Page 38

The North Mine, as it was called, was a sprawling operation for extracting and refining silver notched into the lower half of the Northern Olhavian Peaks.

We took a weaving road deeper into the mountains to get there.

Once we stood atop a cliff face, it all came into view under the moonlight.

High bonfires lit up the vast expanse of rocky land.

Nestled into the cliffside was a small city’s worth of activity, buildings, and makeshift structures for the operation.

There was a sharp, pungent smell of burning metal that wafted in the air up toward the precipice where we stood.

From our vantage, I could see specks of people marching to and from tents, hovels, and deeper into the rock face, disappearing from view.

A cavernous opening led underground to a black, depthless pit.

Some of the workers took a ladder to descend deeper into the earth where I imagined the silver seams waited for them.

“You . . . run this camp?” I asked Vallan, slightly in awe at the efficiency with which the people below worked.

Many carried pickaxes or buckets and wore heavy protective gear and helmets.

There were dozens of miners, though I thought the majority of them looked quite scrawny for such laborious work.

Vallan scoffed at my question, shaking his head.

Garroway answered for him, in a cheerier tone. “The North Mine is the property of the Commerce Ministry. Vallan here is a foreman.” He shouldered me and winked. “Touchy subject, as you can tell.”

A hint of a smile formed on my face, one I made sure Vallan couldn’t see.

“Come on, chatter-birds,” the massive vampire grunted.

The mining camp sloped down the lower half of the mountain onto level ground, but the entirety of the operation took place at a slanted angle, with workers either heading into the caves or down into the pit.

A large circular fortress billowed smoke in the distance—the location of the offensive scent.

Must be the refinery. Dust hung thick in the air. I had to squint to see through it at times.

Once we passed the first few tents, heading for the pit that stretched at least fifty feet across and spiraled down into the earth, I noticed a few things.

Firstly, the miners lived here. I peeked past a few open flap tents and saw cots, people sleeping, and people waking for their shifts. A hard, thankless life, I suppose.

Secondly, none of the workers wore gloves like Vallan, which I found odd. On closer inspection of their grimy, dirt-encrusted faces, I understood why.

These were humans. Slaves, no doubt. Everyone we passed lowered their gazes to the ground as they walked by Vallan, but I was able to inspect a few of the faces closer and nearly gasped at what I realized.

The long, straggly hair, the wiry builds, the angular faces . . . “They’re all interfolk,” I said aloud. All eight or ten miners we passed on the way to the pit were humans of transition—women born men, and a few men clearly born women.

Garroway’s brow threaded. “What-folk?”

Vallan said, “Halfkeepers, cub.”

Whatever name the vampires had for these forgotten people of Nuhav, it struck a chord with me. “This seems wrong. Why do you have interfolk, exclusively, working your mines, Vallan?”

He glanced over at me with his dark-red eyes half-lidded. With the giant axe on his back nearly as tall as me, his gloves and beard, he put off an intimidating figure who wasn’t used to answering questions.

“They work hard,” he answered simply. He expanded a few moments later as we continued past the pit toward a large tent. “They’re shown more respect here than they’ve ever gotten in their miserable lives. Certainly more than humans give them in Nuhav.”

His explanation caught me off-guard.

“Don’t sound so accusatory, silverblood,” he finished.

A familiar figure emerged from the tent as we approached. She was lithe, wiry, and I recognized the set of her eyes as the wickedly beautiful vampire from earlier who had dropped off the trio’s supper—the nameless Diplomat—before departing.

She gave me the same curious glance as before, saying in a whispery voice, “Should I expect her to be everywhere with you from now on, Stellos?”

I frowned. “Who’s Stellos?”

“Vallan Stellos,” Garroway said.

“It’s not your concern if she is or isn’t, Cordea,” Vallan answered gruffly. He pushed past her without preamble and walked into the tent, forcing the three of us to follow.

“He’s been in a mood lately,” Garroway sighed as we entered. The tent was sparse—cot in one corner, small writing table in another, a closed chest next to the bed.

Once inside, with a modicum of privacy, Vallan spun on Cordea. “Is it ready?”

The vampiress slid gracefully toward the chest and lifted it. “Look for yourself.”

Inside was a plain rucksack, the kind that would typically hold potatoes. When Vallan undid the rope holding it closed, a glint of silver shone on the underside of the chest lid.

Vallan grunted. “Good. And the other?”

