Page 22 