Bloodwitch (12 page)

“Taro’s and Jaguar’s project,” Gabriel replied, unsettlingly jovial. “Did Jeshickah’s hybrid have an entertaining story to tell?”

I tilted my head, confused. It seemed that there were others besides Jaguar who were perfectly comfortable forgetting Mistress Jeshickah’s title, even inside these walls. Beyond that, I wasn’t sure what he was saying. “Sir?”

“Malachi,” he said with an impatient sigh. “What did he say to you?”

Why?
I wondered.
Do you want to make sure you can explain it all away?

What had Malachi said, though? That shapeshifters could be slaves. That was something I wanted to think about, along with how I had felt when I realized that Malachi was standing tall while I knelt with the human slaves, but I didn’t want to discuss any of that with this stranger.

“He said a lot of things,” I answered. “Most of it was nonsense.”

Liar!
It was the first time I had ever looked one of
them
in the face and flat-out lied. I didn’t agree with everything Malachi said, but none of it had been senseless.

I doubted that Gabriel believed me, but he let me go anyway.

“Stay out of the east wing,” he said as he circled back toward the south. “There’s nothing for you here.”

I held my breath until he was gone. All around me I heard the cautious ruffling of slaves as they went about their business, freed of a vampire’s presence.

I returned to my room and my bed, wondering if the stranger would report to Taro or Jaguar about the visit. If they brought it up, I decided, I would be honest. It would be interesting to learn more about Malachi. Had he really been born there, in one of those dim gray cells? If neither Taro nor Jaguar asked, however, I would keep the memory to myself. I could decide what to make of it on my own.

DETERMINED TO PROVE
both my independence and my competency to myself—and too restless to do anything else—I reported to Felix around noon, well before any of the vampires were awake for the day. I had done my best to sleep but finally decided it just wasn’t to be. Refusing to let a night of poor sleep get the best of me, I threw myself into the work Felix assigned. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t clutter. I was competent. I wasn’t strong yet, but I could grow stronger.

At first the chores seemed menial, and I considered them nothing but a means to an end—a way to add muscle to my frame, as Jaguar had put it. I swept, then scooped ash onto patches of ice, before I was allowed near the horses. I reminded myself what Jaguar had said: even Mistress Jeshickah was willing to dirty herself with these essential
tasks. Jaguar had been joking at the time—
Why does Jeshickah sometimes smell like a stable?
—but the words hung very seriously in my memory.

My diligence was rewarded. After a long hour of brushing, rubbing, and talking to Dika, “acquainting myself” with the horse, as Felix put it, I was finally allowed to saddle her and taught how to mount and dismount. I tried to strike up a conversation with Felix, but his attention never wandered from his task. He was constantly in motion, one eye on me so he could draw my attention to important details or make a rapid correction and the other continually roving the stables.

I was returning from my first loop around the corral when I heard a familiar voice. Even the bitter winter cold couldn’t pierce my excitement as Lady Brina glanced back and saw me entering the stable, riding proudly.

She was riding sidesaddle, a style Felix had mentioned dismissively because Mistress Jeshickah did not favor it. The smart bodice and full skirts of her riding habit were what I would have expected from Lady Brina. I wouldn’t have known what to do with myself if she had shown up in breeches like Mistress Jeshickah wore!

“Help me down,” she said to her companions as I approached and dismounted, somewhat disappointed that she wasn’t watching.

I looked around for Lord Daryl and was grateful that he wasn’t with his sister this time; I knew I was likely to see
that vampire again someday, given that I was living at the heart of Midnight, but I wasn’t looking forward to it.

Today Lady Brina was traveling with a man I had never seen before, who had dark hair, tanned skin, and brilliant blue eyes ringed with gold. He surveyed his surroundings with the attention of a guard, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform. The other individual with them was a boy a few years younger than me whose pallor contrasted sharply with the greenish-yellow bruises that lined the side of his face.

As soon as Lady Brina had landed softly on the ground, Felix approached her. He gave a low bow and asked, “Will your servants be tending to your horse, my lady, or shall I?”

With a familiar toss of her head, Lady Brina told the man with her, “Make sure my property is well tended. We can talk more later. Come, boy!”

The last command was to the child, who hurried after her.

I handed Dika’s reins to Felix, whispered, “I’ll be right back,” and dared call, “Lady Brina!”

She paused and turned with an expression of grim annoyance that lightened when she saw who had spoken. “My quetzal!” she exclaimed as if recognizing me for the first time. “It was very rude of you to leave with no warning. As you can see, it has not been an easy task to replace you. Taro brought this one to me, but he is utterly unsuitable.”

I looked at the bruised boy, whose eyes were downcast. Was that how she saw me? A replaceable servant?
Not
servant—a replaceable slave
, I thought as I realized the boy was wearing one of the black collars I saw so often in this place.

I stared, dumbfounded. “Were you able to salvage the painting?” I asked, and then bit my tongue because she flinched, as I should have known she would. Was I
trying
to be hurtful? Where had those words come from?

One of the ever-silent slaves who tended the stables raced past us toward the main building. He didn’t hesitate to bow, kneel, or in any way acknowledge Lady Brina, which was what warned me of trouble. I hurried back to Felix, who was beside Dika. The horse had seemed fine when I left, but now she was lying down and attempting to roll on her back.

Felix was talking to her in soft, calm tones as he reexamined her hooves and legs. The stranger had also knelt next to the horse and was rubbing her stomach gently.

“What happened to you?” Felix murmured to the horse. “You were perfectly well when you went out. Vance, did you see her eat anything unusual?”

I shook my head as I joined them on the floor, though I had no idea what I could possibly do. The stranger looked up at me sharply. Assessing.

