Bloodtraitor (14 page)

I couldn't.

We were so few now. Everyone in my blood-family was gone. Shkei lay in a shallow ditch in Midnight's land. I would not make the mistake of seeing Misha as my sister again, not when I knew she was willing to make me a scapegoat as soon as I became an inconvenience. Farrell was dead.

Kadee, Vance, and I were the last of the Obsidian guild.

A slow fury kindled in me.

By whatever gods might ever have been, if we were the last of Maeve's kin, then we would fight every last inch to honor everything the Obsidian guild had ever stood for.

We were a people who bowed to no master, who chose neither to rule nor to serve, but who would strike as vipers at a tyrant. We would bring down Midnight, and then if need be we would bring down the serpiente royal house, until we could face our own shadows again without guilt, and shame, and fear.

“JUST
GO
!” MISHA'S
voice cried out, causing several of the Obsidian guild to turn their heads in concern. When they saw that Malachi was with Misha, they turned away again. “Just go and leave me alone,” she whimpered, collapsing in front of the fire and pulling her knees to her chest. “I look at you and you're like a stranger. I can't stand it.”

Malachi stood, speechless. There had always been a bond between them, forged in a white-viper's power, but that connection had been damaged by abuse, and was now frayed and weak.

She turned her back and dragged herself into her tent, seeking solitude.

“Our brother is dead,” he whispered, too quietly for her to hear.

He needed to get away, before he demanded more from her than she was capable of giving and broke the last threads of love that connected them.

Maybe Midnight will let me have the body,
he thought.
A corpse can't be worth that much to them.

If nothing else, maybe the Obsidian guild could give Shkei a proper goodbye, with a pyre in the woods and his ashes scattered to the wild winds.

Malachi was nearly at Midnight proper when he remembered what the trainer had said:
I'll let you dig the grave.
Gabriel intended to use Shkei's body as yet another object lesson for his hawk.

As the sky darkened and sleet started to fall, making it impossible for even his powerful wings to hold him aloft, he sought refuge in Brina di'Birgetta's greenhouse.

Wishful thinking and willful blindness had kept me from anticipating that Misha would betray me. She hadn't been able to stand the sight of me since she returned from Midnight. Even if I hadn't stupidly spoken up and argued with her, she would have turned on me eventually. I was too much of a reminder of the past.

I was still charged with trying to protect the serpiente people, though. By the time I reached Midnight a few minutes before sunrise I had a vague idea of a plan.

I sought not Nathaniel, but Theron. He did not always spend a lot of time in Midnight, but I hoped that the conflict I had heard of between Midnight and Kendra's line would have kept him close. If he was still here, I could find a way to drop the information about the serpiente in a way that would lead Midnight's decision-makers to the conclusion I wanted. After all, he was a mercenary; information was power. I could pretend to be shocked and numbed by my sister's betrayal, a lost soul seeking comfort.

I wasn't fooling anyone, and I was the only one I was having the conversation with. I
was
shocked. I
was
numb. I
did
want comfort.

I knocked on Theron's door, and heard him stir inside.

He opened the door with an amused expression, and said, “Malachi, come in.”

The door closed behind me, making a dull
thunk
instead of the usual resounding, nearly resonate
click.
But perhaps that dullness was in my own mind. Everything seemed muffled.

“Are you in there, Malachi?” Theron asked, sounding a bit less amused than he had initially looked. He was a mercenary, not a nursemaid. He would turn me away if he was expected to simply comfort me.

“Misha had me arrested for treason,” I said, making no effort to keep the emotion from my voice. I was a good liar when I needed to be, but I didn't want to test my skills against someone with Theron's reputation. “She accused me of kidnapping and murdering Hara.”

“Ironic,” Theron replied. “But—”

I didn't let him continue. The words needed to get out before he threw me out. “She and Aaron have this whole elaborate plan to stand up to Midnight. They're mad.” Theron hesitated, listening. “They'll destroy themselves,” I asserted. “Midnight won't even need to step in. Misha thinks the serpiente will stand up against Midnight, but they won't. They will go after the royal house. If they take Misha, I think Aaron will return to his senses, but they're more likely to go after the Diente—”

“Slow down,” Theron interrupted. “Start at the beginning.”

