Chapter 13 | Sephania
Sephania
Sister Cyprilis’ story is hard to fathom. For all the alluring aspects I’ve considered about possibly turning into a vampiress in the future, Cyprilis brings me back to reality with the truth of the matter: For every blessing there is a curse.
Her morbid tale is a stark reminder of the cruelties of being a bloodsucker—a contrast to the immortal life, the ageless beauty, the incredible strength.
As Garro, Cyprilis, and I make our way through the gate unimpeded, heading up the mountain pass toward Olhav, I can’t stop thinking about my one-time friend.
In some ways, Cyprilis instigated my life trajectory. Even more than someone like Baylen Sallow. As a youngling, I had dealt with people spitting on me, kicking me, bullying me. Bay had been there to protect me, for a time. I learned hard truths about life at a young age.
Yet, my innocence wasn’t truly torn away until I saw Father Cullard through the window that fateful night. I watched, catatonic and afraid, as the man who had seemed so loving—the elder who raised me from infancy—violated young Sister Cyprilis.
I fled the House of the Broken that night, never to return.
I thought I was making a courageous statement, striking out as a young girl into the barbaric world of Nuhav on my own.
In time, I realized my cowardice, because I never put any effort into rescuing Cy.
I simply allowed her to suffer, told no one about it, and forgot about her.
The guilt that floods me threatens to bring tears to my eyes.
It squeezes my heart and doesn’t let go.
I fled . . . and now this. Finding Cyprilis a decade later, ruined.
Her life never got better, it got remarkably worse.
My eyes trail over to the thin vampiress, whose face has receded into her hood where I’m sure she feels safest. There’s a slight tremble to her skeletal fingers.
Even as a powerful creature, a fullblood vampire, she seems so frail and meek.
I wonder if her mind is aligned with her body; she looks incredibly young, since vampires stay stuck at the age they were turned.
Does that mean her mind is also trapped?
Does she have the wit and psyche of a sixteen-year-old girl?
Our pace slows due to her disheveled, malnourished state.
I watch my boots as we tread the passage up into the mountains, catching Garroway glancing at me every so often, giving me concerned looks.
I don’t have the willpower to speak right now.
I wish to talk to Cyprilis but things are better left alone for now.
She has three children, despite her young countenance. Three children she cares nothing for because of her change, who are likely crying and wondering where their mother is at this very moment.
As Cyprilis said, she’s just as likely to drain them as she is to love them. The thought curdles my stomach. Is this what happens to all broodstock?
I shake my head. Not quite, I muse, since most human broodstock are bred by vampires and give birth to half-bloods like Garroway and Lukain.
Cyprilis gave birth to human children and was then turned. It created what I imagine is a rare outcome: vampiric mother to human children.
How many bloodies are out there like Sister Cyprilis?
The nurturer in me, who has been decidedly silent over the past few years, feels an urge to find them all, wrap them up, and save them.
I know it’s a foolhardy endeavor. I haven’t been able to save a single soul. What makes me think I can rescue countless battered, damaged women? Much less when they’ve turned into bloodthirsty creatures?
As we reach Olhav, we stick to the outskirts of the city, combing through winding, hilly passages so no one will disturb us. Out here in the backcountry of the Olhavian Peaks, vampires rarely venture. Why would they when they have a shining city to call their own?
To our right, the skyrises of the Commerce Ward punch the clouds on this gloomy evening, about a mile away. A black void greets us to our left, high above the flickering human city at the base of the mountain.
I catch Cyprilis eyeing the dark nothingness, head tilting as she tries to hide it.
A frown twists my features. I deliberately, quietly move our party order, scooting to Cyprilis’ left because she’s been staring at the edge of the cliff too frequently for my liking.
Skar once told me a grotesque tale meant to scare me: Prisoners of the Judgment Ward who escape their captivity flee toward the mountain’s edge.
Vampires chase them for sport, essentially forcing the human cattle to launch themselves off the peaks or suffer a worse fate if the vampires haul them back into Olhav.
I couldn’t live with myself if I allowed something like that to happen to my old friend after we’ve just reunited. To break the soul-crushing monotony of our travels, I finally speak up, though regret it once the words leave my mouth. “Were you going to the brothel for redcloud, Cyprilis?”
She shoots me a withering look. “Don’t judge me, Sephania, please.”
“I would never!” Another wave of guilt consumes me. “I only ask because—”
“It helps,” she cuts in. “Sometimes.” Her head nods toward Garroway on her right. “It isn’t as potent as it is for his kind, but I do whatever I can to . . .” She clears her throat, trailing off, gazing past me to the nether.
“To forget,” Garro murmurs.
Cyprilis nods succinctly. “Yes.”
He puts a soft hand on her bony shoulder and offers a small smile. “I can help you get some of the stuff, if it’s what you need, Sister Cyprilis.”
Cy’s brow threads in confusion. “. . . Thank you.”
