Page 42 of A Steeping of Blood
If they still were. Arthie wasn’t so certain, but their resources were dwindling, and if it was a possibility, she would take it.
She opened her sack and pulled out a small box she had brought with her. Inside were two revolvers and bullet belts. “I know neitherof you are particular about guns, but this trip isn’t about what we like or don’t.”
Matteo made a face as he took it gingerly, but she saw the way he released the cylinder to see if it was loaded. He caught her looking. “My father was a marksman. He insisted I learn, unfortunately.”
“My father hates guns,” Jin countered, securing his belt and holstering the revolver.
Arthie snapped the case closed and tucked it away. She didn’t think her parents had ever seen guns before the Ettenians came to Ceylan.
“The Siwangs are our priority,” she said, moving on, “but once we find them, we’ll find the vampires too. Shall we scope out the ship? Judging from the size alone, I’m sure a good number of them will fit, should they decide to join us.”
“They might be dangerous,” Jin reminded.
“We’re aware,” Matteo said. “We don’t know the state of anything on the island. They might not even be conscious.”
Arthie had known Ceylan like the back of her hand, once. The Ceylani treated their land differently than Ettenians did their own. From the sea to every part of the coconut, from the gems buried deep in the earth to the wildlife that called the tropical paradise home, the Ceylani were one with their surroundings.
Jin gave him a look.
Matteo sighed. “I don’t mean to be curt. I don’t think many fully understand that we’re not talking of stolen cargo or resources, but living people.”
“Living?” Jin asked, and Arthie snapped her gaze to his, but it wasn’t a retort. He was genuinely curious. For his own sake, it seemed.
“Of a sort, if I’m being honest. I do believe that when one takes away the promise of death and the prospect of aging, people canchange. The longer one lives, the less we pay heed to consequence and the more morals fade away,” Matteo mused.
“Then there are vampires like Penn,” Arthie added.
“Nuanced as those who are alive, I suppose,” Jin said, and it sounded as though he had thought long and hard about this. Was he questioning his own morals? Was he afraid of what he might become?
“But the fact still stands that they’re being seen as inanimate objects, that they’re being treated as though they deserve no say in their lives.”
“We’ll give that to them,” Arthie promised. “Whether that means returning to Ettenia with us or remaining on Ceylan is up to them.”
Matteo nodded, pleased.
“But as Jin said, we still need to be open to the possibility that we’ll have to point Calibore at them.”
Arthie was surprised to find herself more concerned with whether they were to be trusted than she was about locating them. She might know where they were, but she hadn’tseenthe place herself, and that didn’t make this voyage any less mired with unknowns. Still, Arthie was beginning to realize she didn’t need to scope out a place to scheme. She felt as if she’d done this before, as if every job she’d pulled since arriving in Ettenia as a little girl had prepared her for this moment.
“I almost forgot,” Arthie said, picking up the case Flick had given them. She glanced at Jin before they could leave the cabin. “A parting gift from your beloved.”
Jin’s brows flattened. “She’s not—Flick?”
“I didn’t realize there were other possibilities,” Matteo said with a sideways look.
Jin scowled.
Arthie unlatched it and found a note. “Sidharth promised they werefreshly bottled. Drink up!”A sinking feeling settled into her gut. She peered inside to find three slender glass bottles. “Blood.”
“Oh, good,” Matteo said, taking one. “I was famished.” He looked between Arthie and Jin and gestured to their gift. “Well? Don’t defy the lady’s orders, now.”
Jin moved first, picking up his bottle, touching the note with a dark gleam in his eyes that made Arthie wonder if he would have preferred to drink straight from Flick. He unscrewed the cap without a sliver of the hesitation Arthie had exhibited for the past decade of her life. No, to him this was another form of sustenance. He’d always been partial to food; why was blood any different?
He caught her looking and her shoulders seized, waiting for his glare. Instead, she was surprised to see a flash of trepidation. She was wrong. Hewasn’twithout hesitation. He wasn’t disgusted either. No—he hadn’t fed since the night she’d turned him. He was afraid, nervous of taking that first sip and tumbling over the edge.
Arthie felt that in her soul, but she felt more than that too: He was her brother. She’d spent the past decade avoiding the consumption of blood as much as watching over him at every turn, keeping him alive and ensuring he was safe.
That was what made her pick up her bottle.
