In This Excerpt From The Last Bloodcaver, A Fateful Meeting Has Questionable Motivations
Books Features Vanessa Le
Vanessa Le’s The Last Bloodcarver is one of the buzziest YA fantasies of the spring, a Vietnamese-inspired dark fantasy that boasts richly detailed worldbuilding and asks complex questions about identity, lost heritage, medical ethics, and more.
Set in the fantastical technocratic city-state of Theumas, the story follows Nhika, a rare bloodcarver, one of the feared beings who can alter human biology with a simple touch.. Desperate to keep her true identity a secret, she ekes out a living peddling homeopathic remedies to the rich. But when she’s inadvertently exposed as a bloodcarver, she finds herself kidnapped and sold to the daughter of a powerful industrialist, who wants Nhika to use her abilities to heal the last witness to a high-profile murder.
Drawn into a world of political intrigue and hidden agendas, Nhika will have to make an impossible choice—one that may ask her to become the monster everyone already fears she is.
Here’s how the publisher describes the story.
Nhika is a bloodcarver. A coldhearted, ruthless being who can alter human biology with just a touch.
In the industrial city of Theumas, Nhika is seen not as a healer, but a monster that kills for pleasure. And in the city’s criminal underbelly, the rarest of monsters are traded for gold. When Nhika is finally caught by the infamous Butchers, she’s forced to heal the last witness to a high-profile murder.
As Nhika delves into the investigation, all signs point to Ven Kochin, an alluring yet entitled physician’s aide. Despite his relentless attempts to push her out of his opulent world, something inexplicable draws Nhika to him. But when she discovers Kochin is not who he claims to be, Nhika will be faced with a greater, more terrifying evil lurking in the city’s center…
Her only chance to survive lies in a terrible choice—become the dreaded monster the city fears, or risk jeopardizing the future of her kind.
The Last Bloodcarver won’t be released on March 19, but we’ve got an exclusive look at its story right now.
Ven Kochin remained, even as his employer disappeared into the other room, his hands clasped behind his back and his shoulders squared against her. “That sets you apart, you know,” he said, moving to take Dr. Santo’s spot.
“What?” Nhika scowled, stuffing the card into the sleeve of her glove.
“That.” He jerked his chin toward her sleeve. “Hiding business cards like you’re afraid of them.”
“I’m just surprised by his offer. It is, after all, a funeral.”
“You must be new,” he said, and she didn’t love the surety with which he said it. “This is a gathering of the greatest minds in industry and technology, a rarity in this city. It would be remiss to hold sanctity over opportunity.”
Nhika scanned the huddled pods of conversation. Now that he’d pointed it out, she noticed how business cards passed between gloved hands, how conversations were scheming, not a tear in sight. Nhika realized a fate worse than death: a funeral that bred not remembrance, but nepotism.
“Since it’s making you so uncomfortable, I’d be glad to take that card off your hands,” he continued, holding out an expectant hand.
She turned away from him, crossing her arms to hide the spot in her glove where the card lodged. “I think I’ll keep it. After all, Dr. Santo did invite me to join his research initiative.”
Kochin’s eyes narrowed, almost imperceptibly. “And why was he interested in you?”
She heard the note of suspicion in his voice and felt the rise of indignation in her throat. “Why wouldn’t he be?”
“Dr. Santo only takes interest in . . . certain kinds of people.”
Kochin was careful with his tone, but she read his condescension from his words alone: He didn’t believe Dr. Santo should’ve solicited someone like her. Nhika only wondered which part of her he was disdaining: the Yarongese part, the girl in rags part, or all of that together.
“What kind of person does he take interest in, then? Someone like you?” she snarked. She sized him up, wondering what he had to even be arrogant about, and was disappointed to discover that he wasn’t too hard on the eyes. He had that lighter Theuman skin, but his features still stood out in a crowd. Something about the elegant part of his hair, the intelligence in his black eyes, the way it felt as though he’d been born to wear that tailored vest suit—among this crowd, she wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d come out of the womb in it.
“Yes, like me,” he returned, as though she’d complimented rather than impugned him. “I’m just surprised, considering the conditions of how we met.”
“I was in a rush,” she said defensively. Her pride forbade her from apologizing to him.
“That much was clear.”
Nhika imagined what kind of debacle a girl of this society might find themselves in. “I was running from suitors.”
Amusement quirked in the corner of his lip, the first smile to reach his dark eyes. “I’m sure you get a lot of them.” His sarcasm did not go unmissed. “Suitors with nets and catchpoles.”
A small stone of dread deposited near her heart—if he recognized those men as Butchers, and if he knew the reasons Butchers caught Yarongese people . . . could he figure out what she was?
“Don’t worry. I won’t tell anyone.” Kochin smiled, but it felt like a false offer of peace. “But, girls in rags don’t walk into silk overnight. You’re in over your head, Ms. Suon.”
