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C laire looked exhausted as we began our daily rounds.

“How was working with the other servants?” I asked.

“Ugh, tiresome. They push me extra hard because they know they can get away with it,” she grumbled. “And we won’t be getting a break because some scholars have requested access to the library, which we are expected to prepare and clean daily while it’s in use.”

“I didn’t know there was a library.”

“Oh, there’s a library … and it’s large . Think—lots of shelves, dust, and books that always need organizing.”

“Why haven’t I seen it before?” I asked.

“It’s located closer to the great room on the further side of the second floor,” Claire explained. “There are a handful of other common rooms, along with the courtyard. We don’t fuss over them unless there is an event. You’ll see next month, on the full moon, for the Blood Moon Feast.”

“A feast? … Are we expected to serve at the event?”

“Ha, no,” Claire replied. “We do all the work leading up to the event, but when the Ashlora start flooding in, we stay downstairs as much as possible. Jesmine makes a special drink for the occasion, she calls it her blood potion. It’s like wine but stronger, and the Ashlora drink way too much. Makes them nastier than usual.”

“Sounds dreadful.”

“It is.” She grumbled and made a sour face. “But today, only the library needs attention. I’ll finish this room. You get the next. We’ll start in the stacks later on.”

In the next guest chamber, the linens needed changing, but there was little else to do.

Reaching for the bedsheets, a spot of blood had soaked through my bandage. I sighed, annoyed that I would have to go down to my room and change it before I bled on the linens and made more work for myself.

Using the back stairs, I descended to the first floor landing.

Jesmine’s voice rattled through the corridor. “Jarrett,” she called. “Secure his arm! You’ve carried plenty of corpses heavier.”

At her words, my feet drew to a stop.

The scene before me was partially visible around the curving wall. Arden and Jarrett hefted the body of a teenage boy between them—the boy I’d seen Arden escorting a few days prior.

Jesmine and Jarrett’s backs were directed toward me, but Arden was facing my direction, walking backwards, holding the boy’s feet.

His attention snared on me. With warning in his eyes and a subtle tilt of the head, he urged me to retreat.

I ducked back around the bend, unnoticed.

“Hurry to the back gate. I have guests to return to,” Jesmine’s voice echoed. “As usual, I expect you both to return within the hour. I shouldn’t need to remind you of the consequences if you fail …” Her speech grew muffled as they progressed down the hall.

What happened to that boy? Did he commit a crime so deplorable that it was punishable by death? Is that possible? There has to be a reason. … As much as I tried, I couldn’t convince myself that his end was justified.

A wave of trepidation weighed on me, only heightened as I looked down and noticed more blood seeping around my bandage. Applying pressure to the wound, I hurried to my room.

Once there, I pulled out some fresh gauze Jarrett had supplied, and carefully re-wrapped my arm.

I needed to find Claire.

I had planned to fire one question after another at her about what I saw in the hallway, but the exaggerated slump in her shoulders and bags under her eyes reminded me of her weary state. I couldn’t bring myself to hound her with questions when she seemed so fatigued.

That afternoon, the two of us trekked through the winding halls of the second floor, and I was about to give in to my restless mind and bring up the dead boy when we arrived at the library.

The space was immense. Shelves on the outer walls expanded up to the third floor, fitted with sliding ladders that reach the top. Round windows lined the domed ceiling, casting light on the long rows of bookcases dividing the chamber into sections.

Dark wood tables occupied an open middle area, while smaller alcoves were nestled along the edges, offering ideal nooks for quiet study.

Luckily, we were only expected to dust and polish the main tables and seating areas that day. But it was enough to keep us busy late into the evening.

“You were right—endless dust,” I said as we finished up. “My back is aching worse than ever. I would pay a goldie for a long soak in a hot tub.”

“Ohh, that would be amazing.” Claire agreed. “Too bad the Ashlora are too scared to keep them around.”

“What?” I sputtered.

She gave an amused snort. “Yeah, they are fire spirits—they hate the idea of deep water. Even something as innocent as a bathtub.”

“That’s ridiculous. Baths are one of the best things in life,” I declared. “We are surrounded by brutes.”

Claire and I commiserated together until we reached our rooms.

Back in my bedchamber, my dinner, which consisted of some watery stew and hard bread, waited on the chair. I sat at the edge of my cot and took a sip … cold and salty.

A knock sounded, offering an interruption from the unpalatable food.

“Hey.” Arden stood with a somber look on his face. I recalled the incident in the hall.

Silence surrounded us as I mulled over all my questions. “Who was that boy?”

Arden sighed. “He was sent for Jesmine … to refill her energy.”

My stomach sank. “What does that mean? … What did he do? He was so young.” The boy must have been about Clay’s age . My chest ached at the thought.

“I don’t know if he did anything.” Arden shrugged.

“We aren’t exactly given a lengthy history for her sacrifices.

We are told when to collect them and where.

” His jaw clenched, and he ran a hand over his face.

“I knew you would have questions, but that’s all I can offer.

It’s better that you don’t go poking around for answers …

there aren’t many you’d like. The less you draw her attention, the better. ”

Overcome by the hopeless situation, I sank to my cot. “How do you stand her?”

“I have to. Same as you. This is where my choices led me.” He ground out his next words, “I swore my service to the Crown, and they sent me here. It’s my duty.”

“But you don’t have a blood bond to be here.”

“No, but—”

“So, you could leave! Apply your services elsewhere. Work for someone who isn’t so … heartless!”

“Listen,” he said, standing tall. “I don’t want to get into this. I knew you would be upset when you saw us taking the body away and I just wanted to make sure you were ok.” He turned to leave, adding over his shoulder, “Just … keep your head low.”

