“I don’t know how to explain,” she whispers. “I don’t . . .carefor them any longer. Do you understand? My children, the two boys and girl I bore from my ownbody. Since turning, I’ve forgotten their faces. And worse? I’ve forgotten . . . what my love for themfelt like.”
My eyes widen. I feel a pinch of tears at the corners. I’m stunned into silence, and so is Garroway.
By all that’s unholy. This poor woman—no, thisgirlchanged before given a chance at womanhood. She feels nothing for her children because her humanity was violently stripped away from her when she turned.
“If anything,” Cyprilis finishes, “I’m more likely to try andfeedon my children than I am to love them, if I see them again. So you understand why I can’t ever see my whelps again, yes?”
I nod dumbly as we walk, lost in a haze.
Here I thoughtmylife was hard. Sister Cyprilis might take the award for the most fucked-up existence I’ve ever heardof.“Yes, Sister Cyprilis, I understand.” Louder than I thought possible.
This madness has to stop.
Chapter 13
Sephania
Sister Cyprilis’ story is hard to fathom. For all the alluring aspects I’ve considered about possibly turning into a vampiress in the future, Cyprilis brings me back to reality with the truth of the matter: For every blessing there is a curse.
Her morbid tale is a stark reminder of the cruelties of being a bloodsucker—a contrast to the immortal life, the ageless beauty, the incredible strength.
As Garro, Cyprilis, and I make our way through the gate unimpeded, heading up the mountain pass toward Olhav, I can’t stop thinking about my one-time friend.
In some ways, Cyprilis instigated my life trajectory. Even more than someone like Baylen Sallow. As a youngling, I had dealt with people spitting on me, kicking me, bullying me. Bay had been there to protect me, for a time. I learned hard truths about life at a young age.
Yet, my innocence wasn’t truly torn away until I saw Father Cullard through the window that fateful night. I watched, catatonic and afraid, as the man who had seemed so loving—the elder who raised me from infancy—violated young Sister Cyprilis.
I fled the House of the Broken that night, never to return. I thought I was making a courageous statement, striking out as a young girl into the barbaric world of Nuhav on my own. In time, I realized my cowardice, because I never put any effort intorescuingCy. I simply allowed her to suffer, told no one about it, and forgot about her.
The guilt that floods me threatens to bring tears to my eyes. It squeezes my heart and doesn’t let go.I fled . . . and now this. Finding Cyprilis a decade later, ruined. Her life never got better, it got remarkably worse.My eyes trail over to the thin vampiress, whose face has receded into her hood where I’m sure she feels safest. There’s a slight tremble to her skeletal fingers.
Even as a powerful creature, a fullblood vampire, she seems so frail and meek.I wonder if her mind is aligned with her body; she looks incredibly young, since vampires stay stuck at the age they were turned.Does that mean her mind is also trapped? Does she have the wit and psyche of a sixteen-year-old girl?
Our pace slows due to her disheveled, malnourished state. I watch my boots as we tread the passage up into the mountains, catching Garroway glancing at me every so often, giving me concerned looks. I don’t have the willpower to speak right now. I wish to talk to Cyprilis but things are better left alone for now.
She has three children, despite her young countenance. Three children she cares nothing for because of her change, who are likely crying and wondering where their mother is at this very moment.
As Cyprilis said, she’s just as likely to drain them as she is to love them.The thought curdles my stomach.Is this what happens to all broodstock?
I shake my head.Not quite,I muse,since most human broodstock are bred by vampires and give birth to half-bloods like Garroway and Lukain.
Cyprilis gave birth to human children and wasthenturned. It created what I imagine is a rare outcome: vampiric mother to human children.
How many bloodies are out there like Sister Cyprilis?
The nurturer in me, who has been decidedly silent over the past few years, feels an urge to find them all, wrap them up, and save them.
I know it’s a foolhardy endeavor.I haven’t been able to save a single soul. What makes me think I can rescue countless battered, damaged women? Much less when they’ve turned into bloodthirsty creatures?
As we reach Olhav, we stick to the outskirts of the city, combing through winding, hilly passages so no one will disturb us. Out here in the backcountry of the Olhavian Peaks, vampires rarely venture. Why would they when they have a shining city to call their own?
To our right, the skyrises of the Commerce Ward punch the clouds on this gloomy evening, about a mile away. A black void greets us to our left, high above the flickering human city at the base of the mountain.
I catch Cyprilis eyeing the dark nothingness, head tilting as she tries to hide it.
A frown twists my features. I deliberately, quietly move our party order, scooting to Cyprilis’ left because she’s been staring at the edge of the cliff too frequently for my liking.
Skar once told me a grotesque tale meant to scare me: Prisoners of the Judgment Ward who escape their captivity flee toward the mountain’s edge. Vampires chase them for sport, essentially forcing the human cattle to launch themselves off the peaks or suffer a worse fate if the vampires haul them back into Olhav.
