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Arthie Casimir couldn’t be bothered. By the cold, by the dark, by the vampires. Business never stopped.
It was unfair for the masked Ram to see so much when the people of Ettenia couldn’t even see the face of the monarch that ruled them.
The butler looked from Arthie’s mauve hair and brown Ceylani skin to Jin’s monolid eyes and back to Arthie, glancing from the short crop of her hair to the lapels of her open jacket, then to the shine of the chain that led to the watch in her vest.
“Weapons?” the butler asked, palm outstretched. “No, thank you.” Arthie smiled. “I have my own.”
There was a greed in his gaze, as if he feared missing the world by giving in to a blink.
“You know, for the longest time, I’ve wondered if those of us who come and drink tea can taste the blood you serve in those very same cups.”
“We all have our secrets or the world would be out of currency. Isn’t that right, darling?”
You decided to take what’s freely available and turn a profit. Thievery at its finest.”
“You know it more than anyone, Arthie, the girl who pulled pistol from stone.”
All of White Roaring knew about Calibore, the breechloader that no one but she had been able to pull free.
“Arthie, the girl who came to Ettenia in a boat full of blood.”
“You—you’re a vampire.”
“Most artists only ever see success long after they’ve rotted in their graves. But here you are, early twenties and a household name. Imagine what White Roaring would think,” Arthie mused, “if they knew their beloved painter wasn’t even alive. Terrible for business, really. You might not even have a place in society anymore.”
She almost felt sorry for him, until he looked up at her and winked slowly, with vanity. “Every good love story starts with a bullet to the heart.”
One’s for serving our prim, aristocratic patrons, and the other’s a little more alluring for our vampire friends who come from all walks of life.”
“That’s Spindrift. Tearoom by light, bloodhouse by dark.”
These weren’t the vampires with exclusive access to the elite society of snobbery known as the Athereum, but they dressed and acted as if they were lords and ladies anyway,
In Ettenia, vampires had lived for decades in relative secrecy, indistinguishable from the living, until a massacre had thrown their existence into sudden blinding light.
After all, fear became hate when it festered long enough. The world always teemed with darkness, Ettenia had just given it a new name.
It didn’t matter if the majority of vampires acted with decorum, and though the richer vampires could assimilate into high society with no one the wiser, the commonalty had no place but the shadows and, thus, rare access to blood.
Traditionally, a vampire was born when a person on the brink of death ingested vampire blood. Whether they were exsanguinated by an undead or died of other means, the process was the same: Drink an adequate amount of vampire blood in those precious seconds, and the deed was done.
Half vampires were different. They were fed vampire blood while they were still alive, and often against their will, giving them all the energy of the living and then some, enough to unleash their pain upon the innocent without even realizing it.
Both full and half vampires drank blood to survive, both bore no reflection in a mirror. Full vampires cast no shadow, half ones did. Unlike full vampires who were frozen at the age they were turned, half vampires matured at a pace much slower than humans until they eventually stopped.
“Well then, you can’t blame me for your lack of morales.” “Morals. The word you’re looking for—” “You know I can say all that and more in two other languages, both of which have far more letters than Ettenian, so don’t patronize me, Jin,” she snapped.
Spindrift being a bloodhouse was no secret. White Roaring knew it. The crew knew it. Every member of the Horned Guard knew it. The difference was in the proof: None existed. Except for that syringe Matteo had, of course. Jin still didn’t know how he’d managed to pilfer
Really, all they’d needed were the small hands of a small girl from a small island far, far away. A girl who had been wronged, cheated, stolen.
When Jin was seven he’d wished for a sister. When he was eleven Arthie had pulled him out of death’s embrace.
She was, simply put, a tempest in a bottle, tiny and simmering and ready to obliterate.
“Dulce periculum, brother,” Arthie reminded him, holding up her left arm. He knocked the back of his right hand against the back of hers. Their knuckles rapped. “We were made for trouble, you and me.”
“Always go with the Crimson Gem myself,” said a third, leaning close. “Nothing beats a good spiced pekoe.” If Arthie was a tea, that was what she would be. It was brewed with care and steeped with just the right amount of spices that brought out earthy, smoky undertones as the leaves unfolded. It demanded perfection, conferred the best, and punished anything that wasn’t with downright bitterness.
Ettenian laws were created for the white man, usually at the expense of anyone who didn’t share their pallor. This was how someone like Matteo Andoni could live a markedly different life than someone like Arthie.
“Then why do you look like you want to kill me?” the sergeant asked with a smirk. “Oh, that’s just my face,” Arthie replied. “One gets a taste for blood when you have to lick your own wounds, you see.”
“Blow switch two,” Arthie murmured to Jin. Matteo Andoni had clearly shaken her if she thought that would tip anything in their favor. Blowing a bulb was the oldest trick in the book. The silliest. The most amateur. “Jin,” she bit out. One of these days she was going to get him killed, and he’d be too dead to whine about it.
“Those cabbage hats got close!” Chester exclaimed. It was getting worse. No one said it, but everyone in the crew knew it.
Spindrift was but one part of her retribution for what this country had done to her. She’d spun a business out of tea leaves because the Ettenians had found her tiny island of Ceylan and cultivated it to their liking.
The one who draws Calibore free is our savior. The one who wields Calibore is Ettenia’s right and true leader.
Arthie was neither of those things, only a girl who paid attention. It was hard to believe in fairy tales when she’d lived a nightmare, and it just so happened that legends were good for business.
Calibore was a hoax: The pistol had been artificially fixed in place to exploit hopeful Ettenians. Still, the pistol was special: silver and strange, with a single bullet in a pristine chamber. Otherworldly, yes, but there was no legend holding it in place.
She was still a child, but when you saw the cruelty of the world firsthand, you became a little cruel yourself.
It wasn’t waiting for a divine grip. It hadn’t been left there by a long-forgotten enchanter for a future king. It was simply one of the many artifacts in Ettenia’s possession. They collected trophies for civilizing countries that had never asked for a redefinition of the word.
She wasn’t like him. She didn’t go around breaking hearts; she broke other things, like laws and contracts and bones.
That is, until Arthie decided those artifacts had to disappear and, worse, be mysteriously replaced with private collections stolen from thirteen homes in the capital’s richest neighborhoods.
“Reclamation,” Arthie had said, her Ceylani tongue stumbling across the word. By then, Jin had taught her letters using old newspapers and her iron will.
know what the pair of you are capable of, but I also know your limits. You might threaten me, you might threaten to run my coffers dry or never let my daughters marry, but you will not kill them.”
Given Jin’s early education, he had an extensive vocabulary of words he’d use to describe vampires. They were deadly, cruel, sibylline, and powerful. Bestial and sanguisuge. Beautiful and vicious. Endangered had never been one of those words.
Most notably, the Athereum wasn’t fond of Arthie’s catering to the common vampire any more than she was fond of their pretension.
“We’ll have ourselves a tempest of tea on the horizon.”
Confidential documents have gone missing. Specifically, a ledger.”
“I’m one of several high captains sworn to act with discretion because the Ram doesn’t want the disappearance known.”
“And I have no intention of handing over the ledger to anyone,” he continued. “I want to take the Ram down with it.”
