Page 19 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“Goodnight, Ryewood.”

And just like that, she’s gone.

I stand there longer than I should, staring at empty stone like she might reappear if I wait long enough. But she doesn’t.

I look down at my hand. The fox tail is still clutched in my grip. The only proof this actually happened.

I don’t know her name or her face, and I have no idea how to find her in a city this big. But I will. How can I not?

Chapter 5

Ryewood

“Focus, Rye.”

Grier’s voice cuts across the yard. I’ve lost count of how many times he’s said it. I am focused, just not where he wants me to be.

I read the shift in Finn’s shoulders a fraction too late, and the distraction costs me. He sweeps my legs out in one clean motion, and the ground slams into my back before I can recover. I stare up at the sky for half a heartbeat longer than necessary.

Finn hauls me up. “You planning to tell us what’s wrong or just keep getting your ass handed to you?”

I wipe the dirt from my palms, shirt already soaked through. “I just need some water.”

Finn snorts. “You need something. Pretty sure it’s not water, though.”

He’s not wrong, but I don’t give him the satisfaction. I pull a long swig of water instead. I drop onto the bench, turning the leather-wrapped flask in my hand.

Beyond our ring, the swordmaster barks, “Again,” like saying it louder will change anything.

The noble swings too wide, overcommits, leaving his flank exposed. The swordmaster doesn’t even correct it. Finn teaches instinct, and Grier teaches survival. The rest just teach unearned confidence.

I let my focus drift past the yards, past the shouting swordmaster, toward the edge, where the castle grounds fall away, stone giving way to air, then beach and sea. Waves smash themselves raw below, the sound carrying up on salt and wind.

The fog wall catches my attention like it always does. It sits too close, too thick, too permanent, never moving or breaking. Birds know not to fly near it; they veer off before they get close. Ships can’t get through it either. The few that tried came back battered, their crews hollow and silent for days.

You’d think it would block everything, but it doesn’t. The salt-tinged sea air still finds a way through. Just not people, never people.

My gaze slides to the far edge of the gardens, where the wall takes over, its stone pale and seamless. The entrance to the Weeping Woods is cut into it like a scar that never healed right, its arch breathing mist, fog spilling low and gray even in full daylight. A different fog, but the same warning.

It’s been nearly two months. Long enough that the little fox has threaded herself through my thoughts, holding them like they’re hers. I knew she mattered the moment I saw her, a quiet certainty that settled in my chest and stayed. The kind you don’t question because your body understands it even if you don’t.

I remember the way she said my full name, Ryewood, light and teasing, like she knew exactly what it would do to me.

I don’t pretend it doesn’t matter, but wanting her has made me reckless, and I don’t know who’s noticed. I’ve looked, followed threads, tried to buy answers, but nothing turns up. No fox, no whispers, no trail to follow. Which should be the end of it, and yet every time my thoughts loosen, they drift back to her anyway, gentle and unforced, like something returning to where it belongs.

I loosen my grip on the flask and force my focus back to the ring.

Steel rings out as Finn presses forward, boots biting into the dirt. Hayes retreats half a step, adjusts, then meets him head-on. They’ve been circling each other long enough now that the rest of the yard has started paying attention.

I almost can’t remember a time before Finn, back when Hayes and I were the best in the yard. He showed up and reset the scale in a way I don’t think we’ll ever get back.

“Again,” Grier says, not sharp, not corrective. But his eyes are on me, not Finn.

“Are you actually going to participate in training today, Princeling?” Finn says without looking at me.

The pause stretches just long enough to register, and a few guards curiously glance our way. I push off the bench and roll my shoulders back. “I wasn’t planning to make it that easy for you,” I say.

Finn snorts, and Hayes doesn’t look convinced.