Chapter 12 | Sephania #2
My heart hurts to see someone from my childhood, from the House of the Broken. Not just because it was a dark time in my life but because she’s been turned into a vampire in the twelve-odd years since I’ve last seen her.
Sister Cyprilis was an innocent, studious girl I took under my wing after Baylen Sallow’s exile. I thought her quaint and boring, until the evening when we gazed at the setting sun atop a roof’s edge and she kissed me.
That was when I first learned Father Cullard, the man who raised me, was molesting girls and boys at the House of the Broken. An innocent thing like a peck from Cyprilis opened my eyes to the ugliness of the world around me.
And now this? The poor girl’s been turned into a fucking bloodsucker? My stomach twists into knots.
She seems so frail and malnourished. I feel for her, even though I know it’s a dangerous thing to feel any sympathy for a creature of bloodlust. They’re more like wild animals than humans when they’re hungry.
“I wish I could call upon the feelings I had for you back then, Sister Sephania,” she mutters by my side. The girl only comes up to my shoulder, clearly never getting a proper growth spurt because of when she was turned.
Which is the House of the Broken’s fault. I grit my teeth, trying to tamp my anger.
Garroway has remained quiet the hour we’ve walked, glancing between me and Cyprilis as he marches in front of us to give us privacy. I see the curiosity on his face and shake my head, telling him to leave well enough alone.
“Please, just Sephania is fine,” I say. “I’m no longer a Sister of that wretched House. I suppose you’re not either, Cy.”
Her head shakes mournfully, eyes downcast. In truth, I’ve never seen a more pathetic vampire. She seems to have been turned before she fully reached the other side of womanhood, perhaps around sixteen summers. It’s a damned tragedy.
As we near the northern gate of Nuhav, she stops in a quiet part of the road near some barrels. Her brow furrows. “Where are you taking me? I’m not welcome in Olhav. I’m a wanted woman.”
“Wanted?” I ask, confused. “Whatever for? It’s where your . . . people are.” I eke the last words out, ashamed I have to equate this girl to the diabolical Olhavians.
Her head shakes fervently. “No, I’m welcome nowhere. You don’t understand.”
“Then tell me.” Frustration colors my voice. “Please, if you will. What happened to you?” I put a gentle hand on her shoulder to force her to look up from the road.
Her red eyes are dewy, and I’m struck by how she appears to be the most sentimental vampire I’ve ever laid eyes on.
“Careful, lass,” Garroway warns. He glares at Cyprilis.
For fuck’s sake, he doesn’t even trust her. This poor wretch. “Did you graduate from the House of the Broken on your sixteenth year?” I ask her gently.
Her head shakes again.
Just as I thought a decade ago: The House doesn’t nurture broken souls . . . it creates them.
“I was sold to an awful gang in Nuhav at thirteen summers,” she sighs.
“I suppose Father Cullard lost his use for me past a certain age.” The emotional inflection is gone from her voice, reciting her story with toneless efficiency.
“They passed me around, little more than a youngling myself. Eventually sold me to vampires in Olhav, but not before leaving me with two whelps to look after, and a third on the way.”
I grind my teeth so hard I think they might crack. Spirits and deities, say it isn’t true. “The humans made you broodstock . . .” I swallow hard. “. . . At thirteen?”
She gives me a faint, sad smile. “All three of the children were born before I reached my fifteenth year. The third was going to kill me. The vampires who took me recognized I was pregnant and decided to turn me after the birth so they could keep me alive.”
Garroway steps closer, his voice softening. “You became a vampiress mother . . . to three humans?”
Cyprilis nods glumly. “Yes, sir.”
“My name is Garroway. No one is your lord anymore.”
“What then, Cy?” I need to know the entirety of her tale. I keep my voice soft so she understands she can take her time in the telling.
“I was kept as a . . . mating slave. For years. I wouldn’t bear anymore children, so the vampires discarded me.”
“Fuck me True,” I curse, putting a light hand on her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, Cyprilis. My heart aches for you.” She jolts from my touch and I lift my hand like I’ve touched fire, raising my palm in surrender. “A-Apologies.”
“It’s fine,” she mutters. Her hands fidget in front of her belly. “So you see, I can’t go back to Olhav, Sephania.”
“You can now,” Garroway announces. “Your exile ends here, lass.”
I lock eyes with Garro, the usually jolly half-blood, and it makes me proud to see. We give each other small nods, coming to the same conclusion without needing to discuss it aloud.
“There’s a place where we can take you, Cy,” I say. When she lifts her face and I see the agonizing hope across her placid features, I offer her a small smile. “Somewhere you’ll be safe, and can grow stronger.”
“Truly?”
“True be true, old friend.” My smile widens. Though my heart hurts to hear her tale, I’m glad to be doing some good for once. “Don’t let the name scare you—you’ll fit right in with the Chained Sisters.”
“Perhaps we can find your children once you’ve returned to Olhav,” Garro adds when we resume our walk to the gate. Our pace is slow, letting Cyprilis drag her feet.
“Do you think they still might be . . . human?” I ask, feeling awful for coaxing the words out. Or even alive.
“I don’t know,” Cyprilis muses. “That’s the damnable thing about my lot in life.” She looks up at me, eyes twinkling. “Not only am I a redcloud addict plagued by nightmares, which I thought was impossible for a vampiress before turning into one, but . . .” She gulps and shakes her head.
I lean closer. “What is it, Cy? You can talk to me.”
“I don’t know how to explain,” she whispers. “I don’t . . . care for them any longer. Do you understand? My children, the two boys and girl I bore from my own body. Since turning, I’ve forgotten their faces. And worse? I’ve forgotten . . . what my love for them felt like.”
My eyes widen. I feel a pinch of tears at the corners. I’m stunned into silence, and so is Garroway.
By all that’s unholy. This poor woman—no, this girl changed before given a chance at womanhood. She feels nothing for her children because her humanity was violently stripped away from her when she turned.
“If anything,” Cyprilis finishes, “I’m more likely to try and feed on my children than I am to love them, if I see them again. So you understand why I can’t ever see my whelps again, yes?”
I nod dumbly as we walk, lost in a haze.
Here I thought my life was hard. Sister Cyprilis might take the award for the most fucked-up existence I’ve ever heard of. “Yes, Sister Cyprilis, I understand.” Louder than I thought possible.
This madness has to stop.