Page 16 of Vows Forged in Blood

As if reading my mind, one of my guards—Viktor, I think—grins. “You’ve not experienced life until you’ve attended a celebration in our camp, my Lady.” His eyes are a mix of brown and green, reminding me of the forest near the lake where I used to swim and play as a child. There’s a rakish mischief in them that makes my lips curl upwards at the corners.

“Aye, it’s true,” another guard—Malcom?—says, his brogue thick, reminding me of da’s—or my own at times. Usually if I’m very put out or very drunk. I like hearing it. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend my father is here with me. “Descartes sings when he’s into the blood-laced whisky.” He hikes a thumb towards the biggest of the group, a towering tree of a man with a no-nonsense air about him that makes my smile fade. He doesnotlook amused or happy to be included in the conversation, his shoulders and jaw set into hard lines. “But alas, it is no’ thing o’ beauty, my Lady. Truly horrendous,” Malcom stage-whispers and shudders, “sounds a bit like feral cats fighting inside of a washing barrel.”

Descartes narrows his eyes and my own widen slightly, wondering if Malcom is about to get pummeled or perhaps beheaded…but then the big vampiregrins.

“I have a lovely singing voice, my Lady. Do not listen to these ingrates.”

I huff out a surprised laugh and Descartes winks subtly at me before shoving Malcom so hard that he flies off of the path and into stack of crates with a yelp. I gasp and Takara exhales, something between amusement and exasperation.

“They are all children, I swear to the gods…Human, vampire, even Revenants I bet. All men arechildren.”

The other guards laugh and I feel myself relax despite the unease that had settled deep in my stomach with Alaric’s departure. I’d been afraid that this new life would be a bleak one, with no laughter or joy to be seen, only blood and battle and death. But with their laughter ringing in my ears, I think that perhaps things won’t be so bad.

I eye the meeting hall, wondering again about the celebrations. Would I be allowed to attend? I honestly have no idea how this is all supposed to work. Again, I’mtechnicallyallowed to do pretty much anything I want—Consorts are above even Dukes when it comes to titles and privileges—but I have no idea how much that holds true with me beingAlaric’sConsort. Ours is a truly unique situation and I have nothing to measure it against, no precedent to rely on. Am I even allowed to come and go as I please anywhere within the camp? Should I stay away from the soldiers? I rub my temples, the endless what-ifs and questions making my head ache.

Fuck this.

I decide then that I’m going to do what I want and see what happens. I’ve always believed in asking for forgiveness, not permission, so why change now? If I do something I shouldn’t, Takara or my guard or Alaric himself will tell me.

Takara continues to point out different parts of the camp: the washhouse, where the army’s clothes are laundered; several large bathhouses for the soldiers where hot water is pumped in just as it is in my own room; training fields and sparring rings; several giant stables filled with horses; and?—

“A smithy?” I breathe, rushing forward before Takara can stop me. Or, more accurately, the vampire could have easily, but chose not to, which I appreciate. The familiar sounds and scents hit me like a physical blow, and my eyes sting with sudden tears. The heat of the forge envelops me like an old friend as I step inside the open-sided building. I feel Takara step under the covered area behind me, but the rest of the guard remain outside.

I look over the stacks of weapons and wrinkle my nose, immediately feeling a tiny twinge of guilt. I’m admittedly biased, but the craftsmanship of these weapons was nowhere near that of my father’s. It’s understandable, of course. An army would need copious amounts of weapons, not necessarily of the highest quality. Not the beautiful instruments of war that Arwan Clayburn creates. I miss him in this moment so badly I can barely breathe.

“What the bloody hells are you doing?” a gravelly voice snaps, pulling me from my pursual of one of the blades. I gasp and leap backward, knocking into Takara who steadies me with amusement. The vampire who steps from a back room is built like a bull, with a barrel-chest and arms as thick as tree trunks, and his long brown hair is pulled back into a knot at the back of his head. His eyes are a blue so light that they remind me ofice. A long scar bisects his left eye, ending just above his lip and tattoos cover much of his skin. He looks absolutely menacing, to say the least, even more so than Descartes—which isreallysaying something.

“I-I’m sorry, I was just?—”

He glances to Takara and his eyes widen. He quickly bows his head, hastily wiping his hands on his apron. I assume that Takara has already made her rounds through the camp, making sure anyone and everyone is aware of who she is and who she works for.

“Apologies, my Lady. I didn’t realize.” He straightens and his brow furrows slightly, clearly confused by the appearance of the High General’s Consort on his doorstep. I can’t blame him. I doubt any Consort in the history of the Blood Peace has ever stepped foot in this type of place before. “Can I, uh, help you with something?” For some reason, I immediately like the vampire. He reminds me of da in a way, though they don’t look much alike save their muscular builds. Perhaps it’s the unexpected gentleness and kindness in his eyes.

“No, no, I’m sorry I just…Well, I was missing home, honestly,” I admit.

Clearly still confused, he says carefully, “and a blacksmith’s work table might ease the ache?”

“My father…” I bite my lip, “I’m Dahlia Clayburn.” His eyes fly wide.

“Fucking hells,” the vampire breathes and my lips twitch. “Er, pardon, my Lady. I don’t pay much attention to the gossip that flows through the camp and didn’t realize who you were. Your father islegendary.”

“That’s kind of you to say,” I reply, giving him a small smile.

“I’m Braddock.” He bows his head again in introduction.

“Dahlia.”

“It is an honor to meet you, Lady Dahlia.” I barely stop myself from rolling my eyes or correcting him that it’s just Dahlia. Another thing I need to get used to, I suppose.

“Come, my Lady,” Takara says with a light hand on my shoulder. I nod to Braddock, giving a little wave as I walk back out onto the path, but then whirl, unable to stop myself. I’ve decided I’m going to do whatever I please so, might as well start now.

“Would it be alright if I came back? To assist you or to watch or to…to just…” I can’t get the words out to make it make sense.To feel closer to my father. To feel like myself again in this strange place. To ease the ache threatening to tear my heart to ribbons.

“It would be my great honor,” Braddock says, seeming to understand and placing a hand over his chest. A smile breaks over my face and I nod, turning to stride off with Takara and feeling better than I have in two weeks.

As we near the cabin later that afternoon, a vampire is waiting for me with a letter from Enid and my heart nearly bursts. I almost throw my arms around the boy (though I’m sure he’s much older than he looks) but stop myself at the last minute. He gives me a small smile before scurrying off.

“I’ll leave you to your letter and have Reginald begin your dinner, shall I?” Takara asks.

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