And the Blood Will Sing to the Blood...
It was yet another party in Beldon Moor, the capitol of Chaillot. Surrounded by finely dressed Blood males and witches, sipping expensive wine from an equally expensive crystal glass, Kieran Maleen felt ill at ease, nearly suffocated. He didn't belong there.
A Tiger Eye-Jeweled Warlord and second-born son of a rich merchant family, Kieran had learned at an early age that he had neither the rank, the caste, nor the social standing to serve in Alexandra Angelline's court. He was too common to serve a Province Queen, and still too young to be approached about business ventures.
Which begs the question of why I'm always invited, he thought cynically, and why I always attend.
His wandering gaze locked with another Warlord's, and Kieran had to fight the nausea from showing on his face. The young noble smiled – a sickening, knowing smile – and raised his glass in a mocking salute. Kieran forced a polite smile and returned the gesture, suppressing a shudder of revulsion.
Look away, look away, don't call on me, merciful Darkness, don't make me speak to him…
The noble's smile widened, as if he'd heard Kieran's desperate plea, before he turned back to his companions.
Briarwood, Briarwood, Briarwood…
The word echoed in Kieran's mind, brought forward by his own guilt or by the Purple Dusk-Jeweled noble. He didn't know, and he didn't care.
He emptied the glass and sat it down on a table by the wall. A quick glance around the room told him that a few people would probably notice him leave no matter which exit he chose, and he contemplated raising a sightshield. With a self-deprecating smile, he admitted that there were plenty of people in the room who would not only notice but see through the shield and it would only serve to draw more attention to himself. No, better to simply slip out. After all, who would care if he left?
Decision made, Kieran calmly made his way to the closest of the doors leading out of the room. Neither sneaking nor drawing attention to himself, he slipped through the door and into the empty entrance hall.
As soon as the door closed, he sagged against it. Relief filled him, made him tremble. His eyes closed and he offered his heartfelt thanks to the Darkness for sparing him.
I'll be alright, he assured himself. I'll go home and go to bed. They won't follow me there, and in the morning it will be better.
He took a deep breath and pushed away from the door to stand straight, his eyes opening only to widen in surprise. There was a girl standing in front of him. A golden-haired girl with large, sapphire eyes.
"Good evening, Warlord," she said in a solemn tone that ill suited her young voice.
"Good evening, Lady," Kieran returned automatically, edging away from her. He forced his eyes to meet hers, preferring the unnerving weight of her gaze to the sight of her body. Even so, he felt that stirring of interest, of arousal, that he always felt for girls so young.
He no longer remembered if these thoughts had started when his brother spoke of Briarwood, or if his interest had been what made his brother believe that Kieran would join him there. He did know that he was revolted with his brother and himself, that he was ashamed by his inability to stop the atrocities from happening.
"Please, Lady," he begged desperately, "let me leave. For both our sakes, just let me go."
Those dark eyes never blinked, and Kieran hated himself for finding them beautiful. Wished that he could make that twisted desire disappear.
"Not yet," the girl said softly. "There is something you must hear."
She turned and he followed her through the house and into a sitting room.
They must not use it anymore, Kieran noted absently, merchant-trained mind judging the age and quality of the furniture to find it lacking.
The girl perched on a carved black-wood chair, gesturing to a more comfortable armchair.
"Sit down, Warlord."
Disregarding her order, Kieran knelt on the floor in front of her instead. For some reason, it felt more natural to bow to the girl than to Alexandra Angelline, the few times he'd seen her.
The girl frowned at him, but didn't comment.
"You look at children the way the uncles do," she said instead.
Kieran could feel the blood drain from his face, but he kept his eyes locked with hers. He had no right to defend himself or flinch from the truth.
And isn't this what you've been waiting for? For someone to judge you and bring an end to this madness?
"But you never touch them," the girl continued. "You look, but you never harm. Why?"
"I shouldn't look at all!" Kieran exclaimed, muscles tensing as if he would escape the room, but he remained where he was, words tumbling out. "It's wrong, it's revolting, it's a sickness inside me and I can't get it out!" His right hand clenched around the Tiger Eye pendant. "I'm too weak to get it out of me!"
A small hand brushed his, silencing him.
"True strength can't always be measured in Jewel ranks," the girl said, her voice taking on a different cadence. "The Blood is tainted, corrupted, but when you dream you dream of freedom and of grown women. Your mind is still struggling not to fall into the sweet-baited trap."
Kieran was still struggling to accept the hope her words seemed to offer when she began to sing.
It was a song unlike any he'd ever heard, in a language he did not know.
It was a song that touched him somewhere deep inside, easing something twisted into a shape that felt natural – as if it was how it should have been all along.
Kieran didn't notice he was crying.
When the song ended, the girl slid off the chair. She looked down at Kieran pensively.
"You might not choose how or when you die, but you're the only one who can decide if you'll die with an untroubled conscience."
He could only nod, unable to find words to express his gratitude.
The girl smiled then.
"Keep dreaming strong dreams," she said, "and listen when the Blood sings to the Blood."
She brushed one hand over his hair like a benediction and disappeared.
Kieran left, taking with him the freedom the blonde girl had given him and the memory of her song.
He didn't know what he would do with the future that had suddenly opened to him, or what – if anything – he would do about his brother and his depraved friends.
He did know that for the rest of his life, he would dream. Dream and listen as the Blood sang…