Free I Am Forever (What Kills Me) by Wynne Channing Page A

The clerics will read some sacred text, and then we will all swear our allegiance to you.”
    “I don’t have to make a speech, do I?”
    “No, my lady.”
    “Good.”
    “The importance of this ceremony cannot be overstated. You don’t realize how momentous your coming is. The Monarchy has been losing its way. It has been wounded by war, and some have had their beliefs diluted by time and strife. But you, my lady, offer something as vital as blood.”
    He drew near and I glimpsed blood welling up in his eyes before he blinked it back. “You offer us hope.”
    Hope.
    “You’ve rekindled our belief in survival, in the sanctity of our scriptures, and our way of life,” Uther said. “Thank you, my lady.”
    I smiled. “Thanks for being here for me, Uther.”
    “You are here for all of us. It is the empire that is flush with gratitude.”
    “That’s a lot of responsibility. I don’t know if I’m cut out for that.”
    “You were born for it,” he said, with a deep nod.
    “Look up, my lady,” Pavone said before dragging a brush under my eyes. “I hear that everyone who is of stature with the Monarchy will be there tonight.”
    “I invited a new friend,” I told her.
    “Oh yes,” Uther said. “The war page will be there.”
    “War page?” Pavone arched an eyebrow.
    “I’ve found that friends who can fight come in handy,” I told her.
    “Well, I fight against poor fashion,” she said.
    “You’re a great friend to have too.”
    She paused in the middle of coloring my eyebrow and opened her mouth, the left corner of her lips tucked up. “My lady. It is truly my honor.”
    “Uther, do you think San will be able to visit me after the ceremony?” I asked.
    He hesitated. “Would you like him to?”
    “Sure. Why not?” I felt guilty that I had gotten him in trouble.
    “Whatever you wish.”
    I looked at him with one eye open while Pavone dabbed her brush against the other eyelid. “Seriously. Why not? And why did the jerk with the whip try to keep him away from me?”
    Uther folded his hands at his waist. I had come to recognize that posture as his diplomatic stance.
    “The Monarchy has certain rules,” he said.
    “Rules against friends?”
    “Rules against consorting with individuals who are not of your stature.”
    “Stature? What constitutes consorting?”
    “Vampires cannot touch other vampires who are of higher stature, for example.”
    “So a handshake was against the rules?”
    “Yes.”
    “That’s silly.”
    Uther remained tight-lipped. I remembered Nuwa explaining the class structure to me, but so much had happened since then I couldn’t recall the details.
    “Who is considered low stature?” I asked.
    “Vampires who are direct descendants of the Ancients are of the highest class. They are called Annu. Their creations, second generation vampires, are generally clerics, senators, and other high-ranking patricians. They are called Ilutu. Finally, the Ikkaru are born from the blood of the Ilutu. They are third generation vampires: soldiers, maids, pages, and their ilk.”
    “Then soldiers and pages are on the same level?”
    “No. Within every generation, there is a hierarchy.”
    “Who is at the bottom?”
    “Maids and pages.”
    “And the Empress, of course, is at the top.”
    “No, my lady,” he said. “You are.”
    Right.
    “So, I’m untouchable,” I said, rolling my eyes. “This is like seventh grade all over again. Except back then it was my braces that made me off-limits to boys.”
    “The Monarchy makes exceptions. They will make exceptions for you, my lady. For example, the Monarchy accepts your relationship with the swordsmith.”
    The reference to Lucas and me was like a startling jab in my rib cage. It hadn’t occurred to me that our relationship was of anyone’s concern. He’s of lower stature. The Empress probably disapproves. But she made exceptions. She allowed Nuwa to be with the general. And then he dumped her for the Monarchy.
    Lucas. Where are