The vampire and I stared at each other across the threshold. My fingers itched to grab the knife at my ankle, but judging from her haggard appearance she was two seconds from flying into a blood rage. If it came to that I'd be dinner.
"Let me guess, your friends from Camp Vamp call you Six, right, tough girl?" the vampire said with an eye-roll.
"I don't have any friends." Especially none from "Camp Vamp" as she had so charmingly called the barracks masquerading as a school for Troika youth I'd grown up in. "And call me Carmina.”
"Carmina, sure. You heard Icarus. You want to keep breathing? You'll do what we say."
I flicked an angry glance at the Chatelaine for bringing me here in the first place. Grabbing her sleeve, I pulled her a little further down the corridor. "Thanks a lot."
She shrugged. "It's either them or take your chances sneaking past the army waiting for you topside."
"Why did you tell them I have intel?"
"Well you do, don't you?"
"Sure, but I'm not interested in joining the resistance."
The older woman crossed her arms and gave me a schoolmarm glare. "You didn't have a plan at all when you ran, did you?"
I chewed my bottom lip. "My only goal was to get away from the Troika and find this place. Figured the rest would sort itself out."
Her eyes narrowed. "I'm going to give you a little bit of advice that might extend your life a little. No one makes it very far in this world without choosing a side."
I snorted. "Don't you think that's a little hypocritical coming from a woman who poses as a religious leader for the Troika while secretly supporting the rebels."
"I said you’ve got to pick a side, not that you had to announce it." Her lips twitched. "My point is no one can survive the Bad Lands alone. I could give you a few rations and supplies, but you wouldn't make it out there two days before a rover tracked you down or a pack of dogs caught your scent."
Seeing my hesitation, she continued. "I'm not going to force you to give me your reasons for choosing now to run, but I assume they must have been pretty good." I looked up to see sympathy in her gaze. She hadn't survived this long without knowing a thing or two about the sorts of things that made a girl finally take her chances between running and death. "But these people here? They fight on the side of freedom. And judging from what you said, freedom's what you want."
I took a deep breath as the truth of her words battered some of my resistance. When I'd formed my plan to escape, my only goal had been to find Sister Agrippa's convent. But now I had stumbled back into a rebellion that left me behind a little less than two decades earlier. A rebellion that didn't fit into my plans at all. But now it seemed that pretending to continue my mother's work was the only way to ensure my survival for the immediate future.
"The resistance is poor, underfed and outnumbered," she said. "But we're also mad as hell and we want our world back. If you have information that can help that happen, then use it to ensure you get the freedom you want."
I looked into the shadows of the tunnel behind me and thought about the secret police gathered on the Chatelaine's doorstep. I thought about my mother, who'd died fighting against the vampires who'd raised me to be the poster child for obedient humans. And I thought about how those bite marks found their way onto my thighs. About the blood-smeared smile on the Prime's face when he told me his plans for the future. My stomach cramped with the memory of pain, of blood loss.
"Well?" Dare called from the doorway. "What's it going to be?" Icarus had come back to join her. He shot me a look that looked a lot like he expected me to lose my nerve and run.
I licked my dry lips and looked him in the eyes. "I'm in."
He laughed. "Not so fast. You'll have to pass inspection by Saga first."
"Who's Saga?"
"He's an elder of the movement," Dare offered. "If you're lying he'll know it. Regardless he'll award us rations for bringing the famous Troika Whore to him."
She was trying to get a rise out of me. I met her challenging gaze levelly. "You have me at a disadvantage it seems. After all, you know so much about me, but I've never even heard of you."
Something flickered in Icarus's eyes. He banked the fire quickly, but I'd already filed the vulnerability away in my arsenal.
"We can't leave to meet Saga until daybreak," he snapped. "It'll be a two-day walk. On the way you'll be expected to contribute to food and water stores. You threaten any of my people, you so much as look at one of them the wrong way and I don't care who the fuck your mother was, I'll end you with my bare hands."
"And do I receive the same rights should one of your people threaten me?”
"No," he said simply. "But you're welcome to go back to the Fortress if you're concerned about your safety. From the looks of you--" his gaze scraped down my frame--"you were well taken care of there."
The insult flashed like neon. To these half-starved rebels my healthy color and lack of protruding ribs were the hallmarks of a traitor. I'd never convince them I wasn't a willing blood mate to the Troika's inner circle.
"Fair enough." I held out my hand to shake on it. Icarus offered his left hand. It was then that I noticed how his right arm was atrophied and curled up against his side like a broken wing. Still, his handclasp was strong and confident, like a man who didn't let a few injuries get in the way of his strength.