Nhika let out a quiet breath; as long as he considered her only a girl in rags, and not a bloodcarver underneath them, she was safe. With newfound audacity, she said, “Sounds like you’re afraid I might replace you.”
The discreet flare of his eyes told her that she’d guessed correctly, but he said, “Of course not. I just imagine your talents would be better suited elsewhere.”
Outside of medicine, he meant. That insinuation was nothing new to her—that any Yarongese who held an affinity for medicine must’ve been a bloodcarver, or why else would they have taken such interest?
Well, he happened to be right. But Nhika would never give him the satisfaction of knowing that.
“And what are your talents, exactly?” she pressed.
“I take care of matters for Dr. Santo’s research initiative.”
“Ah, so you’re a secretary.”
Kochin tweaked his cheek. “I prefer physician’s aide.”
“Doesn’t seem so difficult.”
“Looks can be deceiving.”
“You know, Dr. Santo was just telling me about all the important people in this room, and he failed to mention you.”
“Oh? Then who did he name?”
“Mr. Nem and Mr. Ngut.” Nhika realized, then, that she hadn’t had the opportunity to finish her conversation with Dr. Santo due to a certain physician’s aide.
Kochin must’ve realized it too, because he grinned. “A short list.”
“Who else is of any importance here, then?”
“Everyone” was his brief answer, but he elaborated. “Pick anything that interests you, and I’ll give you a name. Interested in the forefront of deep-sea exploration? Mr. Aom’s submarines can take you six hundred feet under the surface. Want to see a film in color? Ms. Lienva is changing theater. Want to see a man’s bones through his skin? Dr. Vhit is inventing imaging film that’ll allow it.” He rattled out the names with a sense of flippancy, as though he weren’t listing revolutionary inventions. As if this crowd had long since bored him with their whims and miracles.
Momentarily, she wondered what had jaded him. Perhaps it was regularity that bred boredom; this society produced marvels as the night sky produced stars, and even the sun might lose its luster if placed within the Star Belt. Somewhere, behind all the aristocratic arrogance, Nhika thought she caught a glimpse of something real in his eyes: resignation.
Then his gaze met hers, and all that haughty charm returned. “You better not be hoping to fit your name on that list.”
“I’m just here for a funeral, Mr. Ven,” she said. “Not to be accosted by a secretary.”
Kochin blinked in surprise, as if he’d been nothing but cordial. “Take my words not as harassment, Ms. Suon. Take them as a warning.”
“A warning about what?”
“That you don’t belong here.”
Before she could counter, someone called her name. It was Trin, appearing from the other room and bowing to them both. “Excuse my intrusion. But our autocarriage has arrived to take us back to the manor.” He extended his arm for her to take, but it wasn’t so much an invitation as a demand.
Nhika withheld a sigh, wondering if Trin had only called the autocarriage once he’d seen her talking with Kochin. But, anything for the Congmis, she supposed—even if that meant he had to leave the wake early, too.
She gave Kochin a bow, at once happy to be saved from conversation and disappointed to be chaperoned. “Pleasure to meet you,” she said, the words a formality.
“Likewise,” he said. Before she could turn away, he’d taken her hand in his, silk against bare palm, and lifted it to his lips. His eyes watched her as he planted a kiss against the fabric, at once firm and gentle.
It must’ve been a simple act of etiquette, over in a second, but Nhika stiffened as though he’d nipped her. Her hand lingered in his for a breath too long, and she cursed the gloves, wishing she could feel this touch the way Theumans did, skin on skin with nothing else behind it. Not his touch—he was a boy who wanted to push her out of this world—but someone’s touch. A parting kiss on bare knuckles rather than gloved hands around chafed wrists.
Remembering his insults, Nhika snatched her hand away. Only seconds had transpired, yet she reeled her mind back to earth. Momentarily, she wondered why Kochin— who was so convinced she wasn’t an aristocrat— would recognize her with the gesture of one. To save face before Trin when they both knew it was a mockery? Without another word, she took Trin’s arm and let him guide her out of the estate. Though she didn’t look back, she knew Kochin’s gaze followed her.
“Why were you talking to Dr. Santo’s aide?” Trin asked, voice edging suspicion.
“He approached me. It would’ve been stranger if I hadn’t,” she grumbled, flexing her hand. “I obeyed all your rules; don’t worry. You say sit, stand, beg— and I do all that. What did I rehearse my story for, if not to talk?”
His expression flashed an apology, and he cast his eyes to the ground. “You’re right,” he managed to say, as though the words pained him. “I shouldn’t be so harsh.”
Nhika watched him out of the corner of her eye and saw the extent of the fatigue behind his words. It was a reminder that he was grieving where she was not, so she remained quiet as their autocarriage rounded toward them. As she stepped inside, she removed her glove to free her hand, still burning where Kochin had kissed her
The Last Bloodcarver will be released on March 19, but you can pre-order it now.
Lacy Baugher Milas is the Books Editor at Paste Magazine, but loves nerding out about all sorts of pop culture. You can find her on Twitter @LacyMB