1. Chapter 1 #2
Arguably, I’d done what was necessary in order to survive, just like Eric’s filthy rich parents had done everything in their power to attempt to unveil my secrets.
But I’d been far too clever to get caught, and they’d been far too pious to catch me.
And Eric, well, he hadn’t dared open his mouth to reveal me—unless that mouth had been doing sinful things.
I should be grateful that he kept my secret for so long. Seven years, to be exact. Seven long years spent in the safety net of his privilege, and just like that, my safety net is gone.
I force a smile, revealing teeth, even though my insides are contorting. “I’m sure that she’s so pretty. Enjoy your new life,” I say, swaying as I stand, drunk on remorse and empty promises. My chair scrapes across the floor as Eric stands alongside me.
“What will you do now?” A line of concern wedges between his brows.
“Why do you care? I’m not your girlfriend anymore, remember?”
“I care because I love you, Shay. I will always love you. You are the most incredible woman that I’ve ever met.”
“Oh yes, right. Of course. Perhaps you should tell your new wife that.” I sling my leather bag over my shoulder and proceed to push around tables as I make a beeline for the door.
“Ma’am?” The bakery owner eclipses me with his enormous body. His oversized hand engulfs mine in a veiled threat, just as the table of matrons dressed in gowns of silk and chiffon turn to stare. So much for becoming their friend.
Prior to this moment, I would’ve expected Eric to entertain the bill. But now? A hollow feeling climbs up my throat, akin to a very vast canyon that might just swallow me whole.
The shop owner holds out his hand, a permanent dent forming between his brows. “That’ll be an ounce of Vitalis. How would you like to pay?” he asks. Unfortunately, he is going to age terribly if he keeps entertaining those scowls. “Do you have a vial of magic on hand, or shall I get the Needle?”
I stare at him in dumbstruck silence for a full minute. Oh gods, how will I ever afford to eat again?
“My treat.” Eric grabs hold of my elbow and squeezes.
Out of reflex, I spin, finding myself face to face with a heaping helping of freckles.
Our future children could’ve had those exact same freckles scattered across their cheeks, perhaps in different patterns, each with their own constellation of extraordinary.
But alas, now I will never know, because they’ll never exist.
The bakery owner surveys Eric, the discontent in his feral scowl slowly morphing into a demure bow. “Lord Graves!” he sputters, sending droplets of spit flailing every which direction. “My apologies. I didn’t recognize you. I daresay, you have grown! You must be a head taller than your father now.”
Eric claps the discombobulated shop owner on the shoulder and belts out a hardy laugh. “It’s my fault for not frequenting your fine establishment more often, Leo. Now, if you’ll just apologize to my lady friend, we’ll call it even.”
Leo pivots in my direction, then dips into a bow so low, I fear his back might break from the weight of his guilt. “I apologize, Lady Graves, for mistaking your identities as common folk. It won’t happen again.”
Common folk. My lungs suddenly feel weightless, encased by feathers instead of a ribcage.
I repeat the sound of his words inside my head three times over.
Up. Down. Sideways. Lady Graves. The name I will never possess, the name another woman will soon take for herself.
“It’s alright.” I clasp my hands in front of my skirts in an effort to maintain my composure.
Luckily for me, the seven years I’d spent hiding beneath Eric’s wing have taught me how to expertly feign cordialities. “Mistakes happen.”
Still blushing, Leo nods with relief. Then he whisks open the door and bids us farewell into the brisk evening, where I’m suddenly trampled by a heart-stopping realization.
Going forward, I will need to pay for things.
Unlike the lords and ladies of the realm who are exempt from petty things such as exchanging trickles of bloodmagic for pastries that crumble in the mouth, I will need to bleed myself dry to survive.
Once upon a time, a person could’ve fallen to their knees and prayed to the gods for a miracle.
But now, miracles only come to those who shed their blood at the local Vitalis Repositories, earning titles such as lord and lady, duke and duchess, monikers that would have them treated like false gods, all because their blood is more viscous and vivacious than everyone else’s.
But not as viscous as the gods'. No one has as much bloodmagic as the gods.
The cool blast of afternoon air does nothing to stanch the nausea roiling within me.
It reaches into my tendons and makes them ache with a torrent of bitter cold, nettling goosebumps along my skin.
The wind hollers in my ears as I imagine my clothing, how it must be strewn across Eric’s yard in bags like autumn leaves during harvest season.
I picture the mink fur coat that he purchased for me at the market last winter.
I envision the turquoise beaded gown that he brought home from Eighrora after a business trip, which had been far too scratchy for my liking.
I think of all of my long-sleeved blouses that I so often use to conceal my spellmark. Things I certainly can’t part with.
“What will you do about the…” Eric’s breathing is heavy as he catches up to me.
“About the what, Eric?” I spin. “The living situation? I suppose I’ll have to dig a hole and die in it.”
He grabs me by the waist, his movements propelled by his sheer fucking audacity. “Did you know that when you’re feeling stubborn, your eyes turn a shade of downcast sky?”
“Do me a favor and stop caring.” I ball up my fists, push him away, and quicken my pace.
The truth is, I have no plan, other than finding someplace warm to stay.
But where, and with what money? Everything costs something.
An ounce of Vitalis here, straight from the veins.
A vial of Vitalis there, from the marrow this time.
This world would suck me dry if I didn’t have an ounce of bloodmagic to offer it in the first place.
“What about the…” Eric rushes ahead of me and plants his feet on the cobblestone, forcing me to stop mid-stride. I nearly barrel straight into his chest. “You know,” he gasps, trailing off.
I arch a brow. “What I do with my life from this moment forward is no concern of yours. Now, if you will please excuse me.”
“Wait.” He runs a hand through his disheveled hair.
Then he digs around in his leather satchel and produces a tiny little vial the length of my ring finger, one brimming with golden liquid, and places it in my open palm.
“I can’t let you go without knowing that you’ll be okay.
You were my everything. If it weren’t for the Goddess of Love, or for my father, I would get down on one knee and… ”
Eric continues blabbering about what could’ve been, but I’m not listening.
I couldn't care less about his gnawing regret and all-consuming despair as I proceed to greedily stuff the little vial into my bag, salivating over how beautiful it is. This is enough bloodmagic to pay for my dinner this evening and a few nights’ stay at the inn. It will get me by until…
Until what?
“Get out of my way.” I shoulder past him, leaving him stuttering behind me.
“Don’t tell anyone about the ghosts!” he calls from over my shoulder.
“Don’t tell anyone that I see my dead sister, or they’ll burn me like the witch I am.
Got it. Thanks for the advice!” I shout back, sarcasm dripping from my tongue like venom.
I roll my eyes and take a sharp left at the fork in the road, putting as much distance as I can between us, mostly out of fear that I’ll melt into a puddle and drift away into the city’s storm drains if I spend another second in his presence.
He really had been my everything. And now he’s gone. Just like my sister.