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Chapter 6

Hours pass before any hints of an impending arrival. Initially, we started the journey on a bumpy, gravel road, but then we lifted off the ground and all around us were howling winds and stomach-churning turbulence. We resorted to flying, and I grew more and more sick by the minute. To keep my stomach from unleashing itself on all the unsuspecting supply units, I decided to disengage from my two friends—I guess I can venture to call Angela a friend, I don't know. She seems easy enough to get along with now that she owes me her life.

We take a sharp downturn and my stomach lurches. I guess one upside to feeling sick is that I no longer feel the severe waves of hunger that have been developing over the past couple of days. I really could go for that bread and water that's probably in my rucksack somewhere on the other side of Nightingale's walls.

The meeting between immovable ground and the tough, creaky wood of the chariot has us all losing our seats, and within seconds the chariot comes to a dramatic halt.

A long and deafening quiet befalls the cabin until a couple of female voices come into earshot from the outside, their volume rising as they grow closer. I watch as the mechanic locks on the door next to me jerk back and forth until they are successfully wriggled out of place. The door-ramp falls outward, revealing the dark, violet shadows of night.

Glera looks from me to the others before arbitrarily standing, which encourages the other girls to do so in succession until I'm the last one seated. Cool, spring air swirls about the interior, sending heavy goose bumps up my arms and face, and dispelling my bout of motion sickness. A head of raven black hair curves around the opening of the door. It's a woman, maybe only a few years older than myself, and given her stark, plain face, most definitely human. She steps inside, and blinks repeatedly to adjust her eyes to the inky, moonless dark of the cabin. The first thing that truly catches my eye is her dress-like robe. An open-necked ruby piece, displaying golden embroidered emblems of Volterra—the upside-down triangle topped with a diamond—up and down its hems, and skirting the ground beyond her white-socked toes. Beneath the heavy material is an ivory dress, only noticeable where the neck of the robe opens near her bosom. A bright maroon sash, wrapped two or three times around the conjunction above her ribcage, gives off a satiny sheen as its two swaying tails fall harmoniously to the ground. The style is strange, but the strangest accent by far is the burgundy ribbon that is tied loosely around the breadth of her neck. It's essentially a token—indicating that this woman is undoubtedly one of Cullen's established supply units.

After her eyes adjust to the darkness, she calls out to us.

"What are you guys still in there for? Come on out, don't be shy. Lord Cullen might bite, but we won't. Well, Anaya might..."

We all chuckle at her joke. The refreshing bout of light-heartedness convinces me to stand and to meet the whole situation head on. I breathe away the last of the nausea and file in line to exit, mentally preparing myself to pay attention to everything that I see, hear, or feel from here on out. Every crack, cranny, or flaw in security at Cullen's castle, I need to find. Knowledge is key if I'm to escape—assuming Cullen doesn't chop off my head first. My eyes glaze over, and I shudder at the thought.

Glera is the first to exit the chariot, followed by the rest of the girls. Then it's left to Angela and Jessica staring at me expectantly, urging me to go first, their eyes filled with crippling uncertainty. I get it. Neither of them would be here without me, so it's only natural.

Once outside, the three of us line up behind the other girls. We are in the middle of an open field, surrounded by forests, and nuzzled by shriveling grasses that are still damp from a recent rain. I exhale sharply from the brunt of the cool air. Everyone looks around, and all seem somewhat disappointed that the scenery hasn't changed much from Nightingale to the Sabbanth Province. None of them would know, because none of them care about obtaining knowledge that's off-limits, but the Southern and Western areas of Volterra are forestry. They'd have to go East or North for a real change of pace.

Ahead, a different, more regal-looking supply unit forces herself into the center of our attention. Though she wears the same intricate clothing as the one from before, this woman has that gleam of royalty. Her bright, brownish-blond hair is more elaborate—pinned with jewels in an artistic fashion—and funnels into a taut widow's peak. Her face is laden with copious amounts of makeup, while her body language renders her unapproachable. Pair all that with the bitter expression and the domineering attitude, and it tells me all I need to know. This human woman is the head of Cullen's supply units.

With disgust stamped across her face, the head supply unit clings to a note of parchment, peering at each of us and scribbling upon it while silently mumbling to herself. It is during this time that the light-hearted supply unit from before sneaks over to Jessica, pushing a ruby robe into hers and Angela's hands. "To prevent others from asking questions," she whispers, catching the three of us off-guard. She must already know of their situation. If so... then mine as well.