Cordea nodded dutifully. “They’re ready as well. I am planning a work shift in fifteen minutes.”

“Make it five. This won’t take long.”

Cordea bowed just low enough to make it respectful but not far enough to make it overly appreciative.

Vallan headed for the tent flap. Before pulling it back he stopped short and turned to me. “You have a choice. Follow me or stay here for your own good and be spared the sight.”

I blinked up at the impassive man. “I’ll follow.”

He grunted. “Don’t cry when I give you another reason to hate me, silverblood.”

There was odd tension in the air as our group—me, Vallan, Garroway—crunched over gravel and loose rocks, making our way toward a squat stone building on the far edge of the camp, away from everything else.

It was hardly large enough for anyone to live in.

The murmurs of the camp, rustling of the workers, and echoes of pinging hammers and picks on stone drifted away behind us.

The nondescript building looked like a shithouse, and I assumed that’s what it was until we drew closer. I noticed bars on the single window, the numerous locks on the door, and knew it was a prison cell.

We stopped at the door and Vallan wrestled with some keys, unlocking six different places. Over his shoulder, he said, “You’re sure?”

I swallowed hard. My nod was almost imperceptible.

Another grunt from the massive vampire. It seemed a typical response from him.

He swung the door open and we entered the small space. Inside was a single person with their back to us. Short brown hair bowled over their head to their ears. They spun at the sound of the rattling door and stood straighter, defiant.

I noted the slightly protruding chest of the prisoner, the knot in their throat, and the broad shoulders of the interfolk woman. She didn’t seem scared in the slightest, and besides the overly locked door, she wasn’t chained, shackled, or restrained in any way.

Vallan stood in front of her, towering. Garroway and I stood behind him. I fidgeted in front of my belly, unsure what was happening but anxious about it.

Vallan said, “You are Ethern.”

“Ethera,” the person responded in a high voice. “Do not call me Ethern. It was the name I was born with.”

Vallan didn’t argue the point. “You understand what you have agreed to?”

Ethera spoke firmly, confidently. “I do. You vow to make good on your end of the bargain?”

“Won’t matter to you.”

Ethera’s body tensed. So did mine. “It does matter to me. I’ll haunt you forevermore if you go back on your word, my lord.”

“I am no one’s lord.”

“Have I not been good, Overseer Stellos?”

This brave woman was not scared of Vallan in the slightest. It was admirable to see, if not foolish.

The lumbering vampire said nothing for a long, tense moment. My heart beat heavily in my chest as my eyes swiveled between the two. If they’d been the same height, they would have been standing chest-to-chest, but Vallan was tall and Ethera was not.

“You’ve done your part,” Vallan finally said, giving what I imagined was his version of a compliment and high regard.

Ethera gave a weak smile in response. The vampire continued, crossing his arms. “Her name is Zefyra. She works the Tanmount in Berrigen Square. Managed to get out from under silver two years ago.”

Ethera’s smile widened at Vallan’s recited words. They sounded like gibberish to me. To this woman, they sounded like the world. Like everything that mattered. Ethera’s eyes were noticeably brighter as she nodded profusely, tears making them dewy.

“My bond is shatterproof.” Vallan’s words hung heavy in the air. Then he did a strange thing: He put out his hand as a measure of respect.

Ethera took Vallan’s huge paw with both hands and shook his gloved knuckles. “Thank you,” she said in a soft voice.

Vallan grunted.

Ethera took a step back, closer to the wall behind her. She stood straight-backed, raising her chin in defiance.

Vallan reached behind him, confusing me as he grabbed the handle of his axe near his shoulder.

I was still confused when he yanked the massive weapon off his back and slashed it across Ethera’s throat in one blurring, precise motion.

Ethera let out a sickening gurgle as blood sprayed from her neck against the wall. She collapsed, dead, and a sharp intake of breath rushed through me as I faltered back a step in sheer shock.

Despite Vallan’s precision with his axe, the curved blade was simply too large and created a ragged wound that nearly decapitated the interfolk woman.

Without a word, Vallan turned and strode past me and Garroway.

I was left standing there, gawking at the dead body of Ethera and the blood pooling around her corpse as she lay slumped against the wall.

Fingers curled around mine at my side and I snapped out of it, blinking wildly as Garroway took my hand. “Come, little badger. It’s over.”

“W-What . . . just happened?”

Outside, Vallan was already ten paces ahead.

