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T he drumming of my heart filled the momentary silence.

I spared a glance at the servant, Claire, her eyes wide at my impudence.

A wicked smile crossed Jesmine’s lips. “I see you are spirited. How … fun.” She turned her back to me.

“As the Offering, your blood will be collected to restore the ward protecting Fernton from the Slips. Such a noble cause.” Her voice held a mocking edge as she peered at me over her shoulder.

“When the spell is complete, you will remain under my charge as payment for my services.”

She shifted her attention back to the window, and with a flick of her wrist, dismissed me.

While her answer didn’t give me all the details I was seeking, I found some relief at the mention that there was an ‘after my blood services’ to be considered. I still wanted to know more.

How much blood will she take? How will she take it? I s there any chance to one day earn my freedom from her services? I knew better than to push my luck and tucked my questions away for later.

Arden’s expression remained neutral as he stared ahead and awaited his own orders. I wondered when I would see him again, if at all.

The servant, Claire, gestured for me to follow, and I stepped in behind her.

She appeared to be a few years younger than me. A human, with youthful brown eyes and a gentle face. But her posture was tired, and threadbare clothing hung loosely around her thin frame. Her mousy brunette hair was pulled tight in a bun.

With the laboratory behind us, she kept her pace steady but repeatedly checked over her shoulder to make sure I followed.

We traversed around several curving hallways and approached a secondary set of stairs. Passing down two flights and arriving somewhere on the first floor, we traveled several more winding halls, and arrived at the end of a corridor.

Unlike the passageways of the third floor, the area was bare of any ornamentation or warmth. Without runners beneath our feet, our steps echoed off the stone surfaces.

Approaching a door on the left, Claire pushed and held it open. With a wave, she bid for me to look inside.

Her hand — it can’t be a coincidence after seeing the jars in the laboratory. She was missing a pinky finger. I averted my gaze and bit my cheek to prevent myself from asking how it happened.

The room she revealed was a small washroom, barely large enough for a single person to fit inside.

Once I took note, Claire closed the door and walked a few more paces. She opened the last door on the left of the dead end hallway.

The room was small and sparse, with a single cot, a chair, and a dark wood dresser in the corner. A solitary round window hung high on the outer wall; too high to peer out of, it only allowed enough light to dimly illuminate the room.

I stepped inside. “Is this where I’ll be staying?”

She gave another nod, yet to say a single word, then walked in and opened the top drawer of the dresser, pulling out a set of clothing which matched her own.

“Thank you,” I said, and offered a smile. Hoping to get her to break her silence, I asked, “Were you an Offering as well?”

Her mouth quirked to the side. Her voice was timid. “In a way,” she replied, and tilted her head down.

“Do you know how she collects the blood from her Offerings?”

Avoiding my gaze, she shook her head.

“Dinner will come soon,” she informed me. Without hesitation, she slipped from the room and pulled the door closed behind her.

Alone, I turned about in the small space, taking in my new cell.

Out of habit, I checked the door. To my surprise, it was unlocked. Cracking it open, I peeked into the empty hall. No one was around—not even a guard.

An image of the Keeper’s collection of various body parts flashed in my head. Jesmine had been correct in her assumption that wards and threats of dismemberment were effective—I stayed in my room.

I changed out of my blue tunic, now dirty and torn, and used the wash-basin on the dresser to rid myself of the dirt and tension from the Shadow Wilds.

The clothing Claire had set out consisted of a long cream blouse and a dark brown smock. The heavy fabric draped past my knees and stank slightly of mildew. Although the material was scratchy, it felt good to be rid of anything associated with the Wilds.

I left the door closed, and sat on the straw filled bed, taking in my new situation. I’d been traded from one prison to another —only this one required my blood, and held no promise of a future.

Somehow, the sparse room felt safe compared to the Shadow Wilds, and exhaustion hit me as I lay back on the bed.

A knock at my door jolted me up.

An older Ashlora woman appeared in the doorway with a tray of food.

I couldn’t help but notice her apron was spotless, white, and made of a softer looking linen.

But her sour expression told me she wasn’t pleased with any of it.

She didn’t bother to acknowledge my existence as she dropped the tray on the chair and stomped back out of the room.

The meal was cold and horribly salty, but the long day of traveling had made me ravenous, and I forced myself to clean the plate.

No one came to check on me for the rest of the evening. In solitude, my thoughts drifted … Once again, my life had changed drastically in such a short time. The image of the Clay-like Slip, with that creepy smile, flashed in my head.

What is the real Clay doing now? I wondered. Why did he show up at the Offering Ceremony? And the biggest question: Does he still think I murdered that man ?

The uncertainty ate at my soul and filled my dreams with scenarios in which I confronted him with my questions—never to get an answer.

The next morning, I awoke just in time to see the back of the same Ashlora servant as she exited my room. A bowl of gruel waited on the chair.

The thought of meals delivered to my room seemed nice …

that was until I tasted it. The mixture was lumpy, cold, and again had been seasoned with way too much salt.

I spat out the first bite. Then braced myself before quickly washing several spoonfuls down with large gulps of water, only to give up halfway through.

