A Violet Fire (Vampires in Avignon #1) - Kelsey Quick Page 0,89

other supply unit groups and their assigned escorts—up a few corridors and stairwells to “The Hold”—where the supply quarters are, located in one of the two iconic towers of the castle. For close proximity to the royalty, I would guess.

Surprisingly enough, the male and female supply units all reside in close quarters, with but one sandy stone wall and an open doorway separating the two. Anaya answers Emi’s question on the suggestive nature of such a close space, stating that by this point most supply units know not to do anything stupid, and if they do, they are reprimanded to the highest offense.

Glera, Katarii, Savvy, and I walk across the stone floor to locate our assigned mats for sleeping.

“Hurry up and find your bed and drop your veil.” Ceti sings across the entire room to us girls in red. “You have five minutes to refresh and then we will head to the grand hall. Make sure you look your best or you will be sorely punished.” Hearing Ceti, of all vampires, warble the word ‘punished’ isn’t exactly all that intimidating.

After we find our beds, Anaya walks past us toward another downward staircase hidden in the corner. She turns to us. “This way to freshen up for the banquet.”

So apparently the banquets here allow humans to attend? This is going to be an interesting night. I’m not the only one who has no idea what’s going on. All but Anaya and Emi stand at a total loss.

“Come on.” Emi snickers at our confusion, trotting ahead with a compact lacquer box in hand. “We’ll help you.”

Katarii, Savvy, Glera, and I take turns shifting our eyes to one another before we reluctantly follow. The bathhouse is small, yet tranquil. The walls are lined with pure, ivory ceramic, painted elegantly with the impressionistic assumptions of beautiful women—talking and pouring buckets of water over their heads amidst bathing. The faint traces of human happiness glisten upon the painted women’s upturned lips. Every inch of their bodies, the trees in the background, the buckets of water—the walls—drip with steam from the baths in the room. The air is rich with citrus and clover-flavored humidity. I cough a little as Emi and Anaya lead us into a segmented space where the toilet troughs and vanities are located. Surprisingly, the troughs are immaculate. Stained, but clean. Amaorin must really want to make an impression if he’s coddling his guests’ supply units.

“Here,” Anaya says to no one in particular, setting up in front of a vanity next to one that is already lined with the sapphire supply units.

“Ew,” one of them half whispers to her comrades while eyeing Anaya. “She’s still here? Shouldn’t she be in the South getting bred already?”

I raise my eyes to the culprit as her blue minions chuckle. She is tall and beautiful—like most chosen supply units. Her eyes are plastered with makeup and adhesive gems, though her veil remains. Her hips and bust are twice that of her waist, and a Laisse chain hanging loosely across her neck—which tells me all I need to know.

“What…?” Glera mumbles with irritation, speaking too low for them to hear, while Savvy and Katarii glower at the group of girls.

Anaya merely studies the lacquer box that Emi places before her, taking extra time to undo the latches.

“Amaorin’s girls…,” Emi scoffs in a whisper, “...don’t listen to them.”

“Well, maybe Lord Zein is doing the rest of the vampires a service by keeping her genes out of circulation?” a snotty black-haired one remarks ‘under her breath.’ “I mean, look at her face…”

My heart burns for Anaya’s sake, and it really shouldn’t. But, there’s something about me and her wearing this burning red color—our warm, unifying ruby against their cold sapphire that makes her kin. This small similarity makes her problems my own.

“Or perhaps she’s sneaking vials of blood to his advisors for a good word?” the cheeky leader snorts.

“Really?” I say, stepping in to square them up.

Savvy puts a hand on my shoulder. “Wave, I wouldn’t. What if it reaches Lord Zein?” she says as Glera straightens herself behind me.

“If anyone could get away with it, it would be her,” I hear Glera say to Savvy. She’s not wrong.

“Oh?” Cheeky Leader raises her hand to her face, contemplative, as her condescending eyes dance over me. “And what is this thing? Could you even be considered a supply unit? That hair and face—?”

I cut her off by grabbing her blue-ribboned neck and push her into a nearby wall. She gasps and