Bloodkin (5 page)

Misha shook her head. “It’s ridiculous, not to mention selfish,” she huffed. “This is no life for children.”

I saw Farrell flinch, and remembered that he had once been a father. His mate, Melissa, had shared Misha’s opinion. After Naga Elise’s death, when the first accusation of treason had fallen on Farrell, Melissa had left the Obsidian guild and begged sanctuary from the serpiente king, Julian. She had brought Farrell’s child with her, and when she had become Julian’s second queen, her son, Aaron, had become his son as well.

Therefore, the only son of a man who had dedicated his life to the principles of the Obsidian guild was now called a prince. Before I had joined the Obsidian guild, I had known Aaron fairly well. He had treated me like a kid sister, but it was obvious that he was every inch a young man used to privilege, and blind to anyone else’s struggles. He had no idea that the infamous outlaw Farrell Obsidian was his father.

“Weren’t you born in the Obsidian guild?” Vance challenged Misha. “Would you rather Farrell had left you and you brother where you were?”

“Vance!” I gasped, shocked. If Farrell hadn’t bought
Malachi and his mother from Midnight, Misha would have been born a slave of that empire.

“At least Shkei would probably still be alive,” Misha mused. This time, I was the one who sucked in a sharp breath, feeling as if I had been struck. “Malachi says the vampires planned to cull him, but my older brother has a knack for survival. He would—”

“That’s enough,” Farrell broke in. The sharp command, so different from his usual thoughtfully permissive approach, made it clear how deeply Misha’s speculation had hurt him.

“Of course,
sir
,” Misha replied, turning long enough to give Farrell a baleful glare before speeding her pace so she could once more walk several steps ahead of us.

Farrell sighed heavily, but said nothing. What was there to say?

We reached the boundary of Midnight’s land, a bridge over the rapidly tumbling Barri Creek, two long days later. Though the four of us were supposedly traveling together, we were far from companionable. It was difficult to hunt effectively while carrying the amount we were and still make good time, but Vance and I used trying as an excuse to range ahead of the others, where Misha’s voice couldn’t reach us. Farrell stayed close to her, protective, and when I saw how tense and drawn he looked in the evenings I felt a twinge of guilt, but mostly relief that I had avoided her seemingly poisonous voice.

We approached the bridge at sundown. Most serpiente traders would have camped for the night in the clearing on this side, which was maintained for just that reason, then moved on after sunrise to reach the market by midday, but we paused only long enough for the sun to duck behind the trees before stepping onto the trade road.

This was one of the most dangerous moments of our trip. The trade road was the most likely place for us to run into other serpiente, and on this side of Barri Creek, we were likely to be shot without warning if we were recognized by their guards. Unfortunately, the “creek” had high cliffs on either side and wide rapids at the bottom, so crossing at any other point was even riskier.

Midnight was the only local empire that didn’t consider us outlaws or worse, which meant we were technically much safer in their land than any other, as long as we didn’t overstay our welcome. We could travel in Midnight’s forests as long as we were intending to trade, and their laws protected us from the other shapeshifter nations who would like to see us dead. However, the penalty would be swift and severe if they judged we were actually
living
here. The only shapeshifters allowed to do that were the ones who officially worked for the vampires’ empire, and they were even more despised than we were.

More than we used to be, anyway
, I thought, remembering what I had heard in the serpiente market. Midnight didn’t consider us employees—bloodtraitors, as they were referred
to by other shapeshifters—but the rest of the world seemed to be leaning that way.

We finally reached the market midmorning. As always, the sight of the guards at the gates made my hackles rise. The men and women in Midnight’s burgundy regalia were here to make sure the vampires’ laws were being followed, which meant they were the ones ensuring we could trade here safely.… Still, it was hard for me to trust any guards, much less ones I knew had chosen to leave their own people to work for Midnight.

Normally, the guards made an attempt to avoid conversation unless there was a problem. They knew that most of the merchants and shoppers here considered them traitors. Today, one of them noticed Vance, straightened, and greeted him with a respectful “Sir.”

The acknowledgment made Vance flinch and freeze at the threshold of the market. Misha was standing with her shoulders tight and her nostrils flared, like a horse on the verge of bolting. Farrell and I exchanged a concerned glance.

“You don’t need to come,” Farrell said. “The two of you can camp farther back, and Kadee and I can do our trading.”

“I need to,” Vance answered, taking a determined step forward as if pushing his way through the memories this place evoked. I knew that Vance had status in Midnight—I had heard Jeshickah’s offer to let him stay as one of them—but it was hard to reconcile that knowledge with the young
man I had come to know the last few months. We feared these guards because they represented the vampires’ empire. It was disturbing that
they
seemed to fear
Vance
.

I followed Vance’s lead, and our movement seemed to break Misha out of her paralysis. She followed without a word, and we passed into what Midnight claimed was the greatest market in the world. I wasn’t sure I believed that, but it sprawled larger and offered more luxury goods than anywhere I had ever seen or expected to see in my life.

The exchange of sundries like food staples, simple spices, leather, fur, and iron made up only a small fraction of this market’s trade. From far to the south, the Azteka brought exotic pigments, feathers, stones, raw silver, cocoa, and sugar. The serpiente were known for their fine dyes, wool and flaxen fabrics, and paper and ink. The avians had the best metalworkers; I intended to visit their blacksmith about a new knife, but their real business here was in gold and silver, and fine ceramics. Shantel merchants could quite literally work magic with leather, fur, bone, wood, and other natural items, though most of those items were far too pricey for the likes of us. More often, they sold carved or sewn items ranging from practical tools to useless decorations.

