Page 93 of Caller of Crows
Sven managed to nod. "Nice to meet you," he croaked.
Rhyme tilted his head, giving Sven a strange look. "Sorry they got you too," he said, pointing toward the closed metal door behind him.
Sven swallowed heavily. "Thank you," he said. "I'm Sven, by the way."
He studied Rhyme carefully. The other boy looked tired, with dark circles under his eyes, but otherwise unhurt. Except for the bruises around his wrist.
Something ugly and twisted squeezed Sven's insides at the realization. Those looked like rope marks.
Rhyme followed Sven's gaze, then covered his wrists by stuffing his hands into his pockets. He must have felt self-conscious.
God. This was fucked up.
He felt the strong need to comfort Rhyme, but Rhyme spoke before Sven could. "I'm guessing you didn't grow up in the system."
System? Sven wasn't sure what Rhyme was talking about.
As if reading Sven's confusion on his face, Rhyme went on. "Yeah, you're definitely an outsider." He looked down, an odd expression on his face that Sven couldn't quite place. "Terry used to say there were still free mortals out there. I never really believed him."
Sven's brows knit together. Rhyme didn't believe that mortals could be free. Did that mean…? A lump formed in Sven's throat. "You've always been a blood slave?"
Rhyme gave him a sad smile. "Born and raised."
A cold shiver worked its way up Sven's spine.
What the fuck? Born and raised? As in this was all Rhyme knew? "You've been here all your life?"
That wasinsane.
"Not here exactly." Rhyme looked around their small, mostly empty, room. "This coven bought me a few weeks ago. Before that, I was with my family in the north." He paused, looking uncomfortable. "They're still there, I guess."
"I'm sorry," Sven said because he didn't know what else to say. Whatcouldhe say in response to such a story? He'd known there were awful vampires out there, but he'd never known there were covens who kept mortals like cattle.
"Don't worry about it." Rhyme shook his head, though he still looked troubled.
"You don't miss them?" Sven asked quietly.
Rhyme shrugged. "Some of them." He averted his gaze then, looking lost in thought. "They sold me because I refused to eat." He showed Sven a sardonic smile. "They can't get as much blood from me when I don't eat enough. Not without risk. So they decided I wasn't worth the trouble." He paused. "For a while, I thought I won."
Sven's stomach turned. He wrapped his arms around himself, pulled his knees close against his chest, and swallowed against the bile in his throat. "I'm sorry," Sven said again because he still didn't know what else to say, but it seemed like Rhyme understood.
Rhyme nodded solemnly. "At least I made them mad by refusing to play along," he said as if to cheer Sven up, but Sven's mouth only grew drier at the words.
"Do you still think you won?" he heard himself ask.
Rhyme hesitated. "I don't know," he said finally. "I got away from my masters, but the new masters are… Well, they want to make sure they get what they paid for."
The image of Nephariel drinking from him flashed before Sven's eyes. His fingers gravitated to his throat automatically. The memory wasn't a pleasant one, and the wound was still fresh enough that touching the skin stung. "I can see that," he said bitterly.
Rhyme's eyes traced the line of Sven's throat and concern etched itself onto the features of the boy's face. "You're not one of us," Rhyme murmured as if he was talking to himself. "But you'll get used to this life."
Sven shook his head. He had no plans to 'get used' to being a blood slave for a monster. He'd find a way to escape this. With or without Altair's help, he had to try. "What happens next?" Sven asked. His chest felt too tight, but he was done giving into despair.
He needed more information.
He needed to know what he'd be up against, whether he would be strong enough to run away, and where exactly he'd end up if he did manage to flee.
"If you're new to this, there are two ways your master can treat you," Rhyme said matter-of-factly. "Your best chance of survival is to be a favorite. I'm not saying it's easy, but it's better than being a secondhand servant, you know? If your master is happy with you, he might even let you sleep in his bed once in a while, keep you well-fed. The downside is that most masters prefer slaves who don't speak their minds, or who speak at all, really…" He trailed off, a far-away look in his eyes.