“Who are you?” he asked. “Are you a guard?”

“I’m Vance. I’m …” I hesitated. His eyes reminded me of Malachi’s. Not the color, but the intensity. The draw of those blue-and-gold orbs. I heard Mistress Jeshickah enter
the stables, but it was difficult to turn my attention toward her.

Witch
, I thought as I wrenched my gaze away.

“Who are you?” Mistress Jeshickah asked the witch.

“I’m the master of animals at the di’Birgetta estate,” he answered. “I noticed this one ailing when I arrived with my lady.”

Mistress Jeshickah knelt next to the horse and dropped her head. Long black tresses spread across Dika’s side as the vampire leaned down to listen to the horse’s labored breathing.

The stranger reached out, probably to touch the horse again, but … some instinct deep within me warned otherwise. Lady Brina might have been traveling with her “master of stables” if she was here to buy a horse or other relevant property, but why wouldn’t she have introduced him to Felix in that case? Why would she walk off without him?

“Mistress!” I shouted in warning.

When Mistress Jeshickah lifted her head to glare at me, the stranger threw himself into motion. His raised hand barely missed her throat, then clamped on her forearm instead. His other hand suddenly held a knife.

The air became hot and seemed to shimmer. Mistress Jeshickah’s teeth were clenched as the muscles in the arm gripped by the witch spasmed. She twisted, breaking his grasp, then wrenched his arm up behind his back and
dragged him away from Dika. Felix ran to the horse the moment the others were clear.

Meanwhile, the witch staggered, then lashed out with one leg, his heel striking Mistress Jeshickah’s knee, which sent both of them to the ground, entangled.

I cast my gaze about, searching desperately for anything that I could use as a weapon. I knew nothing about fighting, but standing there uselessly seemed worse.

My hand had just closed on the wooden handle of a pitchfork normally used to turn hay when I heard Mistress Jeshickah hiss in pain. I spun back toward her. The silver handle of the witch’s knife was protruding from her back.

Nothing Malachi Obsidian had said mattered in that moment. Taro’s manipulations, children being raised in cells in the east wing—
doubts
didn’t matter, because this stranger was threatening the woman who had saved me from abandonment, who had given me a beautiful greenhouse and a life where I had never known fear or deprivation.

I flung myself toward the witch with a shriek that I never would have imagined coming from my own throat, and knocked the two apart.

Everywhere the witch’s skin touched mine, I felt searing cold. I braced myself against it, expecting him to strike me down. Instead, his eyes widened, and he flung himself away from me with a curse.

What did I do?
I wondered.
Did I use my magic?
Malachi had said that bloodwitches couldn’t use their magic unless they were trained.

Maybe Malachi lied
, I thought.
Or the Azteka did
.

Pushing my unexpected advantage, I moved toward the witch. He didn’t know that
I
didn’t know what I had done, or how to do it again. His eyes tracked me—which meant they weren’t on Mistress Jeshickah when she struck.

She appeared behind him without warning, looped an arm around his throat, and
squeezed
. When he raised his hands to defend himself, she caught both his wrists in one hand. He struggled like a butterfly caught in a net.

Looking up toward the doorway, Mistress Jeshickah said, “Brina, please explain why you brought an assassin to my home.”

Lady Brina was standing in the doorway, as she probably had been since the fight began less than a minute ago. She gathered herself and said with a huff, “We met on the road. We were going in the same direction, so he offered to escort me.”

The witch
had
lied about being her stable master, just as I had suspected. I should have felt gratified that my instincts were right about him, but I barely had the energy.

Now that the fight was over, I became aware of the world around us. Horses shifted anxiously in their pens, letting out high-pitched whinnies of concern. Felix was in
the process of tucking Dika safely into her stall; the horse had regained her feet and was tossing her head, fighting her handler.

“Very well,” Mistress Jeshickah said. “Brina, go about your business and be grateful that I’m aware enough of your arrogant idiocy to believe your excuse. Vance.” I jumped as she said my name, then froze, unsure if I should be kneeling. “Well done. I will consider an appropriate reward for your loyalty.” The witch finally went limp in her arms. She dropped him into the straw, then snapped, “Felix!”

Now that the horses were settled, the stable marshal presented himself immediately and knelt in front of his mistress.

Though I had already seen the leather bullwhips that hung in the stables, I had accepted Felix’s explanation that I would never need to use one—not on one of Mistress Jeshickah’s prized, perfectly trained horses—and not asked further questions. So when Mistress Jeshickah lifted one from the wall, the last thing I expected her to do was flick the long, ropelike tool in Felix’s direction.

With the speed of lightning and the sound of an accompanying thunderclap, the end of the snakelike weapon struck Felix once, twice, three times in the chest. Each time it struck his flesh, the skin ripped and blood gushed to the surface. Felix went rigid and a small, choked sound escaped his throat, but he made no move to defend himself or get away.

“What is the rule about strangers in my stables?” Mistress Jeshickah asked as she knelt to retrieve the witch’s fallen knife. As she turned I saw the slice through the back of her bodice where the knife had penetrated. Blood had stained the cloth around the wound, though the skin now appeared to be solid.

“Strangers are not allowed in the stables,” Felix replied. “I’m sorry, Mistress. I thought he was with Lady di’Birgetta, and I know I am not supposed to—”

“It isn’t your job to
think
,” Mistress Jeshickah interrupted. “It is your job to see that my orders are obeyed. Orders that exist to keep my property intact, and to keep things like
this
from happening. Is Dika all right, now that the witch’s magic is broken?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“Is everything under control here?”

I turned to see Jaguar in the doorway. He briefly met my gaze, then looked to the witch on the floor, who had started to stir.