Chapter Six Inana
Chapter Six
Inana
If Dominic was looking for a way to shut us up, he certainly found it.
After his reminder about the wild Shades, Bard, Harlow, and I exchange not a word more, nor do we sleep.
Instead, we cast haunted looks outside the wagon.
I can’t help but startle at every subtle movement, every sound of twigs snapping or leaves rustling in the ever-thickening forest. I see the monsters now and then, when the moon peeks out from behind the clouds and bathes our surroundings in the one kind of light Shades don’t fear.
Their wavering silhouettes stand out starkly between the trees.
Humanoid, mostly, yet with very few distinct features save for long limbs, dark pits for eyes, and wavering ovals for heads.
Their spindly fingertips cling to tree trunks as they watch our wagon pass by.
At one point, a beastly Shade crosses the road behind us, its shape like a mountain lion, its dark eyes staring after us until distance swallows it.
Fucking hell, the night sky may be beautiful, but it’s a terrifying time to be outdoors.
I haven’t lived outside the Sacred City’s protection in a year; I nearly forgot how I used to spend my time after sundown before—silent or sleeping, safely tucked in rooms lit with an abundance of lamps and candles while reflective bronze disks hung from the rafters to amplify the light.
Never did I or any other villager leave the safety of our homes at night, and we certainly didn’t travel.
I glare at Dominic’s back, enraged that he’d put us in such danger. Is this another one of his training exercises? Does he see this as some essential initiation, like sharing our names was?
I know Shades rarely attack unless provoked. Still, I’m not amused Dominic sought to press our luck and drive us straight through shadow-monster territory in the middle of the godsdamned night.
It’s a relief when the sun peeks over the horizon, painting the sky in the first shades of rosy pink, gold, and blue. Once dawn fully rises and the forest road is illuminated, I break the silence with my poorly concealed ire.
“Why the hell did we travel at night, Shadowbane?”
He doesn’t so much as look over his shoulder. “You know my name, Inana. Use it.”
Annoyance flares hotter at the sound of my name on his lips. Especially since he didn’t even need to look at me to know I was the one who spoke. I force my reply through my teeth, refusing to humor his demand. “Why did we travel at night?”
“I’d like to know as well,” Harlow says, her glare almost as dark as mine. “Are you trying to get us killed straightaway?”
“Careful,” Bard whispers. He’s seated closer to us now and his voice is meant only for us. “He’s our master, and much higher ranking than Rockefeller was.”
He’s right. Yet there’s something about Dominic that makes it impossible to choose humility. Maybe the fact that he tackled me to the ground and let his shadow dog lick my face. Thankfully, there’s no sign of any of his Shades now that the sun has risen.
“Shadowbanes work at night,” Dominic says.
“When we’re assigned to protect villages, our most important work begins after sundown.
Hence, I sleep during the day, and either work or travel at night.
We were perfectly safe. Shades find quiet travelers uninteresting.
You’ll need to get used to resting before sundown from now on, as my Summoners work when I do. ”
I hate that what he’s saying makes sense.
Gods, of course we’ll have to work at night.
Shadowbanes can track down criminals and claim bounties whenever, but hunting Shades is something that can be done only under the cloak of darkness.
That’s why it’s rare to meet a Shadowbane.
I never came face-to-face with one in my village, despite a few having been assigned over the years to take care of particularly aggressive Shades.
“Are you ever going to tell us what exactly we’ll be doing as your Summoners?” Harlow asks, brow arched. “Are we just bait, like our lovely Seamstress suggested last night, or do we have a chance at surviving six months in service to you?”
“Your survival depends on you,” he says. “Listen to me, obey, and don’t fucking betray me, and you’ll survive. I’ll train you as best as I can before we take up our first post together at Thornfal village. First, there’s a final member of our crew to pick up.”
Not long after, Dominic navigates our wagon off the main road and down a narrow forest path.
We reach a wide, sunlit clearing beside a rushing stream.
At the center of the clearing are the remains of what must have once been a stone cottage.
All that’s left is a foundation, three crumbling outer walls, and a partially collapsed thatched roof.
Even though the architectural style is similar to those in rural villages, it must be centuries old.
No one would have dared to live so deep in the woods after One Hundred Days of Darkness.
The forest has been a breeding ground for Shades ever since.
A male figure darts out from the ruined cottage, heaving a sigh of relief at the sight of the wagon.
