Thirst (Arcane Alliances: House of the Sanguine #1)
Chapter 1
Sidney
I followed Queen Nemea up a winding stone path, my bare feet gliding over cold flagstones as dread tightened its grip on my chest. Every step pulled me deeper into her domain, and I came to the chilling conclusion that she meant to plant me among the thorny bushes in her rose garden.
Another offering to quench the thirst of the unholy plants she nurtured.
At nine years old, I’d already learned that survival required obedience.
The queen’s elegant gown swept the stone path while I maintained the required length of three paces behind her.
I wore a servant’s drab gray and trembled as I recalled what misbehavior I’d committed to deserve a trip to the garden.
Maybe this is about dropping her favorite cup last week. Or when I hid from Head Priest Bruvor…
The priest had wanted to perform a bloodletting ceremony over a month ago with a handful of servants, but that wouldn’t stop Queen Nemea from punishing me for it now.
An older vampire’s memory was fickle at best. Even a girl as young as I understood time was unkind to the minds of the monsters who ruled my life.
Perhaps the queen was merely tired of having me around and had forgotten to get rid of me until now. I was a “troublesome child” and “a stain on the family name,” after all, the living reminder of my father’s transgressions with a human servant.
The pungent stench of sweat and fear trailed in my wake. I worried she’d notice, but even at a distance, the scent of roses grew overwhelming. Perhaps it would mask the most obvious sign of my terror. The smell would only make the monsters more aggressive.
Everyone knew that Queen Nemea planted her enemies beneath her prized roses, their remains fertilizer for her perfect blooms. Plants needed nourishment, after all.
Water, blood—both soaked into the earth, nourishing the parched roots the same.
I found the concept mind-boggling. Surely it was impossible to sustain an entire garden on enemy blood alone.
What would the queen do when we weren’t at war with the House of Whispers?
The queen unlocked the gate with an elegant golden key she kept on a chain around her neck.
“Behold, Sidney,” she announced. The iron hinges whispered open to reveal towering walls of thorns and crimson blooms. They were inescapable sentries with reaching claws, ready to grab me and never let go.
Perfume and rot combined to create a unique odor that seared itself into my nostrils. The stench had fine nuances of moss and decaying flesh, vivid enough to twist my gut.
It was death wrapped in a floral bouquet.
Queen Nemea glided into the garden, surveying her domain with satisfaction curving her ruby-stained lips. She was in a good mood. I calculated my odds: flee and face her wrath, or follow and pray I’d survive the visit. The wiser decision was to stay close to the queen.
She hummed as she skimmed her fingertips over her perfect blooms. Her gardeners, the few she trusted with her secrets, maintained successful beauty here. I cataloged our route instead of admiring it, counting steps and memorizing turns while my gaze darted between exit points.
We must have been quite a sight. The bored, ancient immortal strolling with the dhampir child who’d arrived from the womb already sullied with scandal.
We passed the time discussing the details of my education.
Though wary, I answered her every question promptly and waited for the trap to spring.
She’d never been all that interested in what I had to say.
Boredom armored her against most stimulation, but occasionally it cracked to reveal the monster beneath.
With her signature unpredictability, she said she’d decided I would rise above my mother’s station as a blood servant, which required more than basic literacy.
“You’ll remain a dhampir and a servant, but dirty blood doesn’t excuse a dull mind,” Queen Nemea declared.
“The combination would simply be insufferable.”
She studied me with hungry expectation as we walked, waiting for my breathless appreciation and praise for her decision.
Her ego demanded it, yet the air shifted before I could utter a word.
We emerged in the center courtyard, facing the one being in all of the House of the Sanguine who commanded even a vampire queen’s reverence, so I offered my deference elsewhere.
A marble fountain depicted the goddess Eona posing victoriously.
The queen had commissioned her sculptor to capture the Goddess of Tradition’s divine rivalry with Aetherius in vivid detail.
Eona stood triumphant in flowing robes, her sword thrust point-down through the head of the defeated God of Innovation.
His blocky, modern clothes lay torn and bloodied. Each detail emphasized his humiliation.
The fountain leaked rather than flowed. Red water oozed from the heart in Eona’s grasp, falling in irregular splashes that echoed through the garden’s hush.