This market, surrounded by waist-high stone walls and policed by Midnight’s guards, showcased the best that the shapeshifter nations had to offer. The
best
of the best went to Midnight itself, in exchange for the two basics that empire had to sell: freedom, and food.

Farrell caught my eye, looked pointedly to Vance, and then nodded to Misha. The communication was clear—he would watch out for Misha, and I should keep an eye on Vance. The quetzal’s pace slowed every time he passed a guard wearing Midnight’s uniform. I couldn’t imagine what thoughts were going through his head, but I was proud of him for facing this fear.

I stepped closer to Vance, silently saying,
I’ll stay with him
.

“We need to see the Shantel,” Farrell said to Misha.

We had intended to split up here, but Malachi’s words prompted me to say, “We’ll go with you.”

Beside me, I felt Vance tense, and I regretted my words.

“The boy with the harp is Shantel?” Vance guessed, his tone carefully neutral.

Vance’s history with the Shantel and their magic was at least as tangled as the one he had with Midnight. Without Vance’s knowledge, a Shantel witch had infected his blood with a spell that made it poisonous to vampires in a bold but ultimately unsuccessful assassination attempt. I didn’t want to force him to face more than one demon from his past at a time.

“Do you want us to ask about Shane for you?” Farrell asked, immediately recognizing my quandary, and offering a solution.

I nodded. Shane probably wasn’t even here. “We’ll meet back up after Vance and I see the blacksmith,” I suggested.
The smith’s shop was one of the largest permanent structures in the market. The Mistress of Midnight’s love of horses was well known, which meant a farrier was always expected to be in residence.

Misha quirked a brow. “The Shantel will not like having a child of Obsidian inquire after one of their princes,” she pointed out.

We were hardly a threat to the Shantel, but that didn’t mean they would take such questions kindly.

“The worst they can do is refuse to answer,” Farrell replied logically. “They can’t refuse to trade.”

Among the serpiente, rape was a high crime. Among the avians, familial abuse was considered one of the worst offenses. Among the Shantel, there was no trespass more vile than disrespect of the
sakkri
, their high priestess, prophet, and conduit to their magic. But in Midnight, nothing was more holy than trade, which meant the only unforgivable sins were those that undercut the bottom line.

“Impeding trade” was punishable by fines up to the value of the trade, and Midnight’s choice of payment was always flesh. As long as merchants continued to fear slavery more than they hated us, they would never refuse to trade. Not here, inside these stone walls.

“WE MIGHT AS
well stay together,” Vance said, his voice soft but determined. With obvious false bravado, he added, “Malachi’s a prophet, right? Who am I to second-guess his guidance?”

On second thought, maybe it wasn’t bravado I heard, but irony. The look he shot at Farrell in that moment wasn’t friendly, as if he wanted to pick a fight.

“I trust Malachi’s vision,” Farrell answered patiently, “but even I acknowledge that his words are often unclear. The Shantel’s treatment of you was intolerable, Vance. They used you as a weapon without ever asking your consent or considering your safety. If you want to face them, come with us and we’ll stand with you, but there’s no shame in turning your back to them if that’s what you want. As for words
of prophecy …” He shrugged. “You’re a child of Obsidian now. You can let prophecy guide you if you choose, but even fate is not your master. Do whatever your own conscience says you must.”

That was our creed, the one the Obsidian guild had always followed, but Vance seemed deflated by it. It was as if his anger had been holding him up, protecting him from his fear of this place, and so he lost a little strength when Farrell refused to argue with him.

I wanted to apologize for putting Vance in this position, but I would have been doing so to make myself feel better about my careless words, not to comfort him. I bit my lip and stayed silent, leaving the decision to him.

Vance sighed, shook his head, and said, “In for a penny, in for a pound.”

He started forward, leading the way toward the Shantel. As I followed, I couldn’t help but remember the last time we had come here together: the stench of corpses killed in the plague the Shantel had intended for the vampires; the heat of the pyre; the taste of adrenaline and despair at the back of my mouth.

When we reached the area where the Shantel normally traded their wares, we found only a darker patch of earth and the heavy, lingering stench of ash.

“Did we miss them?” Misha wondered aloud. Unlike the avians and serpiente, who maintained a fairly constant
presence in the market, the Shantel visited for a couple of weeks at a time only a few times a year. We normally timed our visits to coincide with theirs, but it was certainly possible to show up a few days early or late; I had assumed that was what happened to the merchant who wanted to buy their bone combs, but now I felt a chill running up my spine.

“Have you seen the Shantel this season?” I asked a nearby merchant. Out of the corner of my eye, I watched Vance drift into the middle of the burned patch. In his mind, was he here—or was he back in Midnight? Was he thinking of the Shantel or the vampires?

“Not since the fire,” the merchant replied. “Midnight hired a crew a while back to clean up the wreckage. I heard them saying the cost was being added to the Shantel accounts.”

“It’s been four months,” I said, more from shock than protest. “Farrell, are the Shantel that self-sufficient?”

The serpiente and avians couldn’t survive without Midnight, but I wasn’t sure about the Shantel. Their magic could keep the vampires from storming their land and taking their people by force, but they could still starve.

“I don’t think so,” Farrell answered. “They used to be, but their population has grown since they’ve been trading with Midnight.”

Vance, meanwhile, had engaged one of Midnight’s
guards. After a brief conversation, he returned to us with a frown and reported, “Midnight is offering a substantial reward for any Shantel captured and brought to them, and the guards are under orders to arrest them on sight if they show up here.”

“I think my brother sent you on a wild-goose chase, girl,” Misha observed. “He probably saw some vision of when you were a kid and confused himself.”