Page 130 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

Hayes turns on us the moment Percival is gone.

“What was that?”

“No idea,” Grier says smoothly. “You know Percival. Always fishing for something.”

Hayes’s eyes narrow. He’s not stupid; he knows there’s more to it.

“If there’s something I should know⁠—”

Rosie steps in before I can.

“He likes making people uncomfortable.”

Hayes’s expression softens because it’s her, because he trusts her.

Rosie doesn’t look at me. But I see the tension in her shoulders and the slight shake in her hand. She isn’t safe here. Neither is Gemma. We need to find our mother, and when we do, I’m taking Rosie with us, out of this castle, out of sight.

I don’t care what it costs. I’m not letting the walls close in around her next. If we find her before the trials, we don’t wait; we disappear. I’ve spent my whole life learning when to move, and this is one of those times.

Chapter 44

Gemira

The trials are less than a month away.

Ryewood is sparring with Grier on the beach. He’s stripped down to just his trousers, with all that golden skin on display. Sweat glistens across the hard planes of his chest, as the ridges of his abdomen flex with every strike. His hair is wild from the salt air, and that perfect stubbled jaw is set with concentration. He looks like something carved from my deepest fantasy.

I’ve never wanted anyone like this, and the bastard knows it. I can tell by the way his deep green eyes flick to me between movements, with that infuriating smirk tugging at his mouth when he catches me staring.

He’s incredible now, faster, deadlier, and recklessly mine.

But the trials don’t care how good you are. People die in there, good fighters, trained fighters, people who did everything right and still don’t come back out. And the ones who do come out are never the same. Whatever happens in those woods, it doesn’t let you leave whole.

Hayes spars with Finn nearby, my big brother, entering too. The two men I care about most in this world are walking into those woods, and I can’t go with them. The thought makes my stomach twist.

Training on the beach was Finn’s idea. Percival’s been lurking around the training yards more and more lately, asking questions that sound casual but aren’t. Ever since he cornered Rosie about Foxhollow, Finn’s been on edge, jumpy and protective in a way that’s going to get us all caught if he’s not careful.

So, we came down here. The King’s magic carved stairs into the cliff centuries ago, but hardly anyone uses them. It’s too cold for swimming and too remote for court games. The fog wall sits just off the shore, thick and impenetrable, and you’d think it would block everything, but the salt-tinged ocean breeze still cuts through. It’s perfect for us, or so I tell myself. Though sound carries strangely along these cliffs. Laughter, steel, voices, all of it traveling farther than it should.

“All right, what’s going on in that head of yours?” Rosie settles onto the sand beside me, bumping my shoulder. “You’ve got that look.”

“What look?”

“The one where you’re pretending you’re fine, but you’re actually spiraling.” She tilts her head. “The trials?”

“Aren’t you worried?” I turn to her.

She’s quiet for a moment, then her eyes drift to Finn. “Constantly.”

We sit in silence, watching the people we love prepare for something that might kill them.

“They’ll be fine,” Rosie says finally, pulling my hand into hers. “They’re the best fighters I’ve ever seen.”

“Best doesn’t always keep you alive in there,” I say, turning to face her.

“No.” She sighs. “It doesn’t.”

Hayes jogs over, breath misting in the cold air with a smirk playing at his face. “Grier’s trying to bury Rye in the sand. Should we intervene?”