“I expected to see his head severed from his neck, given he represents the same deeds once inflicted upon you by other men.”
I stifled a gasp.Dimmon? How does he know what Dimmon did to me? Can he really see all that in my eyes alone? My demeanor, my plight, my brokenness?
Lukain nudged his chin to Antones in the corner of the room. “I think it’s time we give Peltos his monthly surface outing, Ant. What say you?”
“A fine idea, sir.”
“Drag this filth to the Floorboards.” He spit on Peltos’ unmoving form. “Give him to that affable dhampir bastard always slinking around the alleyways in the south. Garroway, I think he’s called?”
Antones bowed his head. He grabbed Peltos’ legs—including the broken, bent one—and unceremoniously began sliding him out of the sparring room.
“There’s a lesson here,” Lukain said once we were alone. “Everyone is expendable.”
Except for you, of course.
Lukain shrugged. “One man’s blood is as good as another’s for my kin. Rapists still bleed red.”
I didn’t know what he meant.
He studied me. “You have the determination and barbarous disposition necessary to fight in the Firehold, little grimmer.” He patted my shoulder as he walked by to leave the room, evidently finished with today’s lesson. “Now you just need the skill.”
The layout of the Firehold was a sprawling network of underground caves and dwelling-rooms that split out from the vast female and male quarters like spiderwebs. The tunnels here had been painstakingly shoveled and worked on over years, decades. New tunnels were always in construction. There was a constant hammering and scraping that echoed through thepassages and mingled with the trickling sounds of water and sewage coming from the surface.
I still had no idea what part of Nuhav we were situated under. In the three weeks I had been here, I had not yet gotten my monthly surface outing where, I assumed, someone would lead me through the Above in a daze, blinking against the blinding sunlight.
I longed for the day I might feel the sun’s warm rays again. If nothing else, Master Lukain was forcing his property to live as vampires.Perhaps knowing we may one day become their thralls. At least for the women.
I had learned bits and pieces in my short time here. The girls and women enjoyed acting prim and proper, trying on stolen gowns and tailored clothes that made them look pretty. They were taught classes by older countesses—education, reading, gossip-making—so they might stand out to the hungry vampires they would one day meet and attempt to seduce. The ladies also did chores such as tailoring, cooking, and keeping the caves somewhat tidy.
Unsurprisingly, the Firehold was quite patriarchal.
While the girls lived relatively risk-free lives—unless they ran into a man like Peltos—the men trained. Constantly. Our lives were a blur of combat classes, sparring sessions, eating, and sleeping.
Still, I did not feel I’d made a mistake joining the boys in the Grimsons. The idea of whoring myself out to wretched monsters was not something I could stomach. I’d already known too many monsters in my short life. I would much rather die in the ring, fighting for my freedom, or at least the illusion of freedom.
I had lived at the whims of cruel men—Father Cullard, Dimmon Plank, even Baylen Sallow when he betrayed me and did nothing to stop my coming here. Nothing had changed inthat sense, with Master Lukain taking over where others had left off, yet I feltdifferent.
For once, I felt like I was coming into my own power. It was a slow clawing feeling that swept through me, rejuvenating my desire to live.
After shattering Peltos’ jaw and condemning him to a grisly death aboveground, I went to the eating hall for midday meal, before I would resume my training. The chamber was vast, with rickety long tables and seating benches set up in three rows.
The eating hall was a loud, raucous place. It was integrated, which meant both boys and girls ate here, typically around the same time. We settled in by age group: the younglings like me ate first; the older group on the cusp of adulthood ate after. Three dozen younglings currently filled the space—about twice as many boys than girls. In all, according to Lukain’s helper Antones, sixty people inhabited the Firehold. It was an enterprising underground operation.
Unlike the scraps I had survived on with the Diplomats, Master Lukain was not stingy on providing food. We had to eat, after all—men to fight in the ring, women to plump themselves and become desirable.
Great heaps of meat, potatoes, and vegetables filled domed nickel plates on each longtable. Everyone lashed at the food in a communal upheaval, fending off others to get their fair share.
I kept to myself, sitting at the far end of a table nearest the boys. I was essentially exiled from the girls’ side because of the decision I had made to fight rather than breed. Yet the boys didn’t see me as one of them, either, for obvious reasons.
I had put myself in this position, and I’d live with it.
As I ate quietly from my wooden plate, drinking watered-down ale from a wooden mug, two boys plopped down near me. One on my side—too close—the other across from me.
I knew them as Culiar, across from me, and Rirth, next to me. They were friends and I wanted nothing to do with them. Culiar was a wiry youth about my age. Rirth looked a bit older, stocky, with short stubble on his chin and cheeks. I was taller than him.
“Word’s already out that Master let this mute bitch exact discipline on Peltos,” Culiar sneered, speaking across to Rirth like I wasn’t sitting there.
In the weeks I’d been here, I had yet to say a word to any man during eating time. In fact, I’d barely spoken to anyone. The boys knew, and were jealous of the fact, that Master Lukain had taken a personal interest in my training. That came with its own spat of rumors, despite me being so young. I let the rumors talk, because what could I do to stop them?