I looked up at him, and shook my head. “I didn't come here to cry to you. I thought—”

He caught my wrist when I reached for him. Business before pleasure, always.

“Start at the beginning, Malachi, and we will see what we can do about sparing your sister's life. That is what you want, isn't it?”

Isn't it? But…“No,” I said softly. Honestly. “It's too late. I'm sure everyone here knew it was too late before Gabriel sold her back to us. I just don't want her to bring the entire serpiente people down with her.”

It occurred to me at last that, if Misha and Aaron were both killed, only Julian Cobriana would remain. I did not want to imagine what his fury would look like when he unleashed it against the survivors of the Obsidian guild.

“Aaron would be a fine Diente,” I said. “Misha is the problem.”

This wasn't the direction I wanted this conversation to go. Midnight was surely capable of getting rid of Misha, but Nathaniel needed her on the throne in order for his plans to work. Even beyond his intention of using the serpiente as a distraction, the last thing we needed was for Midnight to give another brutal example of what happened when someone was foolish enough to stand up to them just as Nathaniel was gathering his allies.

“What is Misha's plan?” Theron asked.

There, that was the question I wanted. I answered as well as I could, explaining about their scheme to rebel against Midnight by acting within the pure letter of Midnight's law.

“Huh,” Theron said at last. He leaned back against the wall, looking amused. “Things do come full circle, don't they?”

“I don't understand.”

“Farrell never told you?” he asked. “Of all the people in your guild, I had thought that Farrell would have been honest with
you.
”

“Told me what?”

“The deal he made,” Theron said, “to buy you and your mother. She was a strong woman, a good worker. Jeshickah did not get rid of her lightly.”

A lead weight settled into the pit of my stomach, and I asked, “What was the deal?”

“A bit over two decades ago, the serpiente queen came up with a plan to stand up against Midnight by working within the letter of Midnight's laws. She was on the verge of making an alliance with the avians and Shantel, as well. Jeshickah did not want the royal leaders involved to become martyrs, so she arranged for their destruction. Discreetly. Farrell agreed to take care of the Naga.”

My tongue seemed stuck to the roof of my sandpaper mouth, so it took me three tries to whisper, “Lady Elise?”

Theron nodded.

Lady Elise, Hara's mother, Diente Julian's previous queen.

“As I understand it, Farrell's mate left him because she disapproved of the arrangement he had made based on a child's prophecy.”

Melissa, Aaron's mother. It all fell into place like a shattering mirror, sending shards of glass every which way, each one accusative, showing me my own traitor self from a hundred angles. The crime we had spent so many years denying…Farrell
had
done it. I wanted to doubt it, but what Theron said made too much sense.

If I hadn't spoken, made up that prophecy, Farrell never would have made such a damning deal and left so much ruin behind him. Of course, Midnight probably would have found another dupe—

No, I was done thinking that way.

But I was a child! I was seven, and all I wanted was not to die. How could I be blamed? It wasn't my fault…

I looked up at Theron, and suspected that whether or not he could read my mind, he knew every agonized thought running through my head.

“You are sure,” he asked, “that taking Misha would be sufficient?”

I nodded, numbly, and then realized what I was doing and said, “I don't think it will even be necessary. Once winter sets in, the serpiente will revolt. Serpents don't like to go hungry. You just need to wait a few months.”

“Should we attempt to save Aaron, then?”

I shuddered. Would it have worked, Elise's plan? She had two other nations on her side, a crucial step that Misha and Aaron had ignored.

“You won't be able to manipulate Julian after all this,” I answered, “so you need Aaron. That's how you pick who gets to rule, isn't it? Who will play your games and be your quiet little doll?”

Theron just shrugged, and said gently, “Frightened little snake.”

