The vessel games, p.1
The Vessel Games, page 1
The Vessel Games
E.J. EDEN
Copyright © 2022 by E.J. Eden
All rights reserved.
Edited by Zero Alchemy.
Book Cover by The Book Brander Boutique.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
Contents
Trigger / Content warnings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Acknowledgments
Dedication
For the Craftsman Caste that stole my heart.
Trigger / Content warnings
‘The Vessel Games’ is set in a dystopian future —a patriarchal, religiously extreme society.
This is a new adult book and not recommended to readers under 18 years of age.
This book contains:
Graphic language
Graphic violence
Graphic sexual content
Religious extremism
A threat of rape to a MC (NOT carried through)
Mention of domestic violence (NOT on page)
Mention of abortion (NOT on page)
Thank you, dear reader, for coming on this ride.
Now, buckle the hell up.
Chapter
One
“Bless me, Father, for I have sinned.”
“Pray, child, what is your sin?”
Chloe took a shaky breath. She wished she could tell him the truth. She really did. But if she wanted to still be alive tomorrow, then she needed to opt for a more generalized summary of events.
“Lust.”
The confessional was so dark she barely saw the rosary beads in her sweaty palms. There was a long pause before Father Jeremiah filled the silence once more. “Do you want to elaborate on that, Chloe?”
“Not really,” Chloe said through gritted teeth. “Isn’t confessing your manner of sin and saying you’re sorry for it enough?”
Father Jeremiah shifted, his face shrouded by the intricate carvings of the lattice wall that stood between them. “Romans, 8:6, Chloe,” the father mandated, as Chloe lifted her head to the ceiling, stared at the roof of the confessional, and recited the passage.
“If our desires rule our minds, we will die. But if our minds are ruled by the Spirit, we will have life and peace,” she said, offering the psalm up for penance.
Father Jeremiah was already muttering the prayer of absolution before she’d finished that psalm.
Chloe had always thought it strange that a priest could forgive a sin that, if discovered, would cause her execution. But he didn’t know what he was providing forgiveness for she supposed. The hinges of Father Jeremiah’s confessional door creaked open, and Chloe sprung to her feet. She wouldn’t let him get away. She’d been trying to get him alone for weeks. Chloe burst out of the confessional, intent on catching him before he could scurry off. He’d been avoiding her because he knew as well as she did that it was almost August.
Almost time.
But this year, she had a plan. And she’d decided that he was going to be the one to help her. Father Jeremiah’s eyes went wide as Chloe stood in front of him, blocking his way to the safety of his office. He sighed as he seemed to connect the dots. Honestly, Father Jeremiah should have known. After all, she hadn’t come to confession in ten months.
“Chloe, tricking someone into granting an audience with you is deceit. God does not look upon that kindly.” He moved around her, but Chloe side-stepped and stood her ground in front of him.
“I wasn’t deceiving you,” Chloe protested. “It just worked out well with me already being here. Two birds with one stone and all.”
Father Jeremiah let out an audible sigh. “I have to go.”
“Where?”
“There’s...gardening I need to attend to.”
Chloe didn’t miss a beat. “Fine. I’ll come with you.”
“You cannot kneel in anyone’s presence, you know that.” Father Jeremiah darted past Chloe toward the rear of the church and into the parish gardens.
Chloe was hot on his heels, her shoes clacking on the stone floor. Her pale pink, empire-waist dress that Lilian, her lady’s maid, had picked out today flowed behind her and continued to trip her up in her pursuit.
Damn these clothes, Chloe thought.
The dresses, although designed for beauty, yes, made the wearer catchable. Killable. A shiver that had nothing to do with the church door swinging open trickled down her spine.
Chloe squinted as she entered the blazing heat of the outdoors. It seemed every summer had grown more unbearably hot since the Games had started. It was better than autumn though—that was when the acid rain usually came. Chloe grimaced at the thought of acid rain becoming a real possibility again in just a few short months, but she forced herself to focus. She might not have this opportunity for an audience again. She needed to act now.
Chloe took a shaky breath. “You don’t agree with it either. I’ve seen your face during the Games. Ever since I was first allowed to watch it, I’ve watched you. And you hate it as much as I do.”
Father Jeremiah shoved a trowel into her grasp. “Don’t let your father see you on your knees then, if you must help. Or him. He’ll tell on you.” He turned his head towards where James, Chloe’s bodyguard, had followed them outdoors.
“Back inside the church, please, James.”
James’s immense frame slumped a little as he protested, “But Your Highness—”
“Thank you, James.” Chloe responded with the same air of authority that her father did when he’d decided something and that no one could change his mind. It had always infuriated her, but it came in handy sometimes.
