The gods are masks, the question is, who wears them?

-inscription on the archway of the Vespertine Maze

~ ~ ~ 

Jade Fel was laughing at me again. 

 

I clenched my jaw, trying with all my will to tune out my rival’s mirth. Trickling sweat stung my eyes and I blinked it away. 

 

The dying sun spilled, dusky and heedless, through western windows of leaded glass, flooding the training salle with light of a heartsblood hue. It soaked through our bodies like sweat and cast us as two tense shadows among dozens that wavered and stretched to the very end of the hall. All around us was the slither and click and clash of oiled steel. 

 

Her emerald eyes sparked as I met her gaze, vividly green even in the rose-stained air. 

 

An airship passing in front of the sun threw a brief behemoth shadow, swallowing us all in its eclipse as it plunged towards the docks, gyroscopic engines emitting a low liquid thrum. 

 

Jade’s eyes flickered and I lunged low, unfurling my entire body, from the tip of my toe to the back of my hand, in a precise thrust, aiming every ounce of force I could generate at her infuriating little smirk. 

 

But I was underfed and understrength and I knew before I reached the apex–too slow again.

 

She parried like water, riposted like a darting flame and I had to commit everything in order to dance back and knock her seeking sword aside with a snarl of effort. Our practice swords floated back up into guard position, our chests rising and falling evenly. We were nearly an even match in speed, but she had the longer reach.  

 

“Careless girl,” she mocked. “Your fangs are showing.”

 

I flushed, scowling darkly as I retracted them. I hadn’t noticed them peeking out. When had I last fed? I remembered Court dinner two nights ago…then wished I hadn’t. 

 

Jade edged forward, her sword tip hungry with intent. “Want a glass of milk?”

 

“Shut up,” I grumbled. I didn’t want to think about feeding. 

 

“Remember that time we made you drink a whole bottle? You were so much cozier, until it wore off–” 

 

I shot forward, feinting low, then thrust under her arm for the flanconnade. I almost connected, but she brought her elbow in to ward herself en tierce and then I found myself in trouble as she stepped close to bind my arm. 

 

My sword was trapped. I cursed internally as her lean, tattooed frame locked me in, even as I strained against her. She was so close I could smell her warm, wolfish musk–oh no. Somehow I kept my fangs in, even as my pupils dilated and my mouth flooded with saliva. Her shaggy, jet-black mane brushed my ear, and I could feel her muscles gliding under her sweat-dewed olive skin– 

 

“Sucks to suck, Salty,” she husked.

 

Wait. No. Ew. 

 

I clenched my teeth as the pressure on my elbow joint began to increase. Her bind was perfect and she was taller and stronger than me and she knew it. There were only two ways this could play out. I could drop my sword and lose the bout or she could snap my arm, and then I would lose control and probably bite her. Either way she would be absolutely insufferable about it. So I dropped my sword, tucked my chin and headbutted her. 

 

Jade stumbled back, and my sword clattered to the floor. “Ow, fuck! You little–”

 

I kicked her in the shin, then dove for my blade. 

 

“Cheating–”

 

My heart leapt as my fingers curled around the hilt, even as the back of my neck tensed with foreboding, glaringly open. I was mid-scramble, having gotten one knee back under me, when the business end of a blunted sabre bumped the hollow of my throat and I froze.  

 

“Vampire,” Jade finished triumphantly, looming over me. She pressed the tip a little harder in my neck. “Not much of a predator now, are you?”

 

“Why are you so fixated on that?” I muttered. “It’s weird.”

 

She put one foot on my shoulder and gave a decisive shove, sending me sprawling. “I thought vampires were supposed to be fast. But you’re like a secondhand copy of something that could maybe pose a challenge to me, if it was…well, better.” She sighed. “Frankly, Salty, you are such a disappointment.”

 

It was a popular assessment. “What if,” I snarked, “just once in your life, you produced an original thought?” 

 

Jade cocked her head and her vivid green eyes narrowed at me. “You know, ten years ago, when Duke Janus came to drop you off like a hot piece of garbage and didn’t even stay for supper, the rumors said we were getting a genuine Blood Court heir as a ward.”

 

I had long ago learned not to show my pain, ever, but to my shame, that made me flinch. I rolled my eyes to cover the lapse.  

 

“All of us lycanarchs were excited to tussle one of you,” Jade shrugged. “But it seems like your uncle foisted a runt on us. Or maybe you’re not even a genuine hemomancer, maybe you’re just one of the Blood Court’s chattel vampires, and all we got was the dregs of their stock and wares.”

 

The worst part was, I knew she was right. I had been made relentlessly aware, from the time I was very small, that I shared none of the features of classic hemomantic lineage, none of the physical traits of my Blood Court cousins. I lacked the high cheekbones, the blonde hair, the pale eyes. Even before I was sent away to be a ward of the Court of Engines, I felt like an imposter, an outsider. 

