Page 3

M y chest squeezed and my lungs emptied of air. It was as if I’d been struck by the sound of my name. White flickering dots filled my vision, and for a moment I thought I might faint. My stomach became a hard knot as I pulled in a shaky breath.

“Nova, no!” Mallory gripped my arm, steadying me. “Not you,” she sobbed. “We are supposed to go free together … be the best neighbors … and grow the tallest sunflowers.” All of our daydreams had been shattered.

My fate was sealed. Another gasp for air.

There will be no freedom for me, after all.

Mallory’s voice floated around me, but I could no longer make out her words. My attention fixed on the down-turned corners of her mouth and the wobble of her chin.

She pulled me into a tight embrace, the warmth and strength of her hug a slight comfort.

My eyes burned and the lump in my stomach worked itself higher into my throat. My chest felt unbearably tight.

How could I have been so foolish? Foolish in many regards. It seemed undeniable that my life’s purpose was predestined to serve others—this was the last trick which assured that.

Hope had been a reckless endeavor, a seed I loathed myself for cultivating. I couldn’t fight fate. It tore me down once more, proving to me I was powerless.

Voices bounded through the great hall from all directions.

Overwhelmed, I glanced behind me. But there was no comfort to be found.

The crowd’s condemning eyes confirmed this was a suitable judgement for someone like me, someone whose actions must be filled with sin and corruption to have led them to this juncture.

Yet, I knew the truth, which made my fate harder to swallow.

Too soon, Mallory was pulled away by a guard, her warmth and support another thing taken.

Reaching out, I forced the words from my tight throat, “Mal, stay good. I’ll miss you. Embrace your release for the both of us.” I attempted a smile.

Tears ran down her cheeks—always such a caring soul. She deserved her freedom, never belonged locked up in the first place. Her loving husband would rejoice in her return. There was solace in that.

As Mallory and the other women were ushered off to the side—all of their prayers answered—a guard’s rough hand grasped my arm, preventing me from crumbling to the ground.

He guided me closer to the platform. “Bow,” he ordered. Only then did I realize I was expected to approach the queen.

It was easy to fall to my knees before her, my palms spread wide on the hard, cold tile.

“Nova Winterspell.” The queen turned her dull, russet eyes upon me.

“You have been chosen as the Blood Offering for the Keeper. Please know that while you may see this as a travesty to your freedom, you are granting safety and peace to an entire kingdom of children, women, and men. We thank you for your sacrifice. Peace be with you.” She laid her palm on the crown of my head, an unwanted blessing.

Unaware I’d started crying, a tear hit the stone surface where I kneeled, shattering into fragments. This can’t be happening, I thought. I need to plead for all the reasons I must be set free!

Before I could collect my thoughts, the guard pulled me up to my feet and turned me to face the crowd.

Sucking in a wavering breath, I lifted my gaze to meet the throng.

The gleam in their eyes had shifted. Instead of icy contempt, their expressions were sprinkled with pity and intrigue.

Some nodded or looked away, hopefully ashamed of the tactless way they had, moments ago, yearned for my demise.

But mostly, they just looked on with a curious gape.

Holding a secure grip on my shoulder, the guard led me from the dais, forcing my procession back through the assembly.

I searched among the gathering, desperate to see the familiar face that doomed me four years ago.

Coins clinked in the background. A calmness washed over the horde as probing eyes examined my person. Everyone wanted to see the condemned prisoner’s face, my face.

Too broken to care, I continued to meet their stares and scan for the one bystander that mattered. And there he was, standing near the back of the crowd, peering straight at me—my brother Clay.

As our eyes met and my steps continued. I searched his face for any sign of remorse … sympathy … love, but it remained inscrutable. The only shift was a subtle pinch of his mouth.

With so many bodies jammed between us, and the guard at my side, there was no way to reach him.

Pushing through a whirlwind of emotions, I forced my love for him to lift my expression, wishing a simple smile could say the words I could not speak— I forgive you.

While I hoped he understood the magnitude of his past betrayal, I wouldn’t hold it against him forever. He was my little brother.