While throwing on her robe, Angela nudges both me and Jessica, pointing toward the front of the chariot. Four massive, horse-like beasts stand in two rows of two, whinnying impatiently. It's their added features that make them "horse-like." Their snouts are scrunched up like a pig's, but off-brown and slightly more wrinkled and unattractive. Their ears are long and wide, yet shriveled thin, and hairless enough to see contrasting stringy veins throughout. Moonlight rays glimmer upon the beasts' onyx eyes and rove over velvety broad shoulders and hunched backs. A pair of rumpled leathery wings that stretch farther than the length of the creature itself, jointed and webbed, sit above the ribcage of each—looking like those of a cave bat. Unlike any creature I have ever seen before.

Vampire soldiers, or servants I suppose, emerge from the surrounding woods and approach the horse-beasts with leather straps, untying them, readying them for the end of the night. The resonating voice of the head supply unit reclaims my attention.

"New supply units to Lord Edward Cullen, please allow me to welcome you, wholeheartedly. My name is Anaya, number Z16948," she states, straightening her back and firming her features. "First, we will enter our lord's noble home and then we will direct you along the most common route for supply units, prior to his return. We wouldn't want to inconvenience him with our undesired presence, nor would we want you to get lost, so stay close and pay attention."

This is going to be fun. I roll my eyes.

Anaya turns on her heel and walks toward the forest as the front-line of supply units follow. The hills ahead show no sign of a castle, nor anything but endless tree lines for that matter, which can only mean an exhaustive walk. My stomach gnaws at me desperately and fatigue hits me like a wave. I choke it all down and continue onward.

Only about a kilometer into the trek, more strangely dressed vampire guards come into view. They are stationed radially in front of a small field, seemingly guarding nothing. Anaya, meters ahead, lifts her wrist. The sleeve of her robe falls away, revealing a thin cylindrical gold plate that looks to be painfully connected to her skin. I wince at the sight, remembering that the rest of us will be tagged as well. Her specific tag must act as some sort signal, for the guard closest to her then raises his spear and makes a strange motion.

After a few moments of silence, the endless forest ripples like a waving flag before dissolving into light blue hues, revealing a colossal stone-walled acropolis. My jaw drops on its own accord. Undoubtedly, the rows of trees that filled my sight moments ago were some sort of an illusion to what really occupied the space. Cullen's castle. I grimace at the thought of him, though I marvel at the majesty before me. It is still such a foreign concept that devilish vampires have this level of beauty mastered.

"Isn't it something?" Jessica marvels alongside the rest of the units. I don't respond, but I do agree.

As we trudge past the outer wall, I unwillingly think of Cullen—his decision to spare me from the fallen—and my heart aches deeply. Not in anger this time, but in sadness. A long time ago I promised I would never allow myself to be appreciative of anything Cullen did for me, because all of it was ultimately for himself; for the vampires and their bloodthirsty race. I shake my head vigorously.

I think about the anklet dangling near my heel, and my resolve is instantly repaired—my anger refueled. He is a slave owner. He took me for his own gain. There is no other explanation. My eyes well and memories threaten to flood the gates.

To rid my mind of it, I stick my nose into Jessica and Angela's conversation which currently revolves around the medieval architecture of the castle. I need to be present. I can't ask questions, or else I will fall apart. When we reach the courtyards, the stone path gives way to water gardens filled with greenery. Blue, purple, and red blossoms of every kind are scattered about, and all are enveloped in shadow and early fireflies. As we draw nearer, long, tinted windows that are nestled along the castle's perimeter wall come into view. They reflect the moon and stars brilliantly, almost purposefully. I take note, as the doors open from some unknown force, that those windows must contain the castle's gatekeepers. Information that might come in handy for later.

Once inside, the elegance floors me. Elaborate oil portraits of war and brutality—embellished by thickly carved frames—hang along the vast, inner sandstone walls. Bronze sculptures of soldiers boasting the valor of battle, and kilned pieces of beautiful women fill every empty corner or open space in the enormous and tapestry-adorned foyer. The first sculpture that greets us in the lobby is of the great general, himself. Cullen. The bronze molding stands tall and proud, post-battle. One of its hands crosses over its body in some sort of salute, while the other holds a decapitated enemy by the hair. My stomach turns at the grotesque sight, reminding me of that vampire that Cullen killed ten years ago. The one who nearly killed me. This is the type of person I'll be serving, though it should come as no surprise. It's no secret that Cullen is ruthless on the warfront, but with each passing painting of bloody battlefields, the rumors solidify, distorting my mental picture of Edward Cullen into something far more frightening.

We continue on toward the heart of the castle, skipping the two stairwells on either side of us that, according to Emi—the supply unit who greeted us in the chariot—lead up to the studies and libraries. Why Cullen would need more than one of each, I have no clue.

