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“May I inquire what court you beauties belong to?” The man clasped his wrists in front of him.
Faye didn’t need to look at him further. The dark-blooded shard on his index finger told her everything she needed to know. All magic was a gift from the Darkness, borrowed through life and returned in death. Soul shards served as an external indication of the depth of power housed within the individual, divided into two castes: the dark-bloods and the day-bloods. The tendrils within the swirling mist determined which caste they belonged to. White tendrils were day-bloods, black tendrils, dark. The darker the mist surrounding the shard, the stronger the individual. These small marquise-cut crystals dictated a person’s worth and social standing, as though magic was all that mattered in life.
She glanced up at the stranger, the words of polite refusal frozen on her tongue. Faye studied his face. “Who are you dressed as?” The man wore cheap costume accessories like everyone else celebrating tonight, but veined misted shadows swayed beneath his eyes, brushing the tops of his cheekbones. The light caught Faye’s ring as she sipped her juice.
“A Pure Blood.” The man answered cheerily, looking down at her hand. The corner of Faye’s mouth turned down, instantly souring her mood. He’d been polite because he thought she was one of them. She shoved it underneath the table. Faye’s ring was a fake, displaying a soul shard Sparrow charged with her power to mirror her dark-blooded shard.
“You have the wrong hair if you’re masquerading as the Shadow Prince,” Sparrow interjected.
This man’s dark mass of curls was all wrong. Rumor said his hair was long and white. From her seat, she could pick out a handful of the crowd dressed as him, but she’d never seen anyone pair bad eyeliner with the glamoured fangs. She answered dark-bloods in the same manner as their requests. He had been polite, so she returned the favor.
Plastering a false smile, Faye inclined her head. “I’m sorry. I must decline your advances.” The words of protocol within the dark-blooded courts to tactfully decline romantic interest.
The man placed his hand to his chest. “Of course. I belong to the Court of Silver Leaves if you have a change of heart.” He bowed and turned away from them, disappearing into the crowd.
As an Anarian, she was either propositioned or ignored. The ones who deigned to speak to her acted as though she should be grateful to catch a dark-blood’s eye. Eyeing her ring again, Faye glanced from her hand to Sparrow’s, comparing the two, unable to discern the difference. This simple fraudulent piece of jewelry allowed her to walk freely in Necromia. The energy Sparrow put into it would fade over time, seeping from a shard never meant to hold its power. It would be empty by morning.
Many Anarians dreamed of being chosen by a dark-blood, their life ambition to live within their lavish dark courts. As a pet. They would have material things and want for little, but it came at a cost Faye wasn’t willing to pay. Being a pet meant someone owned you. A possession to be stroked and touched when they pleased.
Sparrow slouched in her chair. “You should give them a chance.”
Faye narrowed her eyes at her sister. She’d given them chances in the beginning, hoping to be seen for who she was, instead of the soul shard she lacked. Experience taught her how young and naive she’d been. But looking back, it had been glaringly evident from the beginning. Sparrow had waited a month for Faye to turn twenty so they could invoke their blood together. They traveled to Necromia. Sparrow insisted on invoking her blood at the largest of the blood temples, deeming it good luck, but when she failed, she knew what fate lay ahead. That day the entire walk back no one had met Faye’s gaze. She’d come there full of hope and left an Anarian, a shardless, powerless mortal.
“No,” was her only reply as she looked down at her drink.
Sparrow tapped the table, pulling Faye from her pained memories. “Vampire orgy?” Sparrow’s green eyes lit with excitement.
Faye fell back in her chair, looking upward. “You ask every year.”
“And every year, I hope you grow some balls so we can go.” Sparrow tilted her head, staring at her expectantly. As though she were asking for something normal, like going to the bakery. “I can’tnotknow things. Please.”
“Dark-bloods already surround me. Why would I agree to be surrounded by more dark-bloods?Blood suckingdark-bloods.”
Sparrow slouched. “They’re not all bad.” Her sister, forever the optimist. They weren’t bad to her. She was one of them.
“They are, and I can prove it,” Faye said casually, inspecting her nails. They’d baited each other with those words since they were girls.
Sparrow leaned forward, her green eyes gleaming. “What are we betting?”
“We’ll go to the Hunter’s Moon ball. I’ll give you five minutes to find me a day-blood among them. When you lose, we never go again. You stop trying to set me up on dates and let me die a virgin in peace.”
Her sister narrowed her eyes, scrutinizing her. “If I win, you have to go on five dates and benice. And we go to the Hunter’s Moon ball every year. I need an hour to find a day-blood. Blood whores count, right? Anyone in attendance.”
Faye nodded. “Ten minutes, unless one of them tries to bite me. Then you lose, and we leave.”
Sparrow smiled, waving her hand. “They won’t even see you. Thirty minutes.”
“Fifteen.”
“Deal.” Sparrow beamed.
Vashien returned with their drinks. Sparrow took her glass of whiskey and swallowed the contents in one gulp.
She set the glass down and got to her feet. “Faye agreed to fun!” She swatted Vashien’s ass as she happily made her way to the door.
Faye glanced at her pomegranate juice, feeling guilty for letting it go to waste. “I’m sorry.”
Vashien smiled reassuringly at her. “I’ll put it in the batch going to the cottage. What kind of fun did she talk you into?” Vashien stacked their dishes waiting for her answer.
