To His Hell and Back

When Yulia moved with the needle and the servant beside her carried a box of flasks, everyone immediately stretched out their hands, pinching the tips of their index fingers, eager to help so more blood would spill.

The motion was almost mechanical, obedient, like a ritual they had done a hundred times before. While the others busied themselves with the pricking, Oppera, who had walked Emma into the hall, noticed how Emma alone sat unmoving. Her gaze was fixed straight ahead, face unreadable, as if she had not even registered the sting of bloodletting.

Following her line of sight, Oppera discovered that Emma was staring at Karnala. But it was no ordinary look. Her eyes were sharp, calculating, not simply studying Karnala but measuring her, as though silently gauging which of them would prevail should they ever cross in combat.

Pushing the unsettling thought away, Oppera reached out and tapped her shoulder lightly. "What are you thinking about, Emma? Is it Jane? I don’t know why she hasn’t come back to your room since last night either. You two have been roommates for three months now, and you treat her like your own little sister. It’s no wonder you’re worried about her sudden disappearance. But don’t worry, I already informed Miss Karnala that Jane hasn’t returned."

Emma turned slowly, her frown soft but deliberate. Jane? Was that the name of the girl who had died yesterday? She recalled faintly, the owner of this body had screamed "Jane" again and again over the corpse sprawled on the earth.

"I am worried," Emma said at last, her voice touched with feigned gravity. "She has always been such a cowardly girl. I fear that someone dangerous might eat her."

Oppera blinked in surprise, confusion flickering across her face. "Cowardly? Eat? What are you—? Anyway, never mind. Come on, let’s prick our fingertips before Miss Yulia asks. If we hurry, we might earn some free time, and then we can use it to search for Jane together!"

"You’re right," Emma replied carelessly, turning her face away as though the matter bored her. She clasped her own hands firmly but made no move to pierce her skin.

"Thank you, Miss Yulia!"

"Thank you, miss."

The four people standing before Emma stepped forward eagerly, letting their fingers be pierced without hesitation. Emma raised an eyebrow, watching with quiet astonishment.

Strange.

Not a single one of them seemed frightened by the idea of surrendering their blood into the hands of a witch. Normally, people balked at even the whisper of witchcraft; superstition taught them that blood was life, and to give it away was to sign one’s death. And yet here, in this hall, no one flinched. No one even questioned it. They offered their blood freely, almost gratefully.

Even if it was claimed to be used for their protection, for the crafting of shields to guard the castle, allowing a witch access to one’s blood was nearly akin to offering up one’s soul. In the past, it would have been considered no different than embracing a death sentence.

Were they so utterly foolish? Or was this blind obedience born of something else? Perhaps it was not ignorance that guided them but rather an unshakable trust in their King, and in the Lady Witch he had chosen above all.

Emma scoffed inwardly. Fools. If this had been any other age, these same humans would have screamed for Arabella’s head. They would have condemned her as a temptress and demanded the King burn her at the stake.

The only difference, she realized, was Cassius.

Other Kings who had fallen for witches had been forced to betray their beloveds, to watch their bodies consumed by fire. Some had even lured their lovers closer, pretending devotion, only to strike at the last moment.

But Cassius was different. He was not a man to bend or be broken by the cries of his people. He had made it clear, bloodily, undeniably, that he would slaughter without hesitation before allowing harm to touch Arabella.

Perhaps, Emma thought, it wasn’t the people who had changed at all. It was the King. And the King’s will alone was enough to make even the boldest witch-hunters kneel.

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Maybe this was why to kill Arabella and Cassius was so difficult.

It wasn’t only the fact that they were strong than most vampires or ordinary witches, but also because of how different they are to the usual pair of vampire and witch.

Killing them should be done quick, thought Emma in her head. Because if not, she was worried that their prolonged life was going to become Morpheus’s, her master’s, demise.

"Your turn," Miss Yulia was a rather round face gentle woman, still young in her twenties, a human with a soft spoken voice, "I heard about Jane, Emma," she spoke as she took her hand, "She isn’t the type to simply run away so I am also worried that someone dangerous had somehow taken her away. But I hope you don’t stress yourself much about this..."

Emma shook her head, "I’ll try not to, but I can’t lie, I am impatient."

"Mhm, I understand. No one would want to stay silent while their dear one has died. Like my cousin, when I found out how he was nailed in Lady Arabella’s chamber, my heart has always been in anger. I don’t want to see any of our precious servant suffer again, not when I have treated all of you as my dear family member."

At the same time as she spoke, Yulia pricked Emma’s fingertips and from it the red liquid drip, falling into the flask that was empty.

"I hope a horrible death for the murderer," muttered Yulia as the blood reached the bottom of the flask and as she pulled away, the flask suddenly let out a bright beaming light.

Emma frowned, her eyes twitched as she moved backward, sensing that whatever light that had came from the flask bottle was dangerous- dangerous not to everyone here but only her!

When she moved away, the other servants had dispersed and right from above her a dome of threads rained down to her, capturing her at once.

Then she could see from Yulia’s face, her eyes had turned bright green.