James was six foot eight and amongst the strongest Defender Castes in New London. But he looked every inch the petulant child as he trudged back into the church and shut the back door.
Father Jeremiah turned to Chloe with an incredulous look. “Somehow a five-foot-two blonde, cherub-faced, seventeen-year-old scares me more than he does.”
Chloe pushed her dress to the side and began ripping the weeds out of the soil. “Yes, well, the cherub-faced one will rule the country someday.”
“She will one day be married to the man who rules our country, yes,” Father Jeremiah corrected gently, before joining on the grass beside her. Chloe pulled out a particularly stubborn weed with an aggression that could only be matched by her father.
“Yes. I’d forgotten all about my brother’s death, and how I’m the only useless girl left to carry on the line. Thank you so much for reminding me,” Chloe said with icy restraint.
“Your Highness.” Father Jeremiah stopped troweling and looked at Chloe with such an intensity that it unsettled her. “You should understand more than anyone that women are the most precious thing on the planet. They carry our ancestry lines on. They keep the human race going. Well, the chosen few do, by God’s grace. We must serve and protect them.”
Chloe’s throat tightened. Thanks to her gender, she’d never get a say in how to serve or protect her people. That job belonged only to kings. Chloe continued to weed with ferocity. “Which brings me to why I’m here.” She stopped then and looked him dead in the eye.
“If the church sides with me—if I get my stepmother and other Nobles to side with me and endorse a petition to stop the Vessel Games, then—”
“That would anger your father. He would consider it a betrayal. He’d never forgive you. Besides, no other females besides you or the Queen would be able to sign a petition, anyway.”
Chloe’s stomach turned to lead when she’d realized she’d forgotten a crucial piece of information whilst making her plan. No other women were literate. It was forbidden for women to read and write. Everyone except her and the Queen relied on their husbands, their sons, and their brothers for that. She was exactly one half of the women who had the ability to sign the petition. None of the noble ladies would or could side with her, which was what she’d been hoping for. The allies she’d hoped for in this movement were…nonexistent.
Sweat had broken out on Father Jeremiah’s forehead. At the immense heat or at the thought of siding with her against her father, Chloe did not know.
“The Games are wrong.” She snatched a plant that sat beside her and began digging again. “They’re unjust and sick and cruel. Why can’t the Vessel choose her husband and who she wants for herself? Why do innocent boys have to die?” She thumped the plant into the soil and set its place. “I won’t watch another Games. And from the look on your face last time, I don’t know if you can either.”
“Last year was…different.” Father Jeremiah’s face had gone slack.< br />
Last year, one of the Clergy Caste had decided he’d wanted to contend in the Games. He’d insisted that God had spoken to him and told him to compete. They’d been close, and the boy’s death had not been kind. Father Jeremiah closed his eyes, as if imagining the horrors of the stadium once again. The blood on the sand, the cheers of the crowd as the victor had proposed to his Vessel.
It was supposed to be an honor to battle in the Games. As honorable as going to war for the United Kingdoms. Chloe wasn’t exactly sure of what countries remained after the Great War. Even though it had finished over sixty years ago, that was information only men in the King’s inner circle of Nobles were privy to. It wasn’t the kind of information that a female needed to know, even a princess.
“Chloe.” He breathed her name as if it were a prayer. “I’ll admit to you and you alone that I don’t agree with the Games. But the High Priest does. The Church is powerful, and the people of New London are holy and will follow their High Priest and their King, no matter what. The Games were decided by church and monarchy—it’s the only fair way that the Common Castes can get what they want and in a way that also keeps you safe.”
“But—”
Father Jeremiah held out a hand. “Let me finish, Chloe.” His tone made her feel like she was just a child at Sunday school again. “The Uprising was only ten years ago. Some Traitor Castes involved are alive to this day. Many would wish to see you and your father’s legacy dead. Your mother wouldn’t want you—”
“My mother wouldn’t want what?” Chloe snapped. “You’d use her memory against me? She’s dead, Jeremiah.”
“And now your father wishes to protect you from the same fate. He wishes to protect you from those who harmed your mother. And who would’ve harmed you, if we had given them the chance.”
Chloe’s throat constricted. “I’m aware.”
He paused, seemingly searching for the words to make the horrors of the Games bearable. “Despite the attack on him and your mother, the King gave them what they wanted, in the fairest way he was able to. These Common Castes...they have the opportunity to be elevated. To gain riches beyond their wildest dreams. They won’t get another chance like that. Ever.”
