Shal has had her future laid out for her for as long as she can remember. Cursed with vampirism and trained as a killer, she has accepted her fate as an enforcer for the Empire. Escape has never seemed possible until now, when an opportunity arise...
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Fortress City lay deep in the green forest of Ceyose, the seat of the Immortal Empire. The dull grey monolith of the walls blocked out the sky, cast a mile-long shadow over the road. A slow line of carts and covered wagons trundled through the gates.
A young man in black walked alone through the streets. The peasants in their drab browns and grey gave him a wide berth. But even as a look of fear passed over their faces at the sight of him, his cheeks were full and rosy like a well-fed child's. He looked deceptively innocent, but the sigil on his chest left no doubt to who he was. A mother pulled her small girl inside as the youth passed.
The Cathedral loomed ahead of him. Glancing over his shoulder, the young man slipped through the heavy wooden door. His friend sat hunched over in a middle pew, almost looking as though she was praying. She couldn't be-- religion had been forbidden for a thousand years.
"I've been looking for you, Shal," Felix called from the door.
Her head, covered in neatly cropped black hair, did not move for a moment. Finally, Shal glanced over her shoulder.
"I told Dairine I was here," she called back.
"Well, I'd rather avoid talking to Dairine if I can." Felix came up the aisle to reach her.
The Cathedral, once named after a saint who's name was blotted from the placard on the door, was a massive building with high, arched ceilings of dark marble and walls made more of stained glass than stone. Dim light filtered down, and fragmented reds, blues, and yellows were cast over the ornate wooden benches and the white cloth draped over the altar. By the following morning, it would be covered in flowers and gifts, and by noon, blood.
The yearly Turning was upon them again. Felix sat down.
"Why are you avoiding Dairine?" Shal asked, still staring at the altar ahead. Her narrow eyes were dark with stress, and her fingers fidgeted on her lap.
"I got in a fight with the ambassador of Zhaeross," Felix admitted. "She wasn't happy about it-- or so I heard."
Shal exhaled loudly.
"Look, it's not my fault." Felix sounded a little defensive, but laughed. It faded quickly.
There was no laughter in Shal's eyes. "So your sword just magically jumped into your hand and swung at them, did it?"
"No!" Felix turned to her, his eyebrows crinkling. "They insulted Sara."
"Sara is a Templar. I think she can handle herself."
The Templars were the feared secret police of the Empire. Both Shal and Felix bore its sigil stitched over their hearts on their uniforms—a narrow dagger, dripping a steady stream of blood into a goblet.
