“It’s ripe,” Carmilla said. “And it’s young,” she licked her lips. “I want to feed you the best, dear.”
Shew pulled the liver up to her mouth and bit into it, sucking the blood dry. She didn’t know how the liver had been preserved. It was more like a bag filled with blood. The blood quenched Shew’s thirst, and she felt guilty for liking it.
This was a dream, a memory, nothing more, she told herself. The Queen was feeding her, awaiting her sixteenth birthday when she could either turn her into a vampire and fight on the side of Night Von Sorrow or kill her and eat her heart if she disobeyed.
“Good girl,” Carmilla said, a little iffy about the drops of blood spattered on her face. She was planning to feed her dangerous daughter day by day until her birthday arrived.
“I will be sending Dame Gothel to you later today to weigh your heart,” Carmilla said. “Be kind to her, and don’t bite her like last time,” she patted her daughter gently then wiped some of the blood from her lips with a red napkin.
Who the heck am I? What does being a Dhampir really mean? If I fed on so many people in the past, and if I killed all those teenagers in the Schloss, how can I be forgiven? How can I be the good one?
The blood had entered Shew’s veins like a drug, and she liked it. It was her nature, and it explained why the Wall of Thorns wanted to kill her. She was a Sorrow after all, and she had a big choice to make, to stay a Sorrow or fight the Sorrows.
“What do you mean by weighing my heart?” Shew asked.
Carmilla’s face knotted slightly. The Queen had a minimalist way of showing facial expressions as if not wanting to wrinkle her beautiful face. She had been working hard—killing girls and swimming in their blood—each week to stay beautiful. She wasn’t going to allow it to fade so easily, just to please her daughter with a tender smile. “Your heart needs to be weighed each week. No more questions asked. I offer you food and shelter and private schooling like a good mother. In exchange, I’d like you to do as I say without too many questions. Are we clear?”
Shew nodded.
Carmilla’s tone was scary. She smiled flatly at her obedient daughter then stood up slowly, taking her time. She never did anything in a hurry. She rubbed her dress gently as if she had caught germs from sitting on her daughter’s bed then turned and walked out of the room.
“And don’t worry about Mr. Oddly Tune,” she said from the hallway. “May he and his laughable name rest in peace.”
Shew grimaced. How was it possible to keep anything from the Queen?
“Would someone prepare my bath?” she ordered other servants outside.
“Why does she have to weigh my heart, Tabula?” Shew asked in the absence of her mother.
“Ah—” Tabula stuttered, unable to look Shew in the eyes. “I’d better be going, princess.”
She watched as Tabula clutched the Queen’s mirror and left with it, closing the door behind her.
Shew walked to uncover one of the mirrors in her room and inspect her image. She was a mess.
“Who the hell am I?” she muttered again. “And why can’t I remember why they weighed my heart? How is it even possible to weigh someone’s heart?” she scowled at her own image. Although her reflection looked like her, it also looked like a stranger. People tend to think of themselves as good and kindhearted, until they look in the mirror and discover they have blood on their hands. Of course, that’s when they decide to go buy another mirror. For a long time, Shew stood in front of the mirror, imprisoned by the silence of her room.
Suddenly, she could hear something crackling in the walls. It was a strange sound, as if someone was walking inside them. Alert, she scanned the large chamber with her eyes.
11
The Princess and the Pauper
The sound kept increasing.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a pair of black boots behind the curtains. Someone was there, eavesdropping; maybe the black cloaked person from the Field of Dreams.
Shew stood frozen at first, but quickly decided she had enough and hurried to pull the curtain open and expose this mysterious person.
When she was halfway across the room, she heard someone call for her from behind.
“Joy!”
Shew froze in place and turned around. She saw Cerené tucked away in the unlit fireplace with a broom in her hand. It was Cerené who’d made the noise in the walls, she was sneaking in through the fireplace like usual.
“Stop staring and come over and help me,” Cerené said.
Shew lent her a hand. Cerené threw her precious broomstick into the room first—it was a strange broomstick, heavy and made of some kind of iron. Shew pulled on Cerené with all her might and dislodged her from the fireplace, spreading ashes into the luxurious chamber.
Cerené looked like she’d been working in the coal mines.
What was new? This was Cerené, all ashes, all the time.
“Thank you,” Cerené said. “You should make one of your many servants clean that fireplace of yours.”