Page 8 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Finn leans against the railing, eyes on the arena floor. “How many you think will make it out this year?”

“Ten, maybe?” I shrug. “All nobles.”

“Of course.” Hayes’s voice is quieter now, meant just for us. “The trials get harder every year. Father makes sure of it.”

I glance at him. He doesn’t usually talk about our Father so openly, not even with me.

Before I can push further, I catch Finn’s expression. Right, next year, that’s us, Finn and me, walking into those woods.

I reach up and shove his arm. “Quit it.”

“Quit what?”

“That face,” I say, keeping it light. “We’re not dying in there.”

Trumpets blare across the colosseum, and the crowd erupts.

The ceremony master takes position at the edge of the arena, far enough that a stray vine won’t take him out. Smart man, the freshly awakened can’t aim for shit.

His voice booms. “Great citizens of Terrath! Today we celebrate those who entered the Weeping Woods and emerged transformed!”

The same speech as every year.

“Thanks to the benevolence of the Great King Eldric, who grants even the common-born the opportunity to rise to nobility!”

Father raises a hand, and right on cue, the crowd roars.

Benevolence, right. Commoners go in with hope while nobles go in with guards, and of course, only one group comes out.

“Now let us welcome this year’s victor of the trials!”

The crowd’s attention snaps to the far end of the arena, where a huge, towering archway is carved into the imposing stone wall, ancient and foreboding. The unnatural fog rolls through the opening, thick and impenetrable, swallowing any glimpse of what lies beyond.

One way in, one way out. Knowing Father, that’s no accident.

It’s so similar to the entrance archway, deep in the castle grounds. I hated it when I was young, and so did Hayes. I didn’t understand why it unsettled me so much back then, but now I do. It’s just another way for Father to control everything. He decides who walks through to miles of forest sealed behind the stone wall, all of it funneling survivors to this single point, into the colosseum, in front of thousands of witnesses, in front of him.

Everyone thinks it’s a spectacle. It’s not. It’s Father taking notes of who has magic, who’s useful, who’s loyal, and most importantly, who needs to disappear. My mind goes to the oaks in the atrium.

A figure emerges, and for a moment, I don’t recognize him.

Then I realize it’s Percival Thornwick, clothes torn, hair matted with dirt, but not a scratch on him. Right, because magic heals you on the way out. But it’s his face that stops me. His eyes are wrong, too old, like he walked in a month ago and lived a hundred lifetimes in between. He takes two steps and his knees buckle.

“Mother—” His voice cracks, raw and broken. “You said it was an accident.”

He’s not looking at the box. He’s not looking at anything here.

A few seats down, Lady Thornwick’s face drains of color, and the crowd shifts uncomfortably. This happens sometimes; the trials show you things, things about your family, the kind you can’t unsee.

Then shutters fall closed behind his eyes as he straightens. That familiar smug expression slides back into place, but we all saw what was underneath.

“Fuck off.” Finn stares. “That’s our victor?”

“Not surprising.” Hayes’s voice is flat. “He had double my guards going in.”

Double Hayes’s guards. Hayes, the crown prince. The Thornwicks are getting bold.

Grier crosses his arms. “Well, at least now that he’s awakened, we’ll probably never have to see him at the training yards again.”