Free Children of the Blood by Michelle Sagara West Page A

mattered a little; she stopped herself from stomping her feet.
    “Nothing is special about a slave.”
    Her face froze for a moment.
    Her father looked up.
    Lord Vellen entered the room. He was garbed as high priest, a swirl of red and black around the winter of his skin, robes for everyday Church use. He bowed in the direction of his father, a low bow, but not too low.
    “Ah, Vellen.” Lord Damion nodded. The documents that had been studied so earnestly were set aside. “Have we been arguing this long?”
    “My duties today were shortened, Father.” He turned and smiled brittlely at Cynthia. “Sister.”
    She clenched her hands and walked over to the beveled glass of the study’s bay window. Sunlight caught and framed her small, slender figure. It set off the warmer hue of the dress that she wore; she looked like a peach flower in bloom.
    Vellen smiled sardonically.
    “Vellen.” She smiled as well. In this they were indeed of the same blood; neither smile reached the eye of the wearer.
    “Lord Damion and I have matters of import to discuss, Cynthia. I fear you would find them tedious. Why don’t you get ready for the dinner party that you’ve planned for this eve?”
    “Vellen.” She curtsied, the gesture insulting as only a sibling could make it. “You are not Lord Damion yet. You can’t just walk in and interrupt my discussion with Father.”
    “Little sister, I am not Lord Damion yet, but I am High Priest and leader of the Karnari. Go.”
    To that she had no response. She turned stiffly, walked to the door, and then wheeled. “Lord Damion,” she said formally.
    “Cynthia?”
    “As the life of the slave is not mine to claim, might I claim his service for the evening?”

    “The eve—ah, yes, the dinner gathering.” He frowned.
    “Cynthia, the house mistress made it clear that he is not fit for formal duties. Should you desire it, I can change his allocation to allow for this in the future.”
    She frowned and began to speak.
    “No.” Lord Damion lifted a tired hand. “What you choose as a personal slave is your own business, but a gathering of nobles, young though they are, is house business. I will not have the house embarrassed by an untrained slave.”
    She struggled for a moment and then nodded stiffly.
    “Oh, and Cynthia?”
    “Yes, Father?”
    “Should you damage or kill one of your slaves this eve, or allow another to be damaged or killed, you will not have a replacement. Is this clear?”
    Her cheeks flushed red again. “That wasn’t my fault! Garok got drunk! I’m sorry he killed her, but what’s done is done!”
    “Garok was your choice of guest. You must learn to live with the responsibility of your choices.” He turned to face his son; the interview with the younger Damion was obviously over.
    She clamped her lips shut and walked out.
    Lord Damion sighed. “This age—it is a difficult one. Perhaps you were right; perhaps I should have assigned the girl to the priesthood.”
    Vellen, politic, said nothing.
    “And perhaps I was right; too much of value to the house is already invested in the Church.” It was as much a true compliment as Lord Damion ever paid to his son. “You came to see me?”
    “Yes, lord.”
    “About?”
    “The third phase. In one week, the stones are to be blooded, and the sacrifices made.”
    Lord Damion nodded. He glanced down at the papers on his desk. “Have you seen these?”
    Vellen made a show of curiosity. He held out one steady hand, and the paper rustled against his still fingers. “The seal of the Empire.”
    “Indeed.”
    Vellen flipped the leaves of paper without pausing to read the calligraphy.
    “Vellen, what is so precious about this single slave?”
    “Nothing that I have been able to learn.” He allowed his
anger to color his words. “Nothing that excuses the use of House Damion as a holding ground for chattel.”
    Lord Damion saw the cold fire behind his son’s eyes and smiled carefully. “The First is still