Chapter 16: A Taste of Rebellion

The world beyond palace walls spoke to me in dreams.

It beckoned to me, beyond stone and steel, beyond Kael's expanding borders.

Freedom.

Or the promise of freedom.

It was madness.

It was folly.

It was the first truly intelligent decision I ever made after being sold at auction.

So when I learned of the hidden servants' corridor, at the rear of the west wing library—a dusty, forgotten relic—I didn't think twice.

I escaped.

Darkness fell about me, cold and sharp on my heat-blistered skin.

I walked the turning paths of the palace gardens, dodging the guards rigid at each gateway.

I did not look back.

I could not.

Because if I had, I would have seen him—Kael, his blood-red fury and silk and steel collars.

That night, I belonged to no man.

Not even him.

The city outside the palace was a labyrinth of soiled alleys and rough stone. Night clung in the shadows like guards. The air reeked with the stench of smoke and blood.

It was not safe.

It was perfect.

I shoved my hood forward over my face under the cloak I'd stolen and went on, pounding my heart. The flavor of revolution was bitterer than any pleasure Kael had seen fit to bestow upon me.

I was not Scarlett the blood servant today.

I was not a gift to be displayed before the nobles.

I was just a girl.

Free.

Or so I'd believed.

I strolled along the crooked streets until a small tavern caught my attention—a twisted structure stuck between two burnt tower ruins, windows glowing gold, and warm light.

The Broken Fang, the sign groaned, rusty on hinges.

Strange.

I went in.

The bar was full of vampires.

Their proximity bothered my skin like a crackling radio.

Their eyes slid past me—some of them curious, some ravenous, most uninterested.

Good.

Invisibility would have been preferable.

I purchased a cup of some bitter, sour substance that seared the back of my throat and stuck in the back corner, observing with a furtive gaze.

Listening.

Eavesdropping was unladylike.

But then I wasn't quite so unladylike anymore, was I?

I'd hardly set down my cup when he crossed over.

A vampire—boyish in features, but with an ancient, restless appearance. Silver-white hair, falling into steely, cunning eyes the color of storm clouds.

He sat down in front of me uninvited.

"You don't belong here," he rumbled, cadenced low.

I rose stiffly. "You don't, either."

He laughed—a thin, wicked purr.

"Touché, little bird,"

I regarded him warily.

He was not dressed like the palace vampires—all boots so polished, all jackets so heavily ornamented.

No, he wore frayed leather, scuffed boots, a ghostly scar that began at the curve of his mouth and ran up to his jaw.

An outlaw.

My whole body ached to get free.

But I didn't.

Perhaps it was the rebel that still ran in my veins.

Perhaps it was the stark hunger to experience something true.

Or perhaps, on a pretty fundamental level, I was tired of playing safe.

"Your name?" I snapped, startling both of us.

He smiled, his chair wheeling back on two legs.

"Call me Riven."

Riven.

Even the sound burned like a knife.

"And you, little bird?" he asked, leaning his head. "What's your tale?"

I stuttered.

Scarlett. Blood-servant. Vampire Prince's plaything.

None of them were real at the time.

"Does it matter?" I replied instead.

Riven's smile increased.

"Not one whit."

He leaned in close, the voice falling to a whispered conspiracy.

"But you'd do well to guard yourself. You glow like an open wound in here. The wrong eyes will find you."

"Yours too?" I growled.

He laughed again, deeper.

"Perhaps. But I don't bite without permission."

A strange fire flared in my chest—half fear, half curiosity.

I should go.

I should flee back to the palace before Kael found out I'd escaped.

But I remained.

It was Riven with whom I was clawing for breath having drowend myself too long.

Plain. Strong. Devastating.

We spoke in half-truths and riddles, and at some point between the second and third drink, I forgot nearly to pay attention to chains that scraped against the skin of my neck that no one else perceived.

Nigh.

There was the passage of time.

Outside, the sky began bleeding black to dark indigo—the hue of shattered light.

Fear crept up on me.

Kael.

He did not yet know, but soon would.

And words would not be the price this time either.

I pushed my chair back, heart racing.

"I have to go," I snarled, voice serrated.

Riven stood up as well, a flicker of some somber emotion passing across his face.

"Watch out, little bird," he told me, gentler now. "The people who keep you captive. They don't give up."

I stopped.

Something in his tone—something sneering and shattered—gave shivers an uncontrolled sprint down my spine more than the coolness of dawn.

"Who committed you?" I snarled out.

Riven's smile faltered for the first time.

He ran a troubled hand over the scar under his jaw.

"No one worth knowing."

I could get him to tell me more before he turned and moved back into the crowd, dissolving like mist.

And left me standing there once more.

The hollowness of the ache in my chest was almost the worst it had ever been.

I ran back to the palace, using every trick the servants had been instructing me—the hidden doors, the patrol blind spots.

I crept into my room as the first flush of dawn tinged the eastern sky.

Safe.

At least, for a little while.

I collapsed onto the bed, shaking with adrenaline and fatigue.

A sip of defiance.

A taste of freedom.

And a run-in with a nasty vampire who had witnessed too much.

I buried my face in my knees, panting for breath.

I had disobeyed Kael.

Shattered his grip, at least for a few short hours.

But with the sun in the sky, and pale light spilling across marble floors, I knew the price was due.

Kael would be informed.

He always was.

And when he was.

I didn't know if I was afraid of his anger—or something else.

His anger.

Or perhaps.

Perhaps his fear.

For if he was afraid for me, then perhaps—perhaps—there was something greater than calculation cold to all.

And in respect more to be dreaded than any revolution that I could conceive.