Anaya takes us down a tall hallway lit dimly by real, golden-waxed candles. The grace of such light is so intermittent, however, that the halls might as well be pitch black. A few corridors under our belts, and we emerge to a grandeur ballroom. The beautiful space, with seemingly no end to its height, is brightly illuminated by moonlight—trickling in from the tall paneled windows along the far wall. Many vampires, servants I gather, hurry about looking rather flushed, and spare only a moment to stare at us before resuming their affairs. In the center of the grand hall are two spiral staircases, each intertwining around one another, and reaching about five flights into the ceiling.

"This is the most direct route for us to take to Lord Edward Cullen's chambers." Emi pipes up with a smile. "This route was designed for the supply units specifically so that our lord wouldn't have to wait too long for his meals."

Nothing can hide the disgust from my face, and Jessica notices.

"Heaven forbid he waits two whole seconds." She nudges me while giving me a wink. I laugh out loud by accident, relishing the rare moment of spunk from Jessica.

Anaya's eyes dart sideways to catch mine and I straighten. Her glare lasts long enough to warrant uneasy glances by the other supply units, and to make me look down at my feet. Anaya resumes the tour, stating, "Normally we would take you up the staircases, but given that our noble lord is most likely entering the castle as we speak, we will head toward the seraglio. These twin-cases will be your most important destination, so forgetting their location, regardless of how often you are summoned, is inexcusable. If nothing else sinks in, at least remember this path."

She makes a sharp turn back, cutting through our entire group with rough nudges from her bony shoulders. I manage to jerk back in time, which gathers me a particularly venomous scowl from her. My eyebrows raise with incredulity, stupefied by her public display of assholery. Great, another Hale.

Silence lingers across Jessica and me for a few moments as we let the atmosphere soak up the tension caused by Anaya, until Angela draws in her breath.

"...Maybe she's upset that she has a huge stick in her butt?" Angela blurts, and the three of us erupt into laughter. Thank goodness Anaya is so far ahead, or we would have received an even testier glare.

We continue the trek through the maze of corridors and hallways, but I'm paying attention to everything. From the gold-encased scrolls that the scribes carry along the passages to the key rings dangling on the maid carts. They might be useful later.

After the three of us fall silent, the waist of my dress is tugged, and I look back to see Emi.

"Don't worry about Anaya," the petite woman reassures lowly. "She's the head of the seraglio, and also our lord's personal favorite. So, she starts off particularly territorial when new units arrive."

Personal favorite?

"...Oh," I reply, kind of annoyed that Nightingale politics exist here. "That makes sense. Thanks."

"Of course." She smiles warmly, quickly adding, "Lord Cullen should be home any minute now. All of the servants look so antsy. It would be good if we kept up."

She pats my arm before rushing ahead to catch Anaya.

"...Sounds like it's Lord Cullen's stick that she has stuck up her butt, then." Angela corrects her previous statement, and I can't help but snort. My view of Angela is gradually lightening the more the real her surfaces.

Jessica's eyes widen. "I suppose being Lord Edward Cullen's favorite requires an attitude?"

"Then the three of us have a good chance." I casually throw in.

These few moments of human interaction are proving nice, though I refuse to dwell on it too long.

It takes a while before one especially long corridor starts to make a slight decline, growing more and more steep until it almost becomes impossible for the rest of us to stand without sliding downward. Anaya and Emi, however, are seasoned professionals. We make it to a spacious landing, much to my relief, while Anaya turns and informs us.

"Ahead are the Seraglio Chambers. As soon as you enter you will be tagged with your respective numbers and summoning devices. These are essential for you to gain entrance." She pauses to glance over us. "Afterward we will go over the rules and expectations of each supply unit, specific to Lord Edward Cullen's preferences. So, stay close and stay left."

I follow behind the others as they all descend into darkness. A steep stairwell welcomes my hesitant feet and I am forced to reach out to either side of the walls to prevent myself from falling. As the ground drops, the walls grow cooler against my fingertips. I should have suspected we would be residing below ground. How fitting. Also, how troublesome. Without immediate access to the outside world, a feat such as escaping from an underground blood harem is going to take much more than some intel and rope. Time to locate a shovel and some dynamite, I suppose.

Eventually we reach the end of the stairs, walking forward for a period and reaching a fork in the path. Everyone follows left as told, though I find the right more compelling in this moment, and not just because I am a rebellious soul. Although it is so faint that it causes me to question my sanity, a light purple hue pulsates from my right peripherals. I stop abruptly.

"What is it?" Jessica asks, running into me.

"Do you see that?"

"Huh?" Both she and Angela look down my line of sight curiously.

"See what?" Angela asks.

"There. There's a light coming from that hall," I say, looking up at them for only a moment before turning back.

"Bella, are you seriously doing this? We don't see anything." Jessica sounds legitimately pissed as I feel my way along the sandstone walls, toward the light. Lovely Jessica. Always a rule follower, like the rest of them. I could never seem to pluck her from those infallible traits that Saya guaranteed on all of their sales, the kind that sap the sheer individuality out of the human, albeit rendering them soulless blood sacs. Sometimes I wonder if I would have liked Jessica if she had been born to the world as I had, with the ability and free will to choose who she wanted to be.

