Page 140 of On Wings of Blood

“Need Blood?”

“Feed on me please.”

“Blood for Sale. Cheap.”

The signs were misspelled, scrawled in messy and sometimes illegible lettering.

My breath caught in my throat as I saw how young some of the children were. The smallest couldn’t have been more than five. Her face was streaked with dirt and tears as she huddled next to an older girl.

There was a movement to my right. I watched in stunned silence as a highblood emerged from the shadows of an alley. He moved silently towards the oldest boy in the group of children, who must have been about twelve. The boy shot to his feet without hesitation, his sign dropping to the ground as he wiped his nose with the back of his sleeve.

Eagerly, he took the highblood’s outstretched hand. Together, they disappeared down the street.

Disgust roiled in my gut. This world was so broken.

“Sad, ain’t it?”

I turned sharply. A woman had come out of the inn behind me. She leaned against one of the wooden poles along the inn's porch, a half-empty mug of ale dangling loosely from her hand.

She hiccuped and covered her mouth.

I glanced back at the children, unable to keep the horror from my voice. “Why are they out here? Shouldn’t they be home?”

“Poor mites haven’t got no homes, do they? Parents are dead, most like.” She glanced around furtively. “Killed, you know. There’s been more killings of late.”

My heart sped up. “What do you mean? What sort of killings?”

The woman was too much in her cups to wonder about my ignorance.

“Murders,” she said, drawing the word out with relish. “The blood drained from each and every one.”

“So highbloods killed them?” Of course. Why wasn't I surprised?

“Highbloods?” The woman’s eyes widened. “Who said anything about highbloods? Of course not! What a strange thing to say.”

I gaped. “But you said their blood was drained. Who else but a highblood would have done that?”

The woman laughed nervously. “Why, a mad man. Or woman, for that matter. A murderer. Who knows why they do the sick things they do? Killing for fun. Horrible, ain’t it?”

“You’re telling me,” I said slowly. “That there have been a number of murders in which the victims have been exsanguinated–”

The woman looked at me blankly.

I rolled my eyes. “It means drained of one’s blood,” I explained. “The victims have been exsanguinated but no one will consider that a highblood most likely did it?”

The woman's face took on a skittish expression. “The highbloods wouldn’t do such a horrid thing. They’re our protectors.” She pointed. “I pray at the Temple of the Blessed Bloodmaid every day, you know. And you should, too.” She looked down her nose at me. “Saying such things could get you into a heap of trouble. We don’t speak that way about highbloods. No siree.” She shook her head and belched again.

“Do all blightborn feel the way you do about the highbloods?” I asked, as I stared at her. In other words, were they all this stupid or was this poor woman the exception?

Her eyes widened as if she couldn’t believe I was bothering to ask. “Why, of course they do.” She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, then recited, “We serve the blood, we serve the line. The highbloods lead, by right divine. In blood we trust, in grace we stand. The highbloods guide us, hand in hand.”

My jaw must have dropped a little because when she opened her eyes she gave me a disapproving frown. “All little children learn the verses. Have you forgotten your Creeds of Faith?”

I licked my lips. “My parents weren't particularly religious.”

“Not religious?” She looked horrified. “I don’t know what that even means. Are you saying you didn’t go to the temple? Didn’t make a blood offering every name day?” She started to back away. “What a strange girl,” she said, sounding uneasy.

“Yes, well, goodnight to you, too,” I called sarcastically, as she darted back inside the inn.

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