Page 93 of On Wings of Blood

“There is nothing wrong with you, Florence,” I said firmly. “I’m glad he is, too. That wasn’t the first encounter I had with him. He seemed like a nasty piece of work.”

“But it’s so final. He’s just gone. Forever. Even he didn’t deserve that. Did he?” She hiccuped and I realized she was trying to hold back sobs.

I slipped my arm around her shoulders. “You didn’t do it. You didn’t hurt him. Neither did I. It was out of our hands.”

Was it true? I’d wanted to kill Kiernan, yes. But I hadn’t done it. Blake had beaten me to it. I doubted he was sitting by the bonfire crying and wracked with guilt right now. No, he was probably drinking with Regan. Or doing other things.

“None of this was your fault,” I repeated. “None of it. Kiernan knows the system better than either of us. He was a highblood. He knew what might happen. He acted like a bastard... and he paid the price.”

“Maybe he paid the price Kage Tanaka should have paid,” Florence suggested, saying exactly what I’d been thinking. “Didn’t he say Kage sent him over?”

“You think he was what? Expendable? That Kage knew what was going to happen? That it was some kind of a test?”

Florence shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know how highbloods think. I’m realizing that more and more every day.”

“But you grew up with them. In a highblood house, I mean...”

“I grew upworshipingthem. Idolizing them. Adoring them. But it was always from afar. I didn’t really see them up close that often. They had children my age, but we weren’t friends. The family my mother served lived in, well, basically a palace. We lived in a little cottage on the grounds with the other servants. I would see the highblood family from time to time and they were so beautiful. They looked so noble. Then there were feast days and rites at the temples. We all worship them, Medra. I don’t think you quite understand.” She shook her head. “One day we’ll go into Veilmar. Then maybe you’ll get it.”

“I’d like that,” I said. “I want to understand. I really do. Sellbloods, for instance. You said there were some at the party? The ones being fed from?”

She nodded.

“What are they exactly?”

She colored. “They work at brothels. But not the kind you’re thinking of,” she said quickly. “Blood brothels. They sell their blood.”

I stared at her. “Like thralls?” I didn’t see the difference.

She shook her head. “No, they’re not thralls. They’re not under any kind of enthrallment for one. And they don’t belong to a certain highblood or certain house. They might get some pleasure from the act. I’m not certain. Having your blood taken... Well, no one really claims it’s painful. Not that I’ve heard.”

I didn’t want to think about how pleasurable it might or might not have been to have Blake Drakharrow suck my blood.

“So some people make their living this way?” I said. “Selling their blood?”

“Yes. It’s the way some blightborn choose to live. But they’re often looked down upon for it.”

“What a surprise,” I said with irony. “Seems to be the way with brothel workers. No matter what kind or where you are.”

“Some sellbloods do both,” she said hesitantly. “Sell their blood and their bodies, I mean. There are certain brothels that cater to that.”

I tilted my head thoughtfully. “If they’re selling to highbloods then I’m not sure why they’d be looked down upon. I thought serving a vampire was the highest honor. No matter how you served.”

“You’re right, but... that’s just how it is,” Florence said lamely. “They’re often despised. The lowest of the low. Blightborns treat them poorly and highbloods don’t really treat them any better. Their work can be dangerous. They’re more vulnerable.”

She looked at me and shook her head abruptly. “How can you be so strong, Medra?”

“What do you mean?” I asked in surprise.

“Tonight. With everything that happened. You saw Kiernan get killed. You saw what he did to me and you didn’t just stand there–you acted. Which is more than I did for you when Regan was thrallweaving you in the Dragon Court. You’ve already been through so much and look at you, you’re barely rattled.”

“Believe me, I am. But on the inside.” But I knew what she meant. I tried to think of how to explain. “You don’t want to be like me, Florence. Trust me.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, I’m like this for a reason. I’d rather be like you.”

She gave me a disbelieving smile.

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