 

“Help,” I said laconically, to no one in particular. “This mangy dog found its way into the salle, and it keeps barking at me. It must be trapped, poor thing. Won’t someone open the door or something?” 

 

At that Jade’s eyes flashed angrily, which made me feel better. “Yield, Salty. Now.”

 

For a moment, I considered doing just that. But only for a moment. “Do you,” I said carefully, “want me to check you for fleas?”

 

I bit back a yelp as Jade kicked the training sabre out of my hand. It skittered away, out of reach. “Last chance,” she warned. 

 

I glared up at her. “I was just trying to help.” I said. “Really! I love animals.” 

 

She spat on me. 

 

My fists clenched, and then I froze as a low, rasping voice came from just behind me. “What in the green body of god are you doing on my floor, Salty?” 

 

 I rose hastily, my face heating. “Blademaster.” 

 

The attention of the whole salle seemed to rake me with prying eyes, as it always did when my teacher turned her ire on me. She stood like a monument, monolithic, the grizzled star around which the training salle circled. Her dark frizzy hair had mostly gone to gray but her eyes were still an unsettling, undimmed gold, set in a weathered grimace of a face. Instead of training whites, she wore a long black regimental tailcoat, ornate with glittering embroidery and tassels.

 

Maven snorted. “Slide those fangs back in or I’ll snap a silver collar around your neck before you can say ‘vampire’,” she said acidly. 

 

I flushed as I realized that my fangs were once again showcasing my thirst for all to see. They curved over my full bottom lip, their serrated tips dripping with viscous venom. I pulled them back in hurriedly.

 

“Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself for a change?”  

 

“I–”

 

“That’s quite enough for one day.” There were titters, a few guffaws. Maven could be a fucking comedian when she wanted to be. “Where is your sabre? A blade left on the floor shows a slovenly mind, and shames me as your teacher. Pick it up.”

 

With heroic effort, I held my tongue as I went to collect my blade. Needling Jade was one thing but giving my mouth free reign at Maven would unlock a whole different world of hurt. More titters and gawking looks haunted the edge of my perception. The harsh music of steel on steel had slacked off, leaving nearly everyone free to look our way. 

 

“And you, Ms. Fel! I expected better from you at least.”

 

Jade bowed her head soberly. “Yes, Blademaster.”

 

“Can you not handle a single, uncouth vampire?”

 

I rolled my eyes.

 

Maven’s voice came down on my back like a whiplash. “As for you, Salty, face the mirrors. Assume first position until I tell you otherwise.”

 

Silently, I did as I was told, raising my sabre until the hilt was level with my heart. I realized with a sinking feeling that I was almost faint with thirst.

 

My reflection, a flushed girl in training whites, glared back at me, her mouth twisted in a snarl of effort, her hazel eyes blazing with repressed fury, her dark slash of bangs in sweaty disarray, with escaped strands of longer hair plastered wildly to her full cheeks. 

 

Behind me, Maven was just warming up.   

 

“She refused to yield,” said Jade stiffly. 

 

“Of course she did, and you entertained her. Is this your first bout with her?”

 

“No, Blademaster.”

 

“You know what kind of creature she is, do you not?” 

 

“Yes, Blademaster.” 

 

“Her kind are like cats, always trying to play games. Do not be a mouse, Jade. Or do you enjoy being made a fool by trifling with her tricks? Please, enlighten us all.”

 

I could hear Jade’s jaw tensing. “No, Blademaster,” she ground out. 

 

“You are a lycanarch,” Maven rapped out. “You are a wolf. Remember your place, and remind her of hers.”

 

A reflexive tide of self-loathing rose in me, as familiar as nausea. Everything about me was wrong–my hair, my eyes, my manner, my bearing, my very nature. I didn’t fit and never would. My arm trembled with exhaustion.

 

“Keep that sabre level, Salty,” snapped Maven, turning on me. The way she always seemed to read my mind was unnerving. 

 

I closed my eyes against another rivulet of stinging sweat. I longed to wipe it away but I didn’t dare move, except to blink furiously. My shoulder screamed. 

 

“Arm high and bright. I want nice, clean lines. If you cannot manage even that meager piece of bladework, you’ll never amount to anything, not on my floor.” 

 

“Yes, Blademaster,” I spat, painfully conscious of the gazes on us. It was taking nearly all my concentration to keep my fangs from springing out. My vision swam with thirst. 

 

“Feronia, Sabine.” Maven beckoned two other lycanarchs forward. “Drill her until she drops. Take turns.” She raised her voice. “Everyone else is dismissed.”