus the hardness of a man when I want it. Best of both worlds.” She beamed, shrugging.

“Anyway, consider the kiss a good luck charm. From what I hear, you’ll be needing it at the shadowgala. ”

She kept smiling, nodded to Jinneth and Aelin near me, and pranced out of the room. I was left blinking, gobsmacked by her unsolicited explanation.

“That quippy waif has a lot to say, yeah?” Jinneth said.

“I feel she just violated my ears with things I should not be thinking about going into my first life-or-death duel.”

Jinneth chuckled, clapping me hard on the back. “You’ll be good, won’t ya, Sephy. I’m sure you’ll be thinking ‘bout Imis and her soft understanding the whole cart-ride over, yeah?”

Aelin snickered at my friend’s words. It seemed she and Jinneth had been getting along better lately since their initial misunderstanding—namely, the taller Aelin trying to worm her way between Jinneth’s legs.

We were adults now. The petty squabbles of our pre-adult life didn’t matter as much anymore. Not when we had so much on the line in other aspects.

Master Lukain arrived shortly after Imis left.

He was dressed in a sharp suit of dark leather that matched his dark locks, though it wasn’t the battle-leather I was used to seeing in the sparring arena.

The garb fit his narrow middle snugly, broadening where his shoulders jutted, to a striking effect.

My pulse beat faster once he entered the room, all eyes turned to him.

A strange tinge of jealousy struck me, noticing how the other slaves in the holding room gawked at him in a similar way. We had never seen Lukain so prim and proper before, with lapels and wide cuffs, even a golden mask pulled down to his chest.

The idea Lukain was mine— not theirs—flashed through my head.

“Don’t get used to this version of me,” Lukain said once he entered, shooting the eight of us a small smile. “I have to put on a show for our superiors, just like you do. I trust you’re all ready to play your parts?”

We nodded in unison.

“Then let’s get going.”

The covered carriage awaiting us on the surface was elegantly carved with smooth oak, dark hues, and noble liveries. It had come from Olhav to transport us from our Firehold sanctuary to the manor of this evening’s celebrant.

Our group was stuffed into the coach body, where a strange mixture of offsetting aromas quickly reached my nose as we sat shoulder-to-shoulder.

There was the sharp hint of wood, the earthy stench of men, the neutral smell of myself—at least in my own mind—and the perfumed scent of the women, all cloying and locked in with us.

It wasn’t lost on me how we were shoved in here like not-so-precious cargo.

Lukain sat on the bench outside the hull, leading the two horses that pulled our elegant wagon. There was an open partition between us and him, and he began to speak over his shoulder to explain the details of our night as we traversed Nuhav. “The celebrant’s name is Lord Skartovius Ashfen.”

I snorted and spoke lowly. “Pretentious name.”

A few others chuckled. The wheels rolled over a bumpy cobble and I winced as pain jolted up my spine. I had never ridden in a carriage before, except when being transported to the auction house and the Firehold. It would take some getting used to its jarring rhythms.

“I heard that,” Lukain scolded. “You’ll be flayed if word gets out of your impertinence, Sephania. Best to lock your lips now, before we arrive.”

I smiled, nodding to my Holdmates. “Yes, Master.”

“Lord Ashfen abides in Manor Marquin. It’s on the southeastern tip of Olhav, alongside other lesser noble estates.”

“Lesser noble?” Jinneth blurted. “So Lord Ashfen ain’t such a big deal, yeah?”

“Tonight, Jin, he is the biggest deal, because he will dictate your lives.” There was a harsh tone in Lukain’s voice now. He understood this assignment better than we did—he had attended these “parties,” these shadowgalas, and knew what to expect.

I had no idea. With the exception of Kemini, who had been to two shadowgalas during his time as a Grimson, none of us knew what to expect. Kemini’s victory tonight would earn his freedom.

Master Lukain led the carriage through the eastern outskirts of Nuhav, parallel with the giant wall trapping everyone inside the city. As we headed north, we cut through districts I’d never seen despite calling the city home my entire life.

It all looked the same to me. The eastern and northern territories were just as disheveled and lackluster as the entire southern districts. There was no “rich” section of Nuhav, only slightly better-managed parts.

Our carriage had no windows, making it more of a pen to house cattle than anything else. That’s exactly what we are. Cattle. Everything I could see was from gazing out the small partition past Lukain’s shoulders.

When we reached the northern end of the wall two hours later, our master pulled the carriage up to a gate. A hooded footman—certainly not a Bronze with their telltale armor—approached Lukain from the side.

“State your intent and pursuit, half-breed.” The footman’s voice roiled with contempt.

“Yes, my good man. I am come at invitation to Manor Marquin, at the behest of Lord Skartovius Ashfen.” Lukain kept his voice cheery, which I found odd considering how this gate-guard spoke to him.

“Then you’ll have papers.”

“Quite right, sir. Here.” I heard shuffling, unrolling of parchment, and a grunt.

I could not see the hooded figure speaking to our master because of the wall separating us, yet his voice told me everything I needed to know about him.

He saw Lukain as less than , even though the rest of us in here saw our grayskin master as some sort of paragon of freedom.

The only man who had ever given us a promise—no, a chance —at earning our liberty.

I wondered if the girls, whose entire lives would be dictated as breeding mares for their vampire overlords should they be chosen as “broodstock” at this gala, had the same idealized notion of Lukain Pierken that the men did.

“Your cargo?” the guard asked.

“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 the carriage 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.”