Ruth shakes her head slowly, her eyes fixed on me. ‘Just nonsense.’
We start up the hill again. I’m reeling. I think of my father, broken and charred on the ballroom floor, my fear for him and my mother. I hadn’t been able to understand why anyone would want to hurt us, the benevolent lords of Raven, with our nice Safe Zones and well-fed dancers. But now it all starts to make a terrible sort of sense, how people wouldn’t want to live like this, how they wouldn’t want their children to live like this. Trapped, and forced to give up their blood each month, simply to get something which should be a basic right. To be safe.
And I begin to doubt my decision to leave.
In Kyle’s arms it had been easy, his embrace a haven from the weight of my old life. After the Moon Harvest it had been easier still, to walk away from death and pain, from what my people were revealed to be. But there was also a dance under moonlit windows, the collected memories of my ancestors reminding me where I came from. And what I could be.
You’ll be a great Raven, Kyle had said. Bridging the gap between vampire and human, fostering understanding. I’d wanted to meet with the rebels, tried to force my mother to negotiate with them. But all my resolve had broken in a single night, in a field filled with blood. And I’d forgotten one thing.Iwas the next Raven. If I chose to do it, to take on the title after all, maybe I could stand for something different.
Maybe Icouldchange things. Tear it down, just like I want to.
‘We’re going along here.’ Ruth is waiting, her head tilted to one side.
I blink, shaken out of my disquiet. ‘Oh! Right.’ I follow Ruth across the road to another street, running parallel to the water. It’s a market street, stalls along the centre facing both ways and shaded by awnings, colourful in the sunshine, people walking up and down. As we draw closer the illusion starts to break down again. The goods on the stalls aren’t new, the clothing worn, books with tattered covers, mismatched plates and trinkets. There’s food, but not a lot – one woman is cooking meat over a charcoal grill, fragrant smoke billowing, while a man and woman stand behind a small array of vegetables – potatoes, carrots, onions and turnips – plus a basket of apples. The stalls, on closer inspection, have been mended many times, the cloth patched and frayed in places. And the people… Their clothing is colourful, there’s laughter and chatter, all of them walking free in the sunshine. But I see them now for what they are, what I’ve heard them being described as: breeding stock, cattle, meat. Food.
There’s a building on the other side of the street, burgundy tiles on the front facade, the front door still with fragments of stained glass in the dark wooden frame. There are several rough wooden tables and benches outside, all full. Men and women, their hands curved around tall glasses of reddish-brown liquid, all drinking and talking loudly. They look as though they’re having a good time, until I notice the dark circles under their eyes, the strained manner of their smiles.
And I’m the same as they are.
Slightly enhanced abilities (ifKyle is right) aside, I’m human, just as they are. Last night I’d been food for a hungry guard, his touch impersonal and intimate at the same time, my comfort of no concern to him. And these people, if I understand it right, have to bleed into plastic bags so my people can eat. I suppose it’s a kinder way of doing things; at least they get some semblance of life, rather than simply being slaughtered. But is this living? They’re as trapped as I was, inside my world of gilt and mirrors. At least in my cage, no one was feeding from me.
‘D’you fancy some apple crumble tonight?’
I come back to earth with a start, realising we’ve stopped at the stall with the apples. Ruth is selecting several, inspecting them carefully before placing them on the counter. Six green globes, gleaming in the sunlight, their sides smooth.
‘Sounds lovely – I mean, I don’t know if I’ll be staying though. Um, Kyle and I, we’re supposed to be going…’ I stop, remembering I have no idea where we’re going. Or if we can even leave. Once again, I wonder whether home is an option.
‘We’ll eat early.’ Ruth pats me on the arm. ‘My husband will be home, and I’d like you to meet him. I’ll take six, please,’ she goes on, turning to the stallholder.
‘Let me.’ I pull out my roll of bills. ‘Please,’ I say as Ruth protests. ‘My contribution to dinner.’
‘Oh, go on then. Thank you.’
I pay, and Ruth carefully places the apples in a string bag. We wander past the other stalls, stopping every so often so Ruth can buy something. Each time, I insist on paying. Each time, she lets me. As we round the last two in the row of stalls, I glimpse someone watching me. It’s the boy from the café, the sleeves of his jumper pushed up, hands in his pockets. I meet his gaze and he grins. Then someone walks between us. When they pass, he’s gone.
ChapterTwenty-Six
WE ARE THE MEAT
Ihelp Ruth carry her shopping back to the house. It feels like afternoon but I’m finding it tough to know what time it is, not used to the way the light shifts as the day wanes. I’m so tired, the night’s events and lack of sleep catching up with me.
Ruth seems to know how I’m feeling. ‘You just sit, now.’ I protest, but she shakes her head, waving her hand at the long countertop.
I sit on one of the stools as Ruth bustles around, chopping vegetables and throwing them into a pot, the scent of onion and garlic and herbs curling around us. I watch, fascinated, as she slices the apples, layering them in a glass dish and shaking oats and spices over the top. She puts the dish in the oven, straightening up with her hands at her lower back. Another pot, standing on the countertop, beeps. Ruth lifts the lid, taking a spoon and poking the contents. ‘Ooh, that’s done nicely,’ she says. She goes back to the stove, stirring the vegetables before putting a lid on, turning the heat down low. Then she comes to sit with me, pulling the other stool around the counter so we’re facing each other.
‘So, what did you think of today?’ She smiles, her eyes creased at the corners, shining in the fading light.
I shake my head. ‘Uh, I mean, there were things that were just… and I…’ The words stick, emotion choking me. I place my hands flat on the counter, the cool feel of it anchoring me. ‘Thank you. For showing me. I have a lot to think about.’
Ruth pats my hand. Her skin feels warm and powdery. ‘It was a pleasure. Nice for me to have some company on my errands.’ She smiles again. ‘You ready for some stew?’
‘Oh! Yes please.’ My stomach is growling again.
Ruth gets up, opening a cupboard and taking out three reddish bowls. They’re shiny, the edges chipped. She places them in a row on the counter, then picks up and fills two of them in turn from the beeping pot, ladling some of the cooked vegetables on top.
‘Come on,’ she says. ‘We’ll sit at the table. Not often we have company for dinner.’
I get off my stool, following Ruth to the dining area. There’s a small pile of placemats in the middle of the table and Ruth reaches for one of them. I realise what she’s doing. ‘Oh, let me, please.’ I take the mat from her, placing it in front of one of the chairs. She pauses.