He scratched his nose and a bit of mud smeared on his face; it was so dark it almost had a reddish tint.
Chloe threw the trowel down and stood up. She’d had enough. “Why do there need to be Common Castes and Nobles anyway? Why can’t we share resources equally? Why do I get a full belly and this”—she indicated to her lavish dress—“while others go hungry?”
“Chloe,” Father Jeremiah muttered, “that sort of thinking is very dangerous. We should reward those who are more important in our society for their service to God. Your father is the absolute monarch. He is God on earth; no one can be the same Caste as him or you for that matter.”
“Then why won’t you do what I ask of you?” Chloe exploded. Only the birds sang in the silence that followed, not understanding what had transpired.
Father Jeremiah’s weathered face examined Chloe’s coolly.
“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she apologized.
“That temper, Chloe, be careful of it.” Jeremiah’s face had turned stony. “You are royal, and therefore I serve you as I serve Him, but you are not a man. You are not your brother. He might have succeeded in making such changes, but you will not. Stop now, Chloe, before things become dangerous for you.” Father Jeremiah bowed low and slowly. “Your Highness,” he said in parting before heading back to the church door.
As it clicked shut, Chloe felt the harsh sting of tears pricking at her eyes.
You are not your brother.
She certainly was not. Sometimes, she thought it might have been easier on everyone, particularly the monarchy, if she’d been the one to die that day. If he hadn’t died in that accident, and if the line of succession had stayed clear, then perhaps the Uprising would never have happened. Perhaps her mother would not be—
Chloe swallowed. She shouldn’t have pulled rank on Father Jeremiah. It was the complete opposite of what she’d been asking for the United Kingdoms to become. If she couldn’t convince someone of her views without asserting her dominance as a royal, then her argument was all but null and void.
“Your Highness?”
“Not now, James.” She wiped the tears from her cheeks.
“It’s dinnertime in the banquet hall.”
“I don’t feel well.” She tried to keep her voice as even as possible. “I’m going back to my room; send the King my apologies. I won’t be joining him and my stepmother tonight.”
She couldn’t bear to see the King’s face, to have him ask her about her day, as if they were a normal, happy family. Her father had murdered many people in the wake of her mother’s assassination. She should hate him for it. And yet...she still loved him deeply. She wished she was allowed a say in what was to become of the United Kingdoms.
But she never would have that.
She’d live out the rest of her days throwing balls, wearing pretty dresses, and producing heirs like a good princess. Chloe couldn’t stand the ache in her chest when she thought about the future awaiting her.
James escorted Chloe from the church. She didn’t understand why the King insisted James guard her in the inner sanctum. The walls around the center of the city kept the church and palace grounds holy and safe. But these days, the walls were beginning to feel a lot more like a cage and less like a sanctuary.
As she walked toward the magnificent palace, she tried not to look at the arena as she passed it. The arena lay in the exact center of New London. She’d tried many times to forget why it was built and how. To block out the memory of seeing the traitors of the Uprising build it and then be the first ones executed within its walls.
The King had made her watch; she’d been seven years old.
“These people wanted you dead. They killed your mother. They would have murdered you if I hadn’t done this. If I did not stop them. I compromised by giving them the Games. I am a kind King. Remember that, Chloe.”
Chloe tore her gaze away from the arena and tried not to think about the time she’d be forced to spend within it. She was just as shackled to it as the traitors who’d built it had been.
Chloe stared at the ceiling of her bedroom until complete darkness had fallen and the palace had grown silent. She pulled on the long, red wig she kept hidden under the mattress of her bed, as well as the Common Caste clothes Lilian had given her: black jeans and a hoodie.
She slipped them on before sliding the window open and climbing out as quietly as possible. A knock at the door had her pausing in mid-air. Her breath caught in her chest as she hung halfway out. If she didn’t make a sound, they’d assume she was asleep.
“Chloe? Chloe, are you awake?” It was her stepmother, coming to check in on her after her absence at dinner tonight.
“I-I’m tired, Mary, and unwell. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Chloe’s muscles cramped at the exertion of staying so still in such an awkward position.
“Ok, good night, darling heart.” As the footsteps faded, Chloe sighed in relief. The Queen must’ve thought Chloe was just moments from letting oblivion take her and falling asleep.
Chloe wished that were the case. She continued her task and scaled down the building with skill; after all, she’d done it a thousand times before.
It was time to sin again.
Chapter
Two
Karina had been waiting for hours. She shuffled in her seat as she watched Noble girl after Noble girl emerge in tears. It did nothing for her nerves.
The man’s voice echoed in the silent waiting room, “Karina Roberts.”
