His brows lowered again, now pressed so low over his amber eyes that they looked like two little jewels peering from pits of shadow.
I didn’t even need to question whether that was confusion. Good. Maybe he was surprised that any human cared to know about the three vampire kingdoms of Obitraes. But I liked making it my business to know things. It was the only thing I was any good at, and besides, when you don’t have much time in this world, you want to fill it with as much knowledge as possible.
He said, “Are you really not concerned that I’m going to eat you?”
A little, a voice whispered in the back of my head.
“No,” I said. “If you were going to do that, you would have done it by now.”
“Maybe there were other things I wanted to do first,” he said in a tone that implied this often got much more of a reaction.
I sighed wearily.
“Can we talk?” I said. “We don’t have much time.”
He seemed a little disappointed, but then gestured to the sitting room. I took a seat in a dusty red velvet chair, perching lightly upon it with my back rod-straight, while he settled into the opposite leather couch in a lazy lounge.
“Are you familiar with Adcova?” I asked.
“Familiar enough.”
“An illness is plaguing the city.”
His mouth quirked. “I had heard that one of your fickle gods had taken a bit of offense to that place. Shame.”
As if Nyaxia, the vampires’ exiled goddess, was any kinder of a god than ours. Yes, the twelve gods of the White Pantheon could be cold and fickle, but Nyaxia—the heretic goddess who had split from the Pantheon two thousand years ago to create her civilization of vampires—was just as ruthlessly cruel.
“The illness is getting worse,” I said. “It is starting to expand to nearby districts. The death toll is in the thousands and will only rise.”
I blinked and saw dust—rancid dust, swept from sickhouse floors and streets and bedrooms. Swept five, six times a day from the church floors, funeral after funeral.
I saw dust that I swept off of Mina’s bedroom floor, a little thicker each day. The dust we both pretended did not exist.
I cleared my throat. “All of Adcova’s and Baszia’s top scientists and doctors are working on finding a cure.”
And priests, and magicians, and sorcerers, of course. But I’d given up on thinking that they might save us. It was their god that damned us, after all.
“I think that you, Lord—” I stuttered, realizing for the first time that I had never actually asked for his name.
“Vale,” he said smoothly.
“Lord Vale.” I clasped my hands before me. “I think that you might have the key to a solution.”
He smirked at me. “Are you one of the country’s ‘top scientists and doctors?’”
My jaw tightened. I had always been bad at reading people, but even I could recognize that he was mocking me. “Yes. I am.”
Again, that wrinkle between his brows.
“What?” I snapped. “Do you want me to be more demure about it? Are you, about your accomplishments?”
Vale didn’t look like he was especially demure about anything.
“What is your name?” he said. “In case I need to verify your credentials.”
“Lilith.”
“Lilith…？”
“Just Lilith. You gave me one name, so that’s what I’ll give you, too.”
He shrugged a little, as if he couldn’t argue with that.
“So, Lilith. How do you intend to save the world?”
There it was again—that cloying coating of saccharine mockery, so thick that not even I could miss it.
I said, “I need your blood.”
A long silence.
And then he laughed.
The sound was low and restrained, and yet, so thick with unmistakable danger. I wondered how many people had been given that laugh as their final goodbye to this world.
“You came here to ask for my blood,” he said.
Alright, fine. I could see the irony.
“Yes,” I said. “I won’t need too much. Just a little.”
He stared at me incredulously.
“It won’t hurt,” I said. “I promise.”
“I wouldn’t think it would.” He straightened, crossing one leg over the other.
“I would only need four vials of blood each time. Maybe a little more, if I need extra for additional tests. I would need to come once per month.”
He said, without hesitation, “No.”
I cursed silently to myself.
“Why not?”
“Because about two centuries ago, I decided that I would never again do anything I didn’t want to do. And I don’t want to. So no, mouse. That is your answer.”
I honestly didn’t know how to respond to this. He’d seemed to be having such a fantastic time toying with me that it hadn’t occurred to me that he’d flat out refuse—at least, not so unceremoniously.
His face was a mask now. No wrinkled brow, no smirks. He spoke like he’d just turned down an invitation to dinner from someone he disliked. Pure indifference.
My fingers curled, and I pressed my hands against my skirts to hide the whitening of my knuckles.
Of course none of it mattered to him. What else could I expect from a creature like him—a creature that did not understand life, death, or suffering—but indifference?
I forced myself to do what Mina would do. She would smile sweetly and charm. I was never good at being charming and didn’t see much point in it most of the time, but it was worth a try. So I smiled, though it felt more like a baring of teeth.
“You didn’t let me complete my offer, Lord Vale. In exchange for your blood, I’ll give you a gift each visit.”
I reached into my bag and withdrew the rose that I had so carefully packed. I had to stare at it for a moment before I handed it to Vale. Did I imagine that it seemed even more beautiful in here, as if it was meant to exist in this room?
He stared at it, face stone.
“A flower. Very pretty.”
He did not even try to hide how unimpressed he was.
“I promise you,” I said, “its beauty is by far the least interesting thing about it.”
“Oh? And why is that?”
“You won’t know unless you accept my deal.”
His eyes narrowed at me.
“How many?” he asked.
“Visits?”
“Roses.”
“I’ll visit you six times, and I’ll bring you a rose each time.”
This time, I was expecting another unceremonious refusal. But instead, Vale examined the rose, twirling it slightly between his fingertips. He had a very cold, hard stare. It looked a bit familiar, and I couldn’t place why until I realized that it was the stare of a scientist, someone used to analyzing things and taking them apart.
A little spark of relief came with this realization. Because that, at least, was something I understood. Maybe Vale and I were worlds apart in every way—human and vampire, lord and peasant, near-immortal and pitifully ephemeral—but if we had that, it was already more than I had in common with most of the people I’d grown up with.
“Fine,” he said, at last. “I accept your deal. Did you bring your equipment? Let’s get this over with.”