Unease stirred in those gathered. Even among the Viori, we rarely spoke of the Bloodbinding so plainly.
Soroush turned his attention to me. “Do you know which realm escaped this Bloodbinding rite, Seren?”
I forced myself to meet his stare. “Ederyn.” My voice wasn’t nearly as strong as I wanted it to be.
“Yes. Ederyn. The king’s own realm. The only one where a child could be born with the gifts the gods intended.” Soroush’s face tilted back toward the council. “Why, Darya? Why free one realm but not the others?”
Darya’s lips curved prettily. “The king claimed it was to keep balance. That he didn’t want Ederyn to be dependent on the other realms.”
Soroush took slow shuffling steps toward Rykr and me. “That’s right. Balance. But Ragnor of Ederyn was no fool. He knew the controversy the Bloodbinding would create.”
A heavy silence fell over the clearing as Soroush extended a hand toward Rykr. “So, he gave the people the Sealed. Three children, chosen from each realm, every twelve years—the most gifted in each realm. His Seal granted unparalleled mastery to the recipients. The Sealed Masters would teach only their people—ensuring their abilities remained within their realm alone. A Sealed Ibarran would teach spellcraft only to Ibarra’s children. A Sealed Pendaran would train Pendarans—but never an Ederyn boy born with warcraft. This allowed the realms to be placated by the king’s tyranny.”
Seth squeezed Soroush’s shoulder in silent thanks, then turned to Rykr with a sharp smile. “And this Lirien is a Sealed Pendaran. His craft is war. He’s trained to kill and he’s good at it. Lirien, remove your shirt. Show our tribe your Seal.”
All eyes were on Rykr, whose jaw was clenched, his head held high. Proudly.
When Rykr didn’t move, Olivia stood, her eyes glinting with barely-contained hostility. “Will you defy our chief, Lirien?”
Rykr’s gaze locked with mine for a tense beat.
A ripple of unease passed through me. His defiance could determine our punishment.
His lips pressed into a grim line, but there was no hesitation as he untucked his shirt. Even in this moment of humiliation, he stood tall.
With a tense breath, Rykr reached back with his bound hands and grabbed a fistful of his shirt. He pulled his shirt over his head, the cold clink of his irons echoing unnervingly through the space. The muscles of his back flexed, taut with tension, as the scarlet and black mark of the Seal gleamed faintly against the dappled light—an intricate brand carved by blood and magic. A mark of power.
“You see that monstrosity?” Seth’s voice cut through the silence like a knife. “Blood magic. Imbued by the cut of a king. That is the Seal of Pendara, binding this Lirien to the throne. He is no mere subject—he’s the king’s dog.”
The gathered tribe leaned in, eyes narrowed, some with suspicion, others with fascination. Rykr’s fingers curled, but he said nothing. Instead, he yanked his shirt back down and stood even straighter.
“This Lirien is a grave danger to us. He may have been claimed by a clever trick, but he and Seren should face judgment. If we allow them to go unpunished, we show nothing but weakness,” Seth finished.
A slow breath left my lips, my heart thudding. Seth and Soroush had made their case well. Too well. They’re going to kill us both.
“The Lirien and Seren should be taken to Emberstone,” Olivia said suddenly, her voice carrying authority. “They should face the Skorn trial at the Harvest Moon Festival in ten days. We’re merely a council—no Viori has been claimed under these circumstances. Their crimes should be decided by the gods, not us.”
No, no, no.
The Skorn trial. The harshest punishment outside execution—and it may as well be a death sentence.
“What the fuck is the Skorn trial?” Rykr muttered to me.
Seth overheard and smirked at Rykr, wiping blood from his nose. “A duel to death with the Skorn, our elite Vangar warriors. If you survive, the gods deem you innocent.” He cocked his head. “But I’ll warn you, Lirien. Very few survive the Skorn trial. It is reserved for only the gravest cases, when guilt is unclear.”
I bristled with anger. The Skorn was a trial meant to instill fear and respect of the Viori leadership. They called it justice decided “by the gods,” then made it impossible to live through it. My father had always hated the Skorn and believed those condemned to it were simply being made examples of.
Most people didn’t agree with my father’s opinion, though. Especially not the council members, who were now nodding in agreement with Olivia—including Macklyn and Soroush.
Of course. They would defer judgment to fate, to the gods. They didn’t want to be responsible if I died—or if Rykr lived.
So much for justice.
Fear threatened to overtake me but I lifted my chin resolutely, determined not to show my fears in the face of the proposed consequence.
“We shall defer to judgment through the Skorn, then,” Soroush said in a low voice. I could only hear because I was close to the platform. “Shall we vote?”
One by one, hands rose in silent agreement.