He reached for me and I went to him, as grateful for his touch as I had ever been for sunlight after a long, dark night, or a hot meal after days without so much as a dry biscuit. I wasn't thinking about manipulating him anymore, though part of my mind was aware that I was supposed to be careful, supposed to make sure I was saying the right things.

To hell with Lady Elise or Midnight. Would
Farrell
still be alive, if I had not convinced him I was some kind of prophet and Misha a future queen and savior? He probably would be. He would have raised Aaron as his own son.

The Obsidian guild, led by Farrell and Melissa, still would have lived on the fringes of serpiente society, but they never would have become the hunted, hated outlaws we had made them. Treason; murder; Melissa had accused Farrell of rape when she left him, probably because she needed a severe enough excuse to abandon him, but could not directly accuse him of Lady Elise's murder without implicating herself. Both charges carried a death sentence.

I had spent most of my life hating the royal house for what I considered their unjustified, vicious persecution of our guild, and now realized it was my betrayal—not theirs—that had put an ax over the heads of everyone I loved and claimed to care about.

Would I get Vance and Kadee killed next? They still believed in me.

“It will be taken care of,” Theron assured me, before his fangs pierced my throat.

I threw myself into the swift-flowing current of his mind more desperately than I ever had. I didn't want to return. I also knew Theron wasn't the type to want to keep me. He wasn't one of the trainers; he didn't keep pets or sycophants around. He was interested in my information, my flesh, and my blood.

But he let me sleep there, which was good, because I did not know where else to go except back to the cells where I had begun, before I spoke those foolish, selfish words.

Someday, my sister, you will be queen. When you and your king rule, you will bow to no one. And this place, this Midnight, will burn to ash.

I made it all up like a child's fancy, then walked across the bodies of the dead in order to get from that day to this one.

Nathaniel had said we needed to fulfill the first half of the prophecy in order to give the others hope that the rest could someday come true. If we could turn my lie into reality, would Farrell's death be worth it? Would I be redeemed?

This place will burn to ash.

ASHLEY PULLED THE
soft woolen shawl more snugly around her shoulders as a cold draft slipped into the main room from the back cell. The slave who stepped through the heavy back door was quiet and unafraid; he had come to clean the tomblike room, and had no reason to fear the trainer's wrath as long as he performed his task well.

Master Gabriel had just returned to his desk when three sharp raps at the door made him look up with annoyance, as he had every time he had been interrupted while trying to read and respond to the stack of letters and invoices currently in front of him.

Each time, Ashley had watched him anxiously as she tried to decide if there was something else she should be doing, and then been relieved as she realized he would tell her if he wanted her. Until then, like the slave in the cell, she knew her place. She returned to her journal, where charcoal and inks portrayed scenes she couldn't quite recall.

“Enter,” Master Gabriel snapped, his voice like a thunder crack as the last of his patience eroded and he shoved himself to his feet. If it was Mistress Jeshickah on the other side of the door, or someone else capable of protecting him- or herself, the trainer's irritation would move to the next convenient target as soon as the unwanted conversation was done. If it was anyone else…

But Master Gabriel's glare became a grin when he saw who had just walked through the door: a slender woman with snow-white hair, mist-green eyes, and an expression of haughty defiance.

She raised her gaze fearlessly to his—

Then stumbled, flinching, as he closed the door behind her with an ominous
click
.

“Misha,” Master Gabriel purred. “You must need something very badly if you are willing to come to
me
for it.”

The last time I had slept in Theron's rooms, I had woken feeling more peaceful than I had in years. This time, I rolled out of bed and to the floor, struggling to pull myself out of “Ashley's” mind before I could see the rest of that scene.

Misha had gone to Gabriel to arrange for Hara's sale. I knew, just as the trainer would have, that he was the only one capable of giving her the perfect revenge she desired…which meant when he decided he was in the mood to play, she didn't have any other options. I had seen the bruises when she returned to our camp afterward. I didn't need to watch them be created.

