Page 11 of The Thirteenth Count

“Answer us!” The crowd was moving now, a surge of anger pressing forward. “Why should we sacrifice more when you give back nothing?”

Fern couldn’t deny it. Her family never starved; a Keeper’s household was spared the worst of it. These people had every right to be angry.

But the mob’s advance slowed as whispers began to spread.

It’s him.

The son.

The heir.

The crowd parted like water around stone, and through the gap walked Cassius Blackwell, his presence commanding silence where his father’s words had failed. He was polished in every sense—the aristocratic slope of his nose, skin so pale it seemed to catch the light, the deliberate fall of his blonde hair. One hand rested in a tailored pocket as his lean frame moved with grace and confidence that looked inherited. It was hard to believe he was only twenty-eight.

So, he’s alive after all. Fern found herself staring. The rumors were wrong.

“My son, everyone,” High Blackwell held his hand out toward him, “will do the honors today.”

A few women wept. Others clapped and whooped. Over the past few years, whispers he’d died spread like wildfire throughout Thornvale. No one had heard from—or seen—High Blackwell’s eldest son. The people of Ashford Cross assumed the worst—illness, exile, even death.

But seeing him now was electrifying. The heir of the Blackwell family was alive, well, and undeniably powerful.

As Cassius raised his hand to acknowledge the crowd, a thin rivulet of blood slid down his palm and blight crept along his fingertips. Something strange washed over the square. The angry shouts died away. Even the weeping dwindled to soft sniffles.

A faint tremor ran through his fingers and his jaw tightened as if whatever he was doing caused him pain. Fern caught a hint of something between his brows. Not control, but struggle.

Fern felt a peculiar lightness in her chest, as if her worries were dissolving like sugar in water.

“I feel… odd,” she whispered to her mother.

Her mother squeezed her hand. “Resonance,” she murmured, barely audible. “He’s calming everyone’s emotions. It’s an uncommon, terrifying gift.”

“Terrifying how?”

“Someone with resonance can assume complete control over another person.” Her mother shuddered. “That takes significant, concentrated effort. What Lord Blackwell is doing right now is like soaking the crowd in warm water—blanketing them in power instead of crushing them beneath it.”

Fern blanched. “Could he really do that to everyone here?”

“Fortunately, no. I doubt he could use this at full power on more than two people at a time. Even then, he would need time to recover. Everything has a cost.”

Fern watched Cassius carefully as the unnatural peace settled over the square. Most would see a powerful heir displaying his gift, but she noticed the way his shoulders sagged slightly, the careful way he drew breath. Maintaining his resonance is draining him.

Thin black vines crept up his neck, branching across his brow. And that’s the price of power. What was normally considered a stain upon Thornvale’s people looked quite striking against the heir’s pale skin, and she didn’t want to admit it, but it stole the air from her lungs.

“The purpose of today’s Count has already been explained to you,” Cassius’ voice carried clearly amongst the crowd. “But I stand here before you for one purpose, and one purpose alone: to beg you, the good people of Thornvale, to understand the importance of strengthening our blood.”

Fern looked around the crowd and saw awe and admiration on their faces. Cassius Blackwell begging?

“The Thirteenth Count is not about consolidating power; it’s about saving the valley. Without magic, we—all of us—cannot tend to its needs.” He lowered his arms and looked down. “We have a duty to care for this land, to nurture it, and with the magic in our veins dwindling… we have no way of doing that.” He sighed, running long fingers through his hair. “The Withering… is spreading.”

His composure cracked, and something raw slipped past, something that looked a lot like… guilt. Maybe shame. Shame of what he was asking of them. That vulnerability lasted only a second before the Blackwell mask returned, but she’d seen it.

Murmurs rumbled through the crowd. Cassius raised his palm to silence them. “I’ve spent all these years researching, learning everything I can about how to stop it. And… this is the only way. So please, I beg of you, let the Count commence.”

Reverent silence swept over the crowd. Then, slowly, people began to nod. A few voices called out in agreement. The angry energy from moments before had transformed into hope.

Cassius stepped back and gestured toward the right side of the dais. “All those who are to participate, please form a line here. Everyone else, move to the designated viewing area.”

“Time to go.” Her father gently guided her toward the dais.