Clearly, she isn’t used to anyone aiding her. I can’t say this is the finest example of “aid” Garroway is offering, but I know he has a strange, macabre way of showing affection. He’s right. Anything to help her forget.
“These Chained Sisters,” she says a few minutes later, as we begin to cut toward the city. “What are they? I’m frightened to go into Olhav. It’s been years.”
Years. Right. She may look like a person barely past girlhood, but she’s my age.
“You needn’t fear where we’re going.” I try to sound cheery.
It’s a difficult prospect given the situation.
“Iron Sister Keffa will explain everything to you. She is kind. The Chained Sisters give voice to women and girls who have been forgotten or . . .”
“Damaged?”
I swallow past a lump in my throat. “Yes. I’m not saying you—”
Cyprilis’s croaking laugh is such a miserable sound it catches me off-guard and quiets me. “Please, Sephania, I know what I am. More than that, I know what’s been done to me. You don’t have to guard your words around me.”
I clench my jaw and nod curtly.
We continue in silence, until Cyprilis says, “I hope I fit in with these shackled sisters of yours. Is the name literal?”
“No. It’s a notion of solidarity, interestingly enough.”
“Chained together, the sisters act as one,” Garro says.
Cyprilis lifts her head at him. “Oh? Are you a Chained Sister as well, Garroway?”
For a heartbeat, I think I notice a pink tint to Garro’s face as he chuckles to himself. I must be mistaken, since vampires don’t blush. “He wishes he was,” I say, winking across Cy’s body to my mate.
Garroway snorts and Cy lets out another one of her dusty-sounding laughs. It fills me with hope and vigor, that ugly sound. I have to imagine she hasn’t laughed in years. If we can provide her even something as small as that, at least it’s a step in the right direction.
Once we pass the first squat buildings on the outskirts of Olhav, another thought comes to me.
Maybe saving my people will have to come one tiny measure at a time.
I can’t rescue them all from the desperate hardships and crises they face, at least not all at once . . . but maybe I can make them laugh.
Once I tell Tecca at the front door we’ve brought a new recruit for the Chained Sisters, the excitable young half-blood squeals off down the hall, bringing Keffa and my mother to us minutes later.
The lover-leaders leaders glance at each other pityingly once Cy’s hood falls back from her head. They welcome here in with open arms.
“Come, dear girl,” Keffa offers as Cyprilis lifts her head and stoically walks into the house.
The Iron Sister drapes a protective arm over Cy.
I notice her motherly instinct is much stronger than Jinneth’s, who keeps a fair distance from the girl and glances at her with a healthy dose of suspicion.
Jinneth’s reticence is not a big surprise, given my own history and the absence of my mother. How could she possibly have a motherly bone in her body when she’s been locked away for twenty years?
“Come meet your new Sisters, child,” Keffa says as they recede down the hall.
“But you’re both human,” Cyprilis answers, confused.
“Yet we welcome everyone—dhampir, vampire, human alike. It’s our shared struggle that unites us, little dove. Just as the Olhavians would divide us by difference, we aim to unify through likeness.”
A stark realization hits me. Can vampires be nurtured? I suppose we’ll find out. I hope you find some peace here, Cyprilis.
Seconds before they turn the corner down the hall, I call out, “Mother.”
Jinneth stops as Keffa and Cyprilis disappear down the hall. She furrows her brow. “Not coming in, Seph?”
I glance at Garroway. “No. We have a meeting with a young devil we’re late for.”
Jinneth chuckles. “Don’t let Lord Ashfen warp your spirit, lass. I don’t care how handsome he is—”
“It’s too late for that, Mother.”
Her mouth closes, a vein of frustration pulsing at her temple.
“You’ll take care of her?” I nudge my chin. “Sister Cyprilis? We grew up in the same House. Our lives deviated from there.”
“Right.” Jinneth sighs. “Of course we’ll see she’s taken care of, Sephania.
Who do you think we are, monsters?” She smiles as she finishes, turning to head down the hall and then pausing.
Tapping the corner of the wall with her fingers, she says, “You know . . . I’m more informed about your upbringing than you might imagine. ”
It’s tempting, but I resist the urge to snap at her bait. I’ll have time for her stories soon enough. My mother wants to bring me inside so I won’t see Skartovius, but that’s an impossibility. I’ve seen Skar least of all my mates since I’ve been back, and I intend to rectify that issue.
“I’m sure you are,” I say wryly. “Don’t think just because I’m leaving for an evening that I’m letting you off, Jinneth. I have questions for you. Many of them.”
Her smile seems strangely placed. “Then you’d best hurry back, dear daughter.”
She vanishes down the hall before I can reply.
I look over at Garroway, who pouts in consternation. “I’m still not sure about this mother of yours, little honey badger.”
Sighing heavily, I take his hand, squeezing it as we turn to leave. “Me either, cub. Why do I get the sense my own mother is hiding secrets?”
Garroway scoffs. “Lass, she’s been imprisoned for two decades. All she has are secrets.”