I splashed water on my face, but passed by the provided breakfast with a shudder. Alasdair had been so beautiful, so powerful and vibrant and passionate. To see her reduced to someone whose single motivation was watching that creature's every little twitch as she awaited his orders was almost as disgusting as being forced to watch Misha “bargain” for the privilege of giving him a cobra princess would have been.

That wasn't all.

I paused in the middle of reaching for my shirt, as I reconsidered what I had seen. In particular, I thought about the journal. What did a broken slave have to write about? She hadn't been writing something dictated by the vampire. She was recording her own thoughts and memories. Was that possible? I had never met a broken slave with the independent thought required for such a task. On the other hand, I remembered the strange tremble of power I had felt the last time I saw the hawk.

Something was left of her.

I resolved to see her again when I had a chance, if only to assuage my own curiosity. I would need to wait until Gabriel was out of the building, but that happened often enough, since he had properties and businesses he managed outside Midnight. I needed to stay nearby anyway, in order to keep an ear out and try to manage Midnight's response to the serpiente. I could also keep making contacts among the farmers in the village; every ally I had there would help ease the transition after Midnight fell.

In order to accomplish all that, I had to avoid getting kicked out. That meant I needed to make myself useful. I didn't know enough about farming to make that my primary occupation for the next three months, so my choices were the same tasks I had accepted during my many visits over the years.

One option was to claim a space in the dormitory that housed the regular bleeders. Though the household slaves might be bled on occasion, they needed to maintain enough strength to perform their day-to-day duties, so Jeshickah maintained stock specifically for the vampires' meals. Those slaves tended to be physically lovely and mentally vacuous. Jeshickah herself might not be fond of my looks, but she knew my blood was valuable. If I put myself in that group, she would not object. It would even give Nathaniel a convenient way to seek me when he needed to do so.

Given what I knew of his reputed preferences, it would also cause Theron to lose all interest in me. That could be useful if I felt his information-seeking became dangerous, but it would also cut him off as a means of funneling information and suggestions to Jeshickah.

The next best choice was the infirmary. My magic was no good for healing others, but I had a steady hand, a working knowledge of herbs and poultices, an intuitive sense of what was wrong with a sick or injured human, and most importantly, a strong stomach.

So many people came and went each day that the infirmary was an excellent place from which to keep track of all the major happenings in the building. It also provided ample opportunities for someone to discreetly make contact, which Nathaniel did a few hours after I started working there.

When I reached his rooms with the salves and herbs he had requested, I was startled to discover another second-generation slave huddled on his floor, trembling in fear and pain.

“It's not serious,” Nathaniel said as I froze, unsure if I was supposed to go to him or to her. “Give the supplies to Aislinn. She can take care of her friend while we talk.”

I handed salves, bandages, and warm water to Aislinn, who accepted them with a lowered gaze and a murmured, “Thank you.”

“I didn't beat her,” Nathaniel snapped, when I still hesitated to follow him. “That distinction belongs to Daryl. Aislinn brought her back here afterward and asked me to take care of her. It seemed a convenient way to make her happy while also giving me an excuse to see you.”

I nodded, and tried to put the abused slave out of my mind. At least Nathaniel's ulterior motive meant she was being taken care of better than she would have been if Daryl had been left to see to it.

I had more trouble ignoring the rest of his explanation. “Aislinn
asked
you to take care of her?”

Nathaniel nodded distractedly. “The primary trait that makes a second-generation slave more valuable than a broken first generation is their ability to take initiative and think flexibly. It makes them better able to predict their masters' needs. It also means they occasionally show moments of genuine compassion for their fellow human beings. It got Aislinn in trouble the day I bought her; she stepped up to defend one of the other kitchen slaves.”

His gaze drifted over to where Aislinn was washing blood from the other slave's face, and his brows tensed in a frown.

Too quietly to carry to the two slaves, I asked, “If this is common in second-generation slaves, can we use them in the attack?”

Nathaniel started as if I had poked him with a knife, and then shook his head. “Aislinn made it further than most, probably because she's so bright, but it's a trait Jeshickah watches for. If I hadn't bought Aislinn when I did, she would have spent the last couple of weeks in a trainer's care.”