But I guess there's something innate in everyone that always surfaces at one time or another. I think hers is kindness and some sort of strong moral compass, while mine is still up in the air. I like to label myself the outcast, but I don't think that counts. Maybe I wouldn't have been so bitter if life simply continued on in my hometown of Avignon, like normal.

But was it even that normal?

The light pulsates brighter as I round the corridor and for a split-second, I'm afraid. What could produce this glow other than something living? A vampire awaiting me, luring me, even. One with littler self-control than the ones at Nightingale, whom were specially trained to face arduous temptations every day. I shake the thought from my head. No one here would dare touch one of Cullen's supply units. As we were taught in Daily Lessons Among our Masters back in fourth year etiquette studies, lesser vampires who so much as touch the supply unit of their masters were subject to death penalties. All of which are gruesome, according to texts, since vampires are fairly close to immortal. So, I should be fine. I'll be fine.

I peer around the final length of the curve, and my mouth nearly drops, but I swallow down my heart instead, stepping closer. Before me is a wall that is made of a strange, violet light, as if the bright, rigidity of lightning met the ever darkening, fluidity of the ocean. It ripples, and skips over itself at times; the whole thing a fragile mess of anti-physics.

Am I dreaming?

A door makes itself known in the center of the wall, rippling with the rest of it.

The wall itself is sheer enough for me to at least see if there's movement on the other side, but all I can make out are shapes—rectangles, more specifically—unmoving. I give it another moment or two, just in case something is waiting until the last minute to jump out and strike, before I cautiously reach my hand out toward the handle. Increasing warmth, and a strangeness that can only be described as light particles collapsing and hardening into something moveable, fill my hand. A real door handle. I push down on it and open the waving impression of an entrance. Everything on the inside solidifies into a complete change of scenery. A lit lantern bounces light off a patch-patterned marble wall, rather than sandstone. A fur rug lines the entire floor, glistening black and silver from the fluttering light. Leather chairs upholstered with brass buttons, small table rounds, and rows and rows of bookshelves fill the large space. I step inside and take extra care to close the door softly, which adds an ounce of comfort to this dangerous mission that I would most definitely get reprimanded for.

Add it to the rest of the list.

I walk across the room and look down and along the shelves filled with scroll cases and books, making sure that some creeper vampire isn't hiding out, waiting for me to take some kind of bait before leaping on me. The room is empty, I conclude as a script at the back of it catches my eye. Between two windows at the back, some sort of cursive scribbling is chiseled into the wall. I take one last glance all around me before making my way to it. The title is legible enough for Acclevin, the official language of Volterra, but the rest of the words are in a completely foreign language, most of which look like "n's" and outdated math symbols.

The Setting Sun? I mull over the title in my head, hoping it will lend some sort of clue to the overall message. It looks like poem by the way the sentences are structured, but it must be important if someone took the time to inscribe it on a wall.

Despite the frustration of having no earthly idea how to decipher it, but feeling every need to, I think of how I could maybe bribe a servant for a language dictionary or something. It takes almost too much time for me to realize that I'm practically brain-storming how to get a book while walking through a library.

Only you, Bella.

I start at the far-left bookcase and run my fingers over the spines, mumbling the different words for 'dictionary' so that I don't accidentally skip over one. To my surprise, I find "The Setting Sun" written on the spine of one of the books. The entire thing is gold-plated, making it heavier than a brick. What's better than a dictionary? An entire book covering a couple stanzas of poetry. I open it and the first thing that graces the pages is, "On Behalf of the Elders: Great Library of…" The next word is lost on me, so I try to sound it out. "...EE-Shah-er."

Amidst my endeavors, a glinting object in the far corner of the room catches my attention. A glass case enclosed by gilded metal rests against the far-right wall. I close the book, hugging it to my chest—definitely because I want to and not because it is heavy—and walk over to the display.

On one end there's a handgun with a chain attached to it, an artistic impression of a fruit tree running up and down its grip. Next to the gun is a bracelet with tri-colored beads, followed by a white and black swirl patch, and then on the far right there are two steel bracelets with fleur de lis on each end of the wrist adjustments. On the second shelf of the case are dual cuff links with "SAW" embossed on the front, and next to it: a brooch. A beautiful sapphire and gold piece, intricately fire-shaped and crafted to the finest detail. I'm suddenly reminded of the dying fire in my mother's bright eyes that night. And as I recall them, the entire library, including myself, is engulfed by flames.

I've got a plan for this, promise! Also, Jacob will be in this story o_o...

Let's see what happens? She's about to come face to face with Cullen soon..