The four male vampires that made up the goddess’s Devotion were painted into the stone forming the fountain’s rim.
They were nameless, faceless shades despite their prestige as Eona’s mates.
I bowed low before the goddess, while Queen Nemea inclined her head in respect.
“Enough,” she snapped when I remained in genuflection. “It’s time you see why I brought you here.”
I tensed to bolt, but she grabbed my shoulder, her grip digging in to leave finger-shaped bruises.
She dragged me past the fountain, where the rose bushes grew smallest. In a corner of her garden, grass replaced the usual thorny maze.
It was punctuated by one last bush, which bore tiny buds and a few white blossoms, some tipped with a faint pink hue.
At first, I didn’t notice the shriveled limbs of a lifeless body underneath it.
Queen Nemea fisted my hair, forcing my face toward the roots. “Meet Donnal. See what happens to those who plot against me.”
My breath hitched, a tremor rippling through me as I stared, horrified by the thorny vines coiled and twisted, pushing their way through the ruin of Donnal’s abdomen.
His body was shriveled and hollowed by time.
His skin, taut and brittle, stretched like ancient vellum over bones that jutted, sharp and sun-bleached.
Time had stolen every trace of identity, leaving behind only a forgotten relic.
My gorge rose. Don’t be sick on the queen’s feet…and don’t desecrate his body worse…
“Cross me, sweetness.” Her silky tone roughened with venom. “And I’ll expand my garden with you next. Understand?”
16 Years Later
To this day, I despised roses.
Throughout the years, Queen Nemea nurtured her private graveyard.
The garden had tripled in size since my childhood, with crimson roses spilling beyond the original stone borders in wild, unnatural abundance.
Fresh mounds of black earth dotted the pathways between blooms, some still settling from recent burials.
Tonight, my body might join the fertilizer, but not before I added hers to the soil.
The stench struck hard, dragging me into a childhood memory of the moment I met the empty gaze of Donnal’s stripped corpse. Death hung heavy in the air, mingling with the floral perfume of the queen’s beloved roses. I exploited the odor to mask the unique smell of my dhampir blood.
I reminded myself to be grateful the queen took me to meet Donnal when I was still a kid. On that fateful walk, I’d spotted a loose stone in the wall sectioning off the courtyard—a rare weakness in the vampire mansion’s fortress-like perimeter.
That loose rock had become my salvation. Tonight, I displaced two stones to accommodate my adult shoulders as I returned to this floral cemetery with weapons in hand. The ghost of my terror flooded me as I breathed in the smell of roses and rot.
I thought I’d never return here. I should’ve known better.
Queen Nemea had gleefully removed the head from the last queen of the House of Whispers, clearing the path for someone more malicious. The city buzzed with news of a weakening House of the Sanguine as the rival house waged war under the leadership of a powerful new monarch.
And now we all paid for it. Humans vanished nightly, forcibly turned to bolster her failing war effort. Such blatant disregard for the laws that maintained peace between vampires and the human populace of Pythia reached the temple, and the slayers sharpened their stakes.
I spun my gold engagement band with my thumb, a relatively new habit. The texture of the tiny gems embedded in the metal was satisfying. It reminded me of Zane. He knew not to buy me a ring with a prominent setting, else it would get caught and damaged by the hasty way I pulled on my gloves.
I didn’t give a damn about the disappearances. Only one mattered to me. Zane’s. The queen would answer for it tonight.
I’d observed what I could of her habits and concluded that challenging her anywhere other than her personal garden would be a guaranteed death sentence. Yet only a fool or a desperate person would come here to corner her. I was probably both.
I lay belly-down in the dirt, facing the fountain of Eona. I carved out a thorn-free arch, tucking myself beneath it, careful not to cut my fingers and expose the scent of my dirty blood. The flashes of ivory hidden in the roots could have been Donnal’s remains.
I murmured, “May Aetherius uplift your soul.” Sixteen years too late for his salvation.
The fountain’s red water oozed from the stained heart in Eona’s hand.
Clumps of darkened fluid fell into the basin with irregular splatters.
The sound remained my only company as the minutes dragged into hours.
Wind breathed through the crimson roses.
The bushes seemed to shiver with awareness of my plans for their mistress.