I sprang up after him. “But I’m not ...” By the time I cleared the doorway, he had rounded the curve in the hall. “... ok,” the word faded from my lips—he was gone.

I flung myself down on the bed and gripped my pillow, letting out a growl of frustration into the thick material.

I need to get out of this place, or it is going to kill me.

As I struggled to find sleep, the dead boy’s face flashed in my mind. He was so close to Clay’s age. Fifteen, maybe sixteen.

I thought of my last conversations with Clay. It was four years ago—he was eleven then. It was the day after I found the goldies. I whispered to Clay that we were going somewhere new, to a place where he would thrive. I didn’t share the specifics at first, just that we’d be leaving.

On the fifth day of planning, our departure was near. I told him to pack a small bag of his most precious possessions. It was then I gave him a glimpse of the goldies. Even though that was years ago, I could still remember the mesmerized look in his eyes.

It was that same evening, my father burst into my room. I knew my mistake immediately.

The authorities were called. They charged me with theft, and to my horror, the murder of the man in the alley.

I swore up and down that I did not kill the stranger—I never admitted that I saw the body, still haunted with shame for not having the decency to report it—but the guards had no suspects, and I possessed the missing pouch of goldies the victim was known to be carrying. They threw me in prison hours later.

Every day of my sentence, I longed for news from Clay—but never received a word. At times, I wondered if our father convinced him I had killed the man. I prayed Clay knew me well enough to know the truth … but there was doubt.

Burning, caustic regret churned deep in my stomach. I never knew exactly what Clay told my father, but I should have known it was a big secret to ask an eleven-year-old to keep. He was probably scared of leaving home, especially since I had shielded him from the worst of father’s bouts.

Yes. I should have waited to explain it to him until we were away and safe. Now he was alone and had spent the past four years under my father’s sole influence. I wondered how much impact all the years I poured my love and attention into his care mattered.

If I hadn’t shown him those goldies and exposed my plans, where would we be?

I pushed away the thought—it was a fate beyond my reach. One thing was certain, if I had made a different choice, I wouldn’t be trapped in the Obsidian fortress with a blood bond to a cruel Ashlora.

My days fell into a routine: wake, eat slop, visit the lab and offer my blood, then go to the second floor and clean the guest rooms before tackling the endless chamber of books.

Halfway through the first moon cycle, and my left arm was becoming unbearably sore. My bandage constantly rubbed against the tender skin as I scrubbed all day. I didn’t want to think about what state my arm would be in by the end of the third moon cycle.

I hadn’t seen Jesmine a single time since the incident with the teenage boy’s corpse, leaving me both relieved and frustrated. I didn’t care for her company, but I needed her to like me.

A whirlwind of conflicting emotions swept through me when I entered the lab one morning to find her waiting.

She seemed to be in high spirits and was even humming under her breath as she worked on a task that involved a blue powder and a liquid that smelled like burning hair.

Days had passed since I saw the dead boy, but I wondered if her uplifted mood was connected—her energy restored from the sacrifice of the boy, burning his soul.

How long do Ashlora feel the benefits of such an act? Certainly not long enough to justify taking a life.

I shoved the thought away and put on a pleasant smile. Determined not to waste away in this loathsome fortress, I needed to stay on course— gain the Keeper’s favor.

Jesmine approached to take my blood, and I took my opportunity, choosing a topic I knew she was fond of. “The elixir we took when traveling through the Shadow Wilds ... was that your creation, my lady?”

She paused, looking down her nose at me. “Yes, of course. No one else can create the mixture.”

Just the response I hoped for.

With my most sincere voice, I replied, “ Your elixirs must be very sought after, since you are the only one skilled enough to create them.”

“Yes, they are.” She eyed me suspiciously.

“We are lucky that you have such an incredible understanding of the Slips, protecting so many from attacks and possessions. I can only imagine how proud the Ashlora are to have someone of your mastery among them.”

“What are you getting at?” she demanded, irritation in her voice.

I swallowed the lump forming in my throat.

“I mean nothing, my lady. It’s just that coming here and seeing your work …

I never truly appreciated how lucky we humans are to have an alliance with someone so …

powerful.” Stars, I hope she is convinced by my exaggeration.

My skills at empty flattery need some work.

I pushed on. “I admit, at first I was angry to be chosen as the Offering, but I am learning to accept the significance of my role here.”

“Well, put out your arm girl, as you said, you have a purpose to serve.”

Despite her aloof demeanor, I held my composure and extended my arm.

There was no hesitation as she pulled off the soiled bandage and tightened a tourniquet above my elbow.

At the sight of the sharp blade, every practiced version of the conversation vanished from my mind. Internally flustered, yet undeterred, I continued, “My lady, I was wondering if I may ask you a question.”

The razor ran across my arm, provoking a flinch.

“Spit it out,” she said, sliding a vial next to my arm and redirecting the stream of my flowing blood.

“When Fernton’s blood ward has been re-established … could I maybe … earn my freedom and be sent home?” I hated how my voice wavered at the end.

Her high shrieked laugh pierced my ears and felt like nails scraping down my back.

She locked eyes with me. “Nova, my dear, yes—your blood bond will come to an end, but your service to me will not . That is my payment.”

A wave of despair flooded in. I watched wordlessly as she sealed and placed the vial on the table.

“Perhaps you feel you can serve a purpose greater than simply scrubbing floors and making beds, and you may be right. What exactly that purpose will be—is mine to decide.” She bandaged the wound.

“You are my servant, which means you are expected to do as you are told. Servants don’t earn anything,” she scoffed.

Snatching up the full vial, her heels hammered across the floor, fading into the far room.

Left disheartened with an aching arm, I darted from the lab. I clutched my arm to my chest. Anger and sadness rode me as I distanced myself from the monster. Jesmine was vile and wicked—and I was completely at her whim.