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THE ROSY LIGHT OF DAWN crept through the cracks in my window shutters. I roused at the sound of scythes slashing wheat and the slosh of water in vegetable-cleaning tubs—the everyday sounds of the Farming category.
I scrubbed the sleep from my eyes. Even though it was the same routine from before I could remember, I never tired of the ruckus. It reminded me that I was alive and had a purpose. Farmers didn’t grow food for vampires; we farmed to keep ourselves fed. And I was part of the force that kept all of us alive.
Sloan stirred on the bed across the room as I got up to push the shutters open and let the dawn light stream in. She groaned unhappily and rolled over, yanking her quilt over her head.
I laughed and yanked it back down. “Don’t tell me you’re tired. I’m the one who Gladiated all night.”
Sloan swatted me away and mumbled, “I’m a growing young girl who needs as much rest as she can get.”
“And how long are you going to make that excuse?” I asked, changing into my work outfit.
“When I don’t wake to your ugly mug.”
I feigned an offended gasp and prodded her cheek. “I’ve been told my mug is very handsome, thank you very much.” I headed toward the door. “Breakfast isn’t going to serve itself, you know.”
She groaned like a wounded cow and hauled herself out of bed. Her hair looked like she had gotten caught in a tornado. “How are you so chipper every morning?” She sighed, rubbing her face and then glanced longing at her bed.
I looked out the window to the seemingly endless field. My fellow Farmers were silhouettes against the glare of the rising sun. My good mood flickered. At first glance, it was peaceful, humble work—it was, and that was part of the reason I still enjoyed it—until you spent a few days among us. Then you quickly understood that our necks were constantly on the line. We needed to eat to survive, yes, but we also needed to appease the creatures who would eat us if anyone should ever fall behind in our duties.
If I wasn’t chipper, if I didn’t find the small joys in everyday life—like waking up knowing I still had a life—then I would succumb to a misery I had seen before and vowed never to bow to.
I smiled at my sister, my anchor, though it felt a little forced this time. “I can be unpleasant if you wish.”
Sloan snorted good-naturedly. “I think I’d actually prefer you as-is.” Her voice and expression took on a wistful look. “Don’t ever change, brother.”
I padded over and sat beside her, resting an arm around her shoulders. Sloan was as pretty as our mother and had twice her attitude. That was what made her such a good Domestic—she made sure her patients in the infirmary behaved so she could give them the best care, even if she was still the senior Medic’s apprentice.
“Not even when Death takes my soul,” I told her.
Sloan’s smile was soft. Her forest-green eyes—our father’s eyes—gleamed with emotion. It wasn’t often that we were sentimental, but we both knew today was the eighth anniversary of our parents’ deaths by way of a farming accident, and we couldn’t help but celebrate the fact that we were alive and healthy, keeping the promise to do so.
“I love you, Koen,” she whispered with rare vulnerability.
I rested my forehead to hers and closed my eyes. “Love you to oblivion and back, Sloan.”
We stayed like that for a moment, grateful for this pocket of peace, the fear of vampires far away.
We jolted out of it when a rock flew through the open window and hit the wall. Someone shouted from outside, “You two wanna become Bleeders?! Get yourselves out here!”
My heart lurched at the mention of the least desirable category. If there was anything worse than death, it was Sloan being chosen to become a personal snack for a vampire. She would be ripped away from me to live in a bloodsucker’s house to be drank from whenever it pleased.
Sloan laughed whenever I brought up the fear and claimed she’d rather lose all her limbs than be a Bleeder.
She jumped up to change quickly and shooed me toward the door. “Go appease them before they throw more rocks. I’ll get breakfast on.”
I let her shove me forward. “Let me help.”
She leveled me with a glare. “We both know Fawn is going to be conveniently late.”
“Huh. True. All right, all right, I’m going!” I said as she shoulder-checked me through the door and slammed it shut behind me.
Grinning to myself and feeling warm inside, I headed out of our legacy cottage—four generations of Blackwoods had been born here—and rounded the corner to see Roswell and Gray testing the weight of a few rocks in their hands.
“Unless you’ve got the funds to fix what you break,” I called, making them flinch in guilt, dropping the stones, “then find something better to do.”
“Koen!” They beamed together as if they hadn’t been up to any mischief. “Mornin’!”
“Fine day to plow the wheat, eh?” Roswell, our fair-haired neighbor of sixteen years, mused to banish the awkwardness of being caught.
I slung my arm around Gray’s skinny neck—he was a mere fifteen and surprisingly strong for his lanky frame—and said, “Must be, if I’m so rudely awakened. I surely thought it was raining rocks.”
They both ducked their heads, but I ruffled Gray’s pale blond hair. “No hard feelings, boys, so long as you give extra thanks to Sloan.”
Roswell perked up like a dog who heard its bowl being filled. “Sloan’s cooking?”
As an older brother, it was my job to weed out any boys who didn’t deserve her. Roswell was on his way to being on my good side in that regard. It was just a question if Sloan thought he was good enough for her.
“She is,” I confirmed. “It would do you good to bring her an egg or two.”