“Thank the gods,” he says as Dominic tugs the reins to bring the horses to a halt.
He’s dressed in brown britches, a tan tunic, and a vest that’s unbuttoned and possibly inside out.
He looks to be around Harlow’s age, perhaps a couple years older, with pale blond hair, blue eyes, and soft features despite a subtle gauntness about him.
Even in his drab clothing, he’s as lovely as the boys who work in Nalheim’s brothels.
Which is to say pretty but a touch underfed.
“What happened?” An edge of concern laces Dominic’s voice as he descends from the box seat. The three of us in the back of the wagon make no move to exit, instead exchanging a wary glance before turning our attention to the two men.
The young man stops before Dominic, wringing his trembling hands, one of which is bandaged. Now that he’s closer, I note a sheen of sweat on his forehead and a greenish tint to his skin. “I fucked up.”
“Don’t tell me…” Dominic’s worry shifts into what looks like annoyance as he runs a hand over his face. “I left you a full vial. That should have been plenty for three days.”
“It should have been, but a fucking Shade, Dom. It nearly stopped my godsdamned heart. I took a mere swig and suddenly there it was, creeping around the corner with long, spindly fingers. Startled me so bad I dropped the vial, shattering the whole thing. Then of course I cut myself on the glass. It couldn’t have gone worse. ”
“Damn it, Calvin.”
“Damn me, I know,” he says, eyes pleading.
“I wasted your blood, and no one is more sorry about that than me. As you can see”—he lifts his hands, which tremble harder—“I’m barely hanging on to my sanity.
I’m too cold. I’m too hot. A fucking spider dropped on my head just five minutes ago and I haven’t a clue if it was real. ”
A chill seeps into my veins. I know what this is.
He’s addicted…to Sinless blood, and he’s currently going through withdrawal.
I’ve only ever witnessed this once, when one of the Wretched Lair’s part-time performers turned up shaking and sweating and hardly able to hold her lute.
She’d been claimed as a Sinless’s blood source the weekend before, and he in turn fed her his blood, only to discard her by the end of the week.
A luckier fate than the harpist from last night, but I haven’t a clue how long she went through withdrawal. I never saw her again.
What’s most concerning, however, was that the man named Calvin said your blood, which means Dominic has made this man his thrall.
“When did you drop the vial?” Dominic asks.
“Like an hour after you left. I’m telling you, mate, this has been a nightmare three days.”
“Fuck.” Dominic reaches under his cloak and extracts a dark vial. It’s barely out of his hands before the other man uncorks it and downs a sip.
“Oh, gods,” Calvin says with a moan, eyes closed as he tips his head back. His tremors cease and his greenish pallor is replaced with a rosy flush. “Fuck me sideways and reverse it, that’s good.”
Dominic casts a glance at the back of the wagon. There’s something like an apology on his face, but his tone is flat as he says, “Crew, meet Calvin.”
Calvin corks his vial, eyes widening as his attention shifts to us for the first time.
His pupils are blown wide, his expression overly cheerful.
With a sheepish grin, he wipes the back of his unbandaged hand over his mouth, smearing a speck of blood over his bottom lip.
“Shit, sorry. That’s not the first impression I wanted to make. ”
His sweet yet bloodstained smile so greatly contrasts with the terror building inside me.
I grip the side of the wagon until my knuckles turn white, my gaze volleying between Dominic and Calvin.
Gods, it never occurred to me Shadowbanes had the same potent blood as the Sinless, being that they’re only halfsouls. Does that mean…
“Do you thrall all of your crew?” Harlow asks, speaking the question that’s trapped in my throat. Though her voice is level, her posture is as tense as mine.
Bard clenches his hand tighter around his cloth-wrapped mandolin, a murderous glare in his eyes. It might be the most animated I’ve ever seen him, and bloody hell, it’s frightening.
“I do not,” Dominic says.
“He really doesn’t.” Calvin waves a placating hand. “I’m a special case, I assure you, and I’m not thralled. What we have is an arrangement of equals. I give him my blood when he needs to feed—”
My eyes flash to Dominic. “You feed on blood. Just like the other Sinless.”
He holds my gaze but doesn’t answer.
“Not as often,” Calvin says. “Never for pleasure, like those overly thirsty fucks in the Sacred Cities. He feeds when he needs to, and in exchange, he lets me live.”