A stab of apprehension worked its way into my gut as I wondered where the day would lead.

Not much after, Claire showed up and motioned for me to follow her. We wound through the maze of hallways and up the back stairs to the second floor.

While the rear halls of the first floor were devoid of any ornamentation or comfort, the second floor was lavishly decorated.

Oil paintings hung from every wall, finished with the most ornate frames.

Warm-colored rugs stretched the hallways, while stained glass windows cast rainbows of color all around.

Claire led me into a bedchamber.

The room was enormous compared to my own.

Sizeable windows curved with the outer walls and reached to a vaulted ceiling, letting in the morning light.

Long, ivory curtains were slung up to the sides, tied back with woven rope.

Deep blue bed sheets lay disheveled, hinting they had recently been slept in.

“We tidy up after the guests leave for breakfast.” Claire reached for the pillows. The angle revealed a fresh pink scar above her temple, which disappeared into her hairline.

What is her story? Did Jesmine do that to her?

She continued, “It’s best to stay out of their way as much as possible.”

I nodded and helped pull the sheets off the bed. Hoping to break the tension, I asked, “Have you been a servant here for long?”

“Mmhmm,” she replied.

I tried for a little more. “Where are you from?”

“Plainfield.”

“I’ve never been, but I have a cousin who came—”

“You don’t look like a murderer,” Claire interrupted.

I looked up to see her studying me. “What do you mean?”

“The others said … well, not to me … but I heard them saying the Blood Offering was a murderer.”

It was admirable of her to be straightforward, but a trace of irritation came out in my voice when I replied, “I’m not a murderer.

Yes, I was sent to prison for the crime, but the only thing I’m guilty of is taking an abandoned purse of money and trying to start a better life for me and my brother. ”

For the first time, her eyes held with mine as I spoke. When I finished explaining, she didn’t appear taken aback. Her lips pursed with contemplation, then she shrugged her shoulders and went on with her tasks.

My annoyance passed quickly, and I tried for a little more information. “You said you were also an Offering?”

“Well, um … I was traded,” she replied. Gaze shifted down, she began tucking in the clean bed sheet. “My brothers and sisters were sick. My ma had no choice but to trade one of us for a cure. I was the weakest at the time.”

“So … your mother traded you to be the Keeper’s servant in exchange for a tonic?” The idea seemed abhorrent to me; I couldn’t imagine being put in such a situation.

She gave a small nod. “We should get started on the next room.”

Not wanting to pry into something so personal, I held back my curiosity and let the conversation end.

She led me to another bedchamber down the hall. This one was similarly decorated to the first, with a slight variation on the color theme, patterns of red and gold all over.

After making sure I knew which tasks to complete, Claire set off to the next room.

It was obvious Claire was trying to make her own judgments about me while guarding herself. I could respect that. Since my sentencing, I too held everyone at a distance. Hopefully, over time, I would get more answers from her.

Once I finished making the bed and the room appeared clean, I walked over to the window.

Trees.

From the higher vantage point, all I could see were trees. In the back of my mind, I had wondered if escaping was an option, but the sight confirmed the Obsidian Fortress sat deep within the Shadow Wilds. The only way out would be to travel through the deadly wilderness.

For the rest of the day, Claire and I worked our way across the second floor, cleaning and tidying various things—things that didn’t appear to need cleaning.

A few Ashlora passed us as we cleaned the rooms and common areas. Just as Arden had done, Claire moved aside to show respect, and I made sure to do the same.

None of the Ashlora were as striking or as formidable as the male I crossed paths with on my first day at the fortress. For some silly reason, I kept looking for the man, not sure if it was out of fear or intrigue, but he had yet to appear.

It was late in the afternoon when I followed Claire back down to the first floor. We rounded a somewhat familiar bend when a chilling howl came from beyond a door on our right side.

The wood door was reinforced with iron bars, its handle made from obsidian. I wondered how I hadn’t noticed it before. It easily stood apart from the others.

While I had stopped in my tracks, Claire’s pace sped up. Catching up to her stride, I kept my voice low. “What’s behind that door?”

Waiting until we had distanced ourselves from the sound, she peered back in the direction we came from.

“It’s the dungeon,” she said. “You don’t want to go down there.

In fact, don’t even think about it. It’s a wicked, horrible place.

Even with an Ashloran torch, I wouldn’t step foot beyond that door unless forced to. ”

She had stopped at an entryway, revealing a bedchamber much like my own. “This is my room.” She gestured down the hall. “You’re two doors down on the left.” Before I could ask anything else about the dungeon or the shrieking noise, she ducked into her chamber and closed the door.

Returning to my room, my back ached and feet hurt. I plopped down onto the firm mattress, wondering what had caused that sound.

Not much later, an unexpected knock sounded at my door. The Ashlora woman who had delivered my last two meals entered before I could answer. With a pinched expression, she delivered my meal and left.

Pleasant , I thought.

After one bite of the cold, briny stew, I decided I would now refer to the Ashlora woman as ‘Ms. Salty’.

I forced down about half of the meal before abandoning the remainder. For the rest of the evening, my mind was dominated by one thought.

Tomorrow is my first blood offering .