With that advice, Roswell turned like Death was on his heels and bolted toward the chicken coop across the way.
Gray snorted in skepticism. “Do all adolescents act dumb around girls?”
Unbidden, Maer’s face rose in my mind’s eye. I mentally shook my head to clear it. Do I like Maer Whisler?
“A good majority, yes,” I said quickly as if Gray could read my thoughts. “And you’re fifteen, don’t consider yourself out of being an adolescent.”
“You’re not much older—”
“Come on,” I said, cutting him off and not wanting to think about Maer again, “the wheat won’t scythe itself.”
* * *
A WEEK LATER, MY FACE was spattered with blood as I faced off against the burly Rhidian Gladiator, who had come very close several times to gutting me with his weapon of choice: a double-sided axe. He was a bit too friendly with it, if you asked me.
The arena’s roof was reeled in to bare the starry midnight sky. Moonlight spilled down, turning the hard-packed dirt silver, reflecting off small pools of blood.
The crowd was going wild as the melee had just begun. Forty Gladiators in total, ten from each coven, fighting to be the last man—or woman—standing.
I had to battle to my wit’s end to make up for my loss last week. I dodged a wild swing of the axe and caught Agana’s cool gaze watching me like I was a piece of prey and trying to decide if I was worthy of eating. I had to return to her good graces; I couldn’t afford any more lost wages.
I threw my sword up to block the Rhidian’s next swing. I grunted at the effort as he bore down his weight, baring his yellow and bloody teeth. He was broader and taller, but it was proven that even a mouse could take down a cat, if clever enough. And I fancied myself much cleverer than this meat-for-brains.
I parried and struck and spun until I was spinning the Rhidian in circles. The axe was heavy and wore him out quickly. By the time he was drenched in sweat and panting, he could barely lift it, leaving the vulnerable body part open—
I slammed the pommel of my sword into his elbow—the near-paralyzing pressure point that made anyone drop their weapon out of surprised pain.
The Rhidian yelped and did exactly that. Without waiting, I hooked my foot around his ankle.
He fell like a chopped tree, hitting the ground with a dusty boom.
The arena cheered.
I looked down at the Rhidian as he clutched his elbow. There was a mixture of pain and fury in his eyes. I clicked my tongue and shook my head in pity. “One day you’ll catch on.”
Then I knocked him out with a pommel to the forehead.
And then I moved on to the next opponent.
And the next and the next and the next until I was in the final two.
No matter how skilled I was in any aspect of Gladiating, being aware of every fighter was impossible. And with so many precious things on the line to protect, I could only focus on one fight at a time.
So when my last one was supposed to be Maer and I found myself blocking the attack of a different Moros Gladiator, I was completely thrown off.
I looked toward the Moros section. Cirillo Kaladin was sitting in his usual spot, covered in Moros black and silver. However, it wasn’t his daughter Ciel who sat beside him—it was Maer.
She looked miserably angry. Staring straight ahead instead of down at my duel, it was easy to imagine she was planning someone’s murder. Why was she there and not here? Was this a punishment for something? It wasn’t unlikely that Maer had acted recklessly and landed herself in trouble.
There was history between her and Cirillo. I didn’t know what, but I didn’t like it one bit.
It was clear that neither did she. It was a very good possibility it was his murder she was planning.
I shouted in pain when a blade sliced across my upper arm. I jumped back, resisting the urge to clap my hand over it, keeping both hands on my sword hilt. The arena voiced their disapproval or satisfaction. I didn’t dare seek Agana.
The Moros sneered. “Expecting Whisler?” he jeered as he lifted his sword. He was my size. I’d defeated him before.
I readjusted myself and said, “No. Just another win.”
I launched an attack. A few moves later, he hit the ground, and I raised my sword to the sky in victory. I finally looked at my coven leader; she gave the smallest approving nod. I breathed a sigh of relief.
As the arena began to empty, I limped to the barracks. I glanced as subtly as I could toward the Moros’s mezzanine. Cirillo was talking to Maer, who looked steadfastly ahead, ignoring him. Did she sense me watching her?
No, of course not.
All of the injured Gladiators were taking their blood cups and getting cleaned up. Cadoc and Soren were there, but they wouldn’t even glance in my direction. I felt a spark of satisfaction. My blood-fueled outburst thoroughly spooked the bullies right out of them.
I patched myself up and headed out for home. I didn’t expect my path to be blocked by a shadow in the shape of Ciel Kaladin.
“So you’re the only one who can beat Maer in a fight,” she purred, drawing me aside away from eavesdroppers. “You don’t hide your doe eyes very well.”
Unease filled my veins as my spine stiffened, poised to fight her off. I could never best a vampire without the aid of ingested blood, especially not a pureblood; especially not an Heir of the Kaladin dynasty.
But the fact that a vampire from an entirely different clan could tell I’d sought Maer’s attention turned my unease to fear. Never trust a vampire. Ever.
Ciel’s lips curved into a smile just a little too wide. “Would you,” she mused, “like to join her coven?”
