Chapter Two

He gripped the orders in his hand, knuckles turning as pale as the paper.

The whip sang a short, wicked note before biting into Veyla’s back. A spray of bland rice and watery tomato stew dribbled past her lips as she winced. She stared hard at the chipped ceramic bowl, her knuckles white where she gripped her spoon.

“Whores! The both of you!” Ilyana’s voice was raspy, thick with the scent of cheap fermented grapes and old bitterness. “Wasting my coin so you can play dress up.”

“We use our own coin,” Veyla hissed. “What we have left anyway after you’ve picked our pockets while we sleep.”

Veyla’s hands trembled slightly as she lifted a linen napkin, embroidered with a faded crest of a House that no longer existed. She dabbed her lips just how their mother used to.

“I don’t keep strays in this house out of love.” Ilyana sneered, the whip coiled in one hand and a dented metal cup in the other. She tossed her head back, draining the syrupy drink in greedy gulps.

“Lira’s coin is the only thing keeping your cup full of red.” Veyla spat. She finally looked up, her eyes dark with venom.

Alira’s spoon paused halfway to her mouth. She kept her gaze fixed on the swirling red broth of her stew, trying to shrink small enough to disappear into the wood grain of the table.

She had always wondered why Ilyana insisted on these nightly “family” dinners when every word spoken was a blade. She accepted the marks on her skin as the tax for having a roof.

“Yes, Lira,” Ilyana drawled. She sat across the round table with an empty bowl, an empty cup, and eyes just as empty. Empty of warmth. Empty of love. “Why don’t you make good of yourself and pour me some more red.” She gestured lazily for the stone pitcher.

Alira felt Veyla’s silent protest radiating off her like a fever. Don’t do it. Don’t give in. But Alira knew the price of defiance.

Veyla fought with her tongue, but Alira tried not to fight at all.

She carefully folded her napkin, aligning the edges with precision, and reached for the pitcher.

The red liquid glugged out, dark and thick, filling Ilyana’s cup to the brim.

Ilyana grinned, showing teeth stained a soft purple. “Yes, you’re right. Lira does keep my cup full.” Her smirk sharpened into something jagged. “Now, pour it again!”

In one blurred motion, Ilyana hurled the contents of the cup directly into Alira’s face.

The world turned a stinging, acidic crimson. The red soaked into Alira’s hair, her eyes, and the thin fabric of her linens. She sat frozen, the liquid dripping off her nose and chin, pooling in her lap like a fresh wound.

“Pour. It. Again,” Ilyana commanded.

Alira’s hands shook so violently, the pitcher clattered against the metal rim of the cup.“Enough!” Veyla roared. She pounded her fists onto the table, the force of it rattling the dinnerware. “If father we’re still here, he’d-”

“What could a dead man do” Ilyana cut her off, her voice a whip of its own. “Take one of his swords and slice me in two?” She mocked.

“You would wish he would be that merciful.” Veyla replied. The anger in her eyes curdled into something black and bottomless.

“Mercy is for the weak. They replaced mercy with cruelty, and with cruelty is how we will survive.” Ilyana said, her voice turning cold and sharp.

“We are not dragons,” Veyla growled, her fingers clawing at the rough wood of the table. “We are your nieces. Only devils deal cruelly to their own blood.”

Alira set the pitcher down too quickly. The cold red sent shivers over skin. She felt small. Stained.

“Ha!” Ilyana mocked with an ugly, gurgling laugh. “Nieces? Not much longer.” She took a slow sip of the fresh drink. “Finally found some ashen fools willing to pay for the pair of you.”

Alira’s blinked. “…pay?” Her voice came thin. “What are you -”

“Marriage.” Ilyana cut in, almost bored.

The words struck Alira harder than a blow. She would have preferred the sting of the whip.

With wide eyes, she searched Ilyana’s face for any hint of jest, but only found a smug satisfaction. She turned sharply to Veyla.

Veyla hadn’t moved. She stood silent and rigid. Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t look at Alira.

She was too still. Too quiet. It was wrong.

“Veyla…?”

Veyla exhaled softly through her nose, not taking her eyes away from Ilyana.

“Then you’ve given us a mercy.” She said.

Alira stared at her.

Ilyana’s brows lifted in amusement.

Veyla’s mouth curved, “To be rid of you at last. I hadn’t thought you capable of such kindness.”

Something flickered in Ilyana’s eyes, but she only huffed and lifted her cup.

Alira’s chest tightened. “Mercy?” She whispered. “Veyla, what are you saying?”

Veyla didn’t look at her. “Would you rather stay?”

The question cut clean.

Alira recoiled like Veyla lashed the whip herself. “That’s not -” Her voice broke. “You don’t even know who they are.”

“Simple diggers with soot in their lungs. A coin purse has no name, girl.” Ilyana offered a dismissive wave of her hand.

“But only Highborne Houses have marriage contracts.” Alira questioned more than stated.

“Seems some still view us as one.” Ilyana said, pride lighting her eyes. She turned to Veyla and held her cup high, “Wasn’t Lira’s coin that paid for this red, Veyla. It was you. Though you weren’t worth much.”

A tear carved a path through the red stains on Alira’s cheek. Her throat tightened until the air came thin.

“When?” The only question Veyla asked.

“I didn’t intend to keep them waiting. After the Furnace Festival.” Ilyana smiled.

A heavy knock sounded at the door.

Ilyana slammed her cup down with an irritated sigh. She stood, the whip still clutched in her hand, and walked toward the entryway.

From the other room, a deep, muffled voice rumbled. Alira couldn’t make out the words. Her heartbeat downed out the world. She looked down at her hands, wringing the red-soaked fabric, watching the droplets splash onto the floor.

Veyla’s shadow fell over her. Alira looked up. Her sister’s eyes had softened, but she did not speak.

Ilyana marched back in, her wrinkled face flushed.

“Veyla, grab your mask and trench. We’ve another at The Scrape.” She pointed a gnarled finger at the floor under Alira. “Lira, clean this mess up. Every drop or you’ll see more than the whip.”

Ilyana turned on her heel and vanished into the hall.

Alira looked down at the pooling red liquid at her feet. It appeared they didn’t survive at all.