Page 65 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

She turns without warning and throws. The blade flies in a blur and sinks dead center into an X on a tree that has to be sixty feet away.

Finn whistles low. “Show off.”

“Your turn,” she says smugly.

He grins, steps forward, and throws in one fluid motion. It lands a hair’s breadth from hers.

“Not bad,” Gemma says with a hint of a smirk. “For a warm-up.”

“Oh, it’s like that? All right, then.” Finn pulls another blade.

They trade throws. Knife after knife, each one landing with a deadly precision, pushing the other farther, faster, at more impossible angles. It’s like watching a conversation in steel that they both somehow know. The rest of us just watch.

Hayes looks toward me. “Should we even bother?”

“I’m feeling very average right now,” I mutter.

“Unusually self-aware today, Rye,” Finn says, grinning without turning.

“Watching you two has a way of humbling a man,” I shoot back.

“Good, humility suits you.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Now, let’s see what you’ve got, Princeling.”

Gemma steps back, gesturing toward the targets.

Hayes steps up and throws, the blade landing near the X, solid and respectable.

“All right, Ryewood, your turn,” Gemma says. “Impress me.”

Two words. That’s all it takes for my mouth to go dry. I’ve trained with masters, thrown blades in rain and dark, I can hit a target blindfolded. But with her watching me, my palms are slick like it’s the first knife I’ve ever held.

I set my stance, adjust my grip, loosen my fingers, and throw. The blade sails wide, misses the tree entirely, and disappears into the bushes.

Silence follows. Then Gemma laughs, surprised and bright, the kind that crinkles the corners of her eyes. And I laugh, too, at myself, at the absurdity of it.

“You really shouldn’t put unnecessary pressure on me, Gemma,” I say, shaking my head. “I clearly can’t handle it.”

“Clearly,” she says, still laughing. “Go find your knife, Ryewood.”

I trudge into the bushes, retrieve it, and come back with a grin I can’t kill.

Finn shakes his head. “You know, Rye, no one should be that pleased about missing the entire fucking tree.”

Gemma laughs again, easier this time. Like she’s remembering how to do it.

I glance across the clearing. Grier stands with his arms crossed, his gaze catching mine, steady and unyielding. A reminder I shouldn’t need. I let the laugh die where it is and drag every wall back up. Guilt washes over me. I’m already slipping, already forgetting what my attention costs her.

“Well,” Gemma says, crossing toward me, shaking her head like she’s scolding me, but there’s a hint of a smile. “You clearly didn’t listen to anything I said. Give me your arm.”

I hesitate, then hold my arm out, stiff and too formal to be anything else. She takes it, and her thumb brushes the inside of my wrist, deliberate in a way that has nothing to do with instruction. She holds my gaze, waiting, and I don’t give her anything back. Her eyes flick away, and I see the hurt land before she hides it.

“Release happens here,” she says, adjusting my wrist. Her voice is steady, but the warmth is gone.

I nod and step back, and the space between us snaps shut. Guilt hits sharp and immediate, but I keep the distance. It’s better than what comes if I don’t. The rest of the session passes, and I don’t let myself look at her more than I have to. Every time I do, I have to make the same choice all over again, and it gets harder each time.

The ride back stretches in front of us, hooves beating a steady rhythm into the streets of Terrath. Our conversation thins, and the group draws in as we approach. I know before I see it what we’re approaching. The air feels different, like the ground has been pulled taut. A platform stands in the center of the market, stone shaped too clean with no scaffolding or seams, just risen straight out of the earth from magic, his magic.

My father stands at the center in full regalia, the version of himself meant for crowds. Voss stands at his left with guards flanking them perfectly placed. His voice carries across the market in that tone that stills people, and I pick up what he’s saying.