Anger and sadness still haunted me from the past events, but I wanted him to know that he was loved, that I understood the choice he made. At that moment, I wanted to give him the only thing I had left, because what I’d given him since our mother died wasn’t enough. I was never enough.

Fresh tears blurred my vision as I drew nearer to the back of the hall. I swiped the wetness away. Staring at my brother’s face, I was determined to etch every detail into my memory.

It was amazing how much he’d grown since I’d last seen him. Now fifteen, his features were lean, more pronounced. His shoulders had broadened, eyebrows grown thick and defined. He must have sprouted at least six inches taller.

Stepping in line with him, I tried to slow my pace, but was pushed from behind. “Wait,” I pleaded with the guard. “Can’t I have a moment to say goodbye?” Everything was happening so fast, my head spun.

“Sorry. You are to be delivered with haste. King’s orders.” The guard’s attention was fixed ahead, his hold firm as he rushed me onward.

“But …” I craned my neck to get one last look at Clay. Without warning, a barrier of spectators came between us, and seconds later, I was moving through the antechamber.

I will never see Clay again, I thought. A hollow pit carved deep into my stomach.

A blast of blinding sun and warm air rushed forward, taking me by surprise. We had cleared the palace’s entryway. The Keeper’s Blood Offering had been secured, there was no reason for delay. I was being taken away without a single goodbye.

With my arm in his clutch, the guard began descending the steep stone stairs, heading toward a horse-drawn carriage. It struck me then that I was also leaving Fernton for the last time.

Under most circumstances, it would have been a privilege to ride in the glossy black chariot pulled by two beautiful mares. Today, it was a grave misfortune.

At the front of the carriage, a driver waited, seated with the reins drawn.

The guard steering me nodded to the driver, then promptly opened the door and tucked me inside. Alone.

The bench was firm and the enclosure smelled of leather and stale perfume.

The space was silent but for the sound of my rattling breath.

I looked down at my unbound hands—a deception of freedom.

Bindings weren’t needed when there was no chance of escape.

Breaking the blood bond would only end in my death—a slow, miserable death, at best.

The carriage shifted as the guard joined the driver up front. There was hardly a pause before our transport lurched forward; hoof beats clattered against the stone pathway.

Pressing my forehead to the cool glass, my breath fogged the surface. With trepidation, I watched the white, majestic palace, the largest landmark of my hometown, shift behind me.

The elaborate wooden cage carried me away from the grand hilltop and into the city.

At the bottom of the slope sat the trading district.

Shops and stalls spread out for the daily market.

The rows were uncommonly vacant, with the majority of the town’s people attending the Offering Ceremony.

No doubt, the area would be packed again soon enough …

now that it was over … now that the Blood Offering had been chosen.

I pressed my back into the seat and focused on deepening my breaths. Like the day I had been thrown in prison, I ached to find a reassurance that wasn’t there. I grasped for any trace of hope, but my thoughts were as fractured and scattered as the cobblestone street.

As we turned from the main section of town and passed into the neighborhoods, I distracted myself by watching the world outside.

Fernton was large and spread wide. Because of our deep human connection with the earth, for every house there was a garden—some large, some small, depending on the family size and their specialty crop.

I tried to imagine myself wandering through their foliage and digging in the dirt as the gardens’ green patches hurried across the window.

My father’s yard would have been covered in a tangle of enormous squash vines this far into summer … something I wouldn’t get to witness.

As much as I tried, I couldn’t keep the image of the queen announcing my name from flooding back into my mind like some inescapable nightmare, the indifference in her eyes as they locked on me. It happened so fast. How am I here? I thought.

I was still struggling with my new reality when the carriage rumbled through the outskirts of town.

Shifting in my seat, the wood bench creaked underneath me as I twisted around. The palace, high on its perch, grew smaller and smaller, until it too slipped away. Up to this point in my life, everything and everyone I had known lived in or around that city.

I thought of Clay. What had his impassive behavior meant?

My father wasn’t in the audience, of course, too disgraced to be seen and unwilling to acknowledge his sinner offspring.