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 wasmine—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 ona 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 thebiggestdeal, 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 kepthis 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 asless 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, achance—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.
