Page 19 of In the Ravenous Dark
“Keep it quick,” Penelope says.
I slam the door behind us.
6
Ifollow my father out into a pale marble hallway lined in columns and lush tapestries depicting scenes of hunting, dancing, and other recreational activities of the wealthy. Two guards—normal flesh-and-blood humans, not guardians or their wards—stand outside. They don’t attempt to stop us or even look at us, although one frowns when I slam the door.
Nonetheless, my father pulls his himation over his gray-streaked blue hair and waits until we’re out of earshot before saying, “This is the royal family’s wing. King Neleus’s children live here and their children as well, along with their spouses if they have them. The king has an entire wing to himself, which the likes of me has never been allowed to enter.”
He says it as though trying to distance himself from all of this. Never mind that this is where he lives, he’s married to the king’s daughter, and I’ve never seen three paces’ worth of this hallway’s wealth in my entire life. Lines of what look like real gold thread the creamy marble all around us. Flowers and vines grow entwined around each towering column, blossoming in a profusion of color and perfume. The tapestries are no less alive—actually moving, I realize as I look closer at the tiny figures and scrolling leaves. I’ve always been forced to hide my magic when weaving, to make it look as though it has come from hands and loom alone, no matter how skillfully done. These palace artisans certainly have no such restrictions.
“I’d prefer other accommodations, of course,” my fathercontinues. “To live in the palace, you still need some drop of royal blood in you or association by marriage. But an arcade and a lovely garden connect this wing of the palace to the Hall of the Wards, where every bloodmage is allowed, even if they’re common—though warded and registered of course. I keep my office within view of it, but I’m not allowed to fraternize. It makes me feel a little less of an impostor to be near there, if no less a prisoner.” He’s speaking too quickly, nervously.
I don’t have the time or the inclination to put him at ease. “I don’t actually want the grand tour. I want to talk about what the hell is happening with you and me and my mother, and what this bloodline business is that everyone keeps going on about.” I eye him sideways for any hint in his expression of what I fear—what will happen if he gives his bloodline to me.
But all he says is, “Consider a bloodline a store of magical knowledge, recorded within the very body of a bloodmage. It can be passed on, but only to an heir of their blood who possesses magical ability. It’s common enough for a bloodmage to have a child—but only one—with a gift of any potency, although they could hand it down to a grandchild of similar or greater strength.”
My brow furrows. “But wouldn’t that make them extremely rare?”
“Smart girl. Yes, bloodlines are always at risk of being lost through death or lack of an heir. Especially in Skyllea. There, bloodlines are only passed down to the strongest mages within the strongest families, preserving the most potent magic. We’re much rarer and highly valued.” He smiles slightly, with pride that shines like light through broken glass. “Which is why the creation of new bloodlines is encouraged if a mage without one is deemed strong enough. Think of it like being raised to magical nobility.” He frowns. “Here, however, establishing new bloodlines is more than encouraged. Four hundred years ago, the first king, Athanatos,made it mandatory for anyone discovered to have magical ability to start a bloodline. That’s why you see so many short bloodlines here, with only a few sigils marking the skin. The long ones are still rare and considered precious.”
“How do they get longer?”
“Before turning over the bloodline, each bloodmage adds sigils they have discovered or used in a new way, making them effortlessly accessible to their successor, and not requiring the use of fresh blood to access their potency—though of course blood never hurts. That way, each life is like a chapter in a growing magical record that’s handed down through the generations.”
“So then that’s… actual blood?” I ask, pointing at his red-lined forearm. The symbols, as always, mean nothing to me.
“Yes,” he says, “the red actually comes from blood, the blood of my ancestors. My own blood will add to it.” He mutters, “Sooner rather than later, I believe.”
“Penelope said it was a heavy thing to carry,” I say, prodding. “And maybe to pass on?”
He scoffs, clacking his cane more forcefully against the marble floor. “She wouldn’t know. She inherited neither her mother’s magical gift nor her bloodline, which is why she was still unmarried by the time I met her—but I can return to that unfortunate topic later. Many here don’t truly understand bloodlines. My people, on the island of Skyllea, started the tradition millennia past. I know they say the first king, Athanatos, did,” he says, heading me off as I open my mouth, “but actually he borrowed the idea four centuries ago. More likestolea sacred ritual, along with our sigil-based writing system, and bent them to his own ends. Not only did he make it mandatory to start a bloodline if you don’t have one to inherit, but youmustpass it on to the child of yours with the most magical ability by the time that child is twenty.”
Twenty. That’s coming soon for me, but I still have time to figureout a plan before my father has to give me his burden. Maybe I only take his gift for blood magic, and he can retire in peace with my mother and weave cloth.
“Why so young as twenty?” I ask, still too afraid to press him about the other thing.
“There’s less risk of losing a bloodline to the perils of age, and the mind and body are still sharp and strong, able to train without flagging. I suppose the king wanted his bloodmages to be in their prime, of maximum use.”
“He wanted a magical army.”
My father gives me a knowing look. “Athanatos claimed it was to strengthen blood magic in general, for the sake of the polis and its future generations. The magical gift was and is still as rare as ever before, but nowallof it would gradually build on itself over time, rather than within a select few families and individuals. Seems egalitarian, but yes, as you say, I suspect it was to increase Thanopolis’s magical power—in quantity if not quality. It also made it easier to keep track of all bloodmages in the city, since bloodlines were recorded in the Register from then on, their children closely monitored for the gift, and anyone with magic warded—to protect their bloodlines, supposedly, as if they were treasure troves belonging to the polis.”
“Or to keep them in line,” I finish bitterly. “They want to use our power, not have it used against them. But why not have normal guards watch over us, like the ones I see around this place?” I gesture behind me, at a pair we’d just passed. “You know,alive?”
“A shade can easily follow where many could not, and watch and listen without being intrusive. Those are the usual reasons given, anyway. They can also stop us more efficiently than any number of living guards could, and without violence. I also have other suspicions.”
“Silvean.” The name comes from nowhere, rising as if fromthe columns around us. The dead man. He’s indeed watching and listening, even if we can’t see him. It’s frankly creepy.
“Stay out of this,” I hiss.
But my father says, “He’s right to warn us. I’m not sure if he’ll let me tell you everything, but at this point, we should get behind closed doors.”
I frown. “Can’t he just float through them?”
“Yes, of course,” my father replies. And yet his tone isn’t concerned. It makes me curious enough to follow without question.
It gives me time to take in the palace, despite myself. It’s impossible not to, with the sheer amount of riches splattered on every surface. The hallway curves and slopes gently downward along the spiral structure. Gold-threaded pale marble gives way to dark gray veined with red, and life-sized statues stand between the columns like sentinels, with wreaths of living laurels and flowers growing atop their heads and twining their feet.