“But you've ignored it?”

“I've
nurtured
it,” Nathaniel answered. “I've rewarded her every time I've seen her show any initiative. I'm going to end up spending an absurd amount of money on that girl over there to keep her out of Daryl's hands, and I have no idea what I'll do with her after that, but it's another support that will help Aislinn do what I need her to do on the equinox.”

“Which is?”

Nathaniel hesitated, as if just realizing how close he was to divulging his plan to me…and then he sighed. “I suppose you need to know, since I'm hoping you can help.” Voice sharper, he added, “It's the only choice, since you obviously aren't suitable as a spy in the serpiente palace. How is it that you can walk the halls of Midnight without issue, but can't keep yourself out of trouble with your own sister for more than a
day
?”

I bit back my immediate, defensive response, and settled on the absolute truth. “Jeshickah doesn't see me as a threat.”

Nathaniel considered the words, then nodded. “You're too much of a mirror to Misha.”

“Have you heard from Theron this evening?” I asked, turning the conversation away from my fractious relationship with my royal sibling.

“I heard bits and pieces,” he answered. “I gather he is encouraging Jeshickah to wait before interfering with the serpiente. Your doing?”

I nodded, and briefly relayed what I had told the other mercenary.

“Be careful with Theron,” Nathaniel warned at the end. “He isn't an idiot, and I'm sure he knows you're trying to manipulate him. He'll allow it as long as what you're saying is in Midnight's best interests, but he will turn on you fast if he catches you in a lie. So far he believes your only motivations are to protect the serpiente and yourself from Misha, but if he senses more is going on, he won't hesitate to use either charm or violence to learn what.”

“I understand.” He had already found a way to weaken the foundation of my world with just a few words, which I now sought to confirm. “Was Farrell really hired to murder Elise Cobriana?”

“Yes, and Jeshickah was quite pleased with the outcome,” Nathaniel answered. “The serpiente believed it the work of an outlaw, but the Shantel and avians recognized it for what it was and backed down…at least for a while. Additional measures were taken later when the other queens looked like they might reconsider.”

I had always wondered how the Shantel queen could possibly have been lost in a hunting accident in her own forest. As for the avian queen, it was well known that she had suffered some form of affliction for years now, something serious enough that her daughter Miriam had taken the throne at a rather young age.
That
illness was assumed to be Midnight's retaliation for something. It was exactly the kind of example Nathaniel didn't want made of Misha and Aaron while he was trying to gather allies.

I didn't need to know any more. “What do you want me to help Aislinn with?”

“I'm still working on how to arrange the attack itself,” Nathaniel explained, “but one thing I've decided is that I will need a distraction. I want to make sure Jeshickah and the trainers are too occupied to fight back until it's too late. The only thing I can think of that would engage all of them would be some kind of major disruption among the slaves in the south wing.”

“Like a fight?” I asked, trying to imagine what it would take to get all five trainers involved.

“Like a riot,” Nathaniel said. “If I tell Aislinn to start something, she will, but she won't get far trying to convince other slaves to act up. Can your magic help?”

I could hide the Obsidian guild camp from serpiente guards, and convince trainers to let me walk out of a room without a beating—most of the time. Could I get broken slaves to fight their masters, even for a few minutes?

“If one or two slaves act out, a trainer restrains them and throws them in a cell until they can figure out why,” I pointed out. “Broken and bred slaves are too valuable to damage unnecessarily. But if there is enough trouble that they all need to be there to subdue it, the trainers will start killing.”

Nathaniel nodded. Clearly choosing his words with care, he asked, “What do you think will happen to the slaves once Midnight falls?”

“They…” I trailed off. The Shantel had a standing policy to execute escaped slaves on sight. Would that continue after Midnight fell? All the shapeshifters would be facing scarce food and other resources this winter. They might take in broken slaves who had once been their own kin, but they wouldn't offer the same charity to humans with whom they had no blood-ties.