I ran to catch up. “What the fuck did you just do?!”

“A favor,” he answered, continuing to walk.

I shoved him in the back, hard, unable to control my anger.

He hardly moved, yet it was enough to warrant a pause in his stride. Slowly, menacingly, he turned toward me.

“You’re lucky that wasn’t my sword in your back,” I growled, baring my teeth. My knees bent, ready for a fight. I was always ready for a fight.

Vallan eyed me up and down. Crossed his arms, waiting for me to make the first move. When I stayed still, waiting for the same thing, he nudged his chin over my shoulder. “That human’s sacrifice saves her family’s life. She is twice as honorable as any other human I’ve met.”

The anger ran out of me in a huff of breath. “What did she do to deserve such a brutal end?”

“We struck a deal, silverblood.” His finger pointed past me, tone rising slightly as something like anger mixed in his voice.

“Her life for her lover’s. Now, Zefyra will be turned and allowed to rise above her station as a perpetual slave in Olhav.

Ethera agreed to the sacrifice. Don’t forget, I lost a good worker, too. ”

His words did nothing to quell my rage. I threw my arms up, yelling, “Why did she have to sacrifice herself for her partner’s future?! The mad camp you have here”—I swept my hand to the mine in the distance—“it’s entirely operated by interfolk miners! Why?”

Vallan seethed. He was showing much more emotion now than when he’d executed Ethera.

“Blame your own kin for that. Nuhavian dogs call halfkeepers useless. The halfer women can’t birth, and the men can’t fight.

So they give them to us, freely, and we find a use for them. They work the mineral we can’t touch.”

My brow knotted, confusion joining my hurricane of pity and rage. “Nuhav just . . . gives the people to the vampires?”

“As offerings for protection, for peace, you name it. Your people are weak-willed and spineless. I do not make it so.”

Well, he’s right about that. I hate humans just as much as I hate vampires, given everything they’ve done to me.

“Ethera knew what she wanted. More than I can say for most,” Vallan continued.

I tried to bolster my anger, calling for it. It wouldn’t come as heavily as before. Vallan has sucked the wind out of my sails.

“On rare occasions, halfkeepers like Ethera sacrifice themselves to see their kin get a chance at a better life, a better station. Do you know how rare a halfkeeper vampire is? It is an honor.”

I glanced over my shoulder to the cellhouse, the scene of the crime. “. . . Not for Ethera it isn’t.”

Vallan’s body heaved in an exasperated huff. He spun away, evidently having explained himself enough to me.

Garroway held me back as Vallan marched on. Only once the massive bloodsucker had made it to Cordea’s tent did Garroway and I follow.

“You don’t understand our ways and customs, lass,” he explained in an even tone. “Best not to get under Vall’s skin until you do.”

My lip twitched. “I can’t just sit back and watch murderers ply their trade without consequence. It’s not in my nature.”

“Aye,” he said. “That fire inside you is why we like you. Even Vallan, though he’d never admit it.”

I clenched my jaw as our boots kicked up dust. “So Zefyra does . . . what? She becomes a vampire and . . . does she know her lover is dead?”

“I’m sure.”

My shoulders drooped. It seemed so cruel, pointless, and barbaric. Not only were humans dined on like soup here, they were also sacrificed for . . . What?

As we made it to the tent, I was about to pose the question to Garroway but then the conversation ended on the other side of the flap and I had no reason to ask.

“. . . Grounds empty,” Cordea was saying. “Shift’ll take another ten minutes until the next workers are up.”

Vallan said, “Tell the miners what’s happened here. Show them what happens to thieves who try to pilfer from the Commerce Ministry.”

“Show them?”

“Put the halfkeeper’s head on a pike.”

“Yes, sir.”

Vallan exited the tent seconds later, pushing past me and Garroway.

The sack of silver from Cordea’s chest was slung over his shoulder.

He swiftly moved through the ghost camp—workers sleeping or changing shifts so he could exit the camp unseen—and we followed.

I had to nearly jog to keep pace with his long, hurried strides.

We reached the incline to leave the North Mine and everything played over in my head. I finally understood the full extent of what had just happened.

Ethera is the scapegoat, I mused. She was given a deal for her lover’s life in exchange for her own life. The poor interfolk will be cast as a thief, made an example of behind closed doors where no one can question the truth.

And the truth is . . . that Vallan Stellos is stealing silver from the very mine he oversees.