Page 97 of A Steeping of Blood
“Oi, I asked you a question,” the man called after her, and Flick stumbled but didn’t stop.
Not until she reached the door. Then she looked back to find the Ram facing the commotion, eyes narrowed. Because Flick might have been covered from head to toe, but just as she’d instantly recognized her mother’s eyes through the mask she wore, her mother recognized Flick’s.
She saw it in the way the Ram stiffened. “Stop her!”
Flick shoved at the door, surprised by its weight, only to find it opened upward, not sideways, disorienting her as she hurried out. The daylight blinded her, burning through her sun-starved eyes. She struggled to see through sudden tears, and everything hit her at once—her hunger, her thirst, a gust of her pain.
Just a little farther, she pushed herself. The men shouted, the Ram’s voice snarling in the midst of the chaos. Flick ripped the cloth from her face and ran for the wrought iron gate, for freedom, her legs still weak, her head throbbing.
Until everything fell silent.
She paused and looked back. No one was chasing her anymore. Strange—was the Ram letting her go? Flick’s head hurt too much to wonder why.
Voices thrummed behind her—the Horned Guard. There were platoons of them, patrolling the green. Flick rushed to the cover of a tree and studied her surroundings. Stately trees rose around her. Beneath her, neatly trimmed grass. This was where she’d stood the night she’d been captured. The coordinates she’d gleaned from the Ram’s sketches in the ledgerwereright.
She hadn’t seen the place because it was underground. A bunker. The door was set into concrete on the ground, tucked beside a short wall, dark and inconspicuous, hidden by the lush trees.
And when she turned, she saw what was on the other side of that short wall: the palace.
The very palace where the Ram was to hold her tribute to the fallen press in three days’ time. Above an underground den full of weapons, and men to do her bidding, and humans in a cage.
31ARTHIE
When Arthie opened her eyes, Shaw was in her face, peering at her through a monocle. Sora was beside him, wringing her hands. Arthie sputtered, trying to shrink back, but her head slammed into a slab of wood and she growled. Matteo took his place, their voices muffled as if they were speaking from far away and not inches from her. Her body stung, her limbs weighing heavy and laden.
Worse, she couldn’t think. Her head felt stuffed full of dirty tea rags.
“You saved us,” Sora whispered. “You—silly girl, why?”
“What’s wrong with her?” Matteo asked.
Wrong?There was nothing wrong with her. She was tired and beat. She had just fled a sanatorium with a Ripper vampire and endless guards.
“She was shot with a green dart,” Shaw said.
Oh. That wasn’t good. Did she look as terrible as she felt? She tried to speak but couldn’t get the words out. The last she remembered was Shaw and Sora and a torch.
Someone said something Arthie couldn’t hear, and Matteo snapped in response, “Well, remove it from her system, then.”
“Where—where—” Arthie stopped. A fire was scorching her skin from the inside. The fire! Had she imagined those beautiful flames engulfing the fort and the screams as people fled to the wilderness?
She didn’t realize she’d asked the question out loud.
“You set fire to it, darling,” Matteo said. “And we escaped. A good number of the vampires, Jin, his parents. We’re on the ship back to White Roaring.”
His tone was soft, gentle, telling her the world wouldn’t crumble if she didn’t remain in charge. A hot tear burned down her face.
They made it. They were leaving Ceylan.So soon. There was a shuffle, and when Arthie tried to open her eyes to see what was happening, she saw colors, blending into one another, bursting in intermittent splotches.
“Get this out of her, Shaw,” Matteo snarled.
Shaw was murmuring to himself. “The consistency of vampire blood is much thicker than that of a human’s. The serum was meant to mimic a mosquito’s venom—eating away and poisoning a vampire’s blood faster than they can replenish it. The full dose is in her system, and she is quite small.”
Arthie groaned. Her head throbbed.
“A transfusion is the only way, boy. We’re nowhere near the equipment necessary for such a thing.”
“A transfusion would stop it from spreading?” Matteo asked, tone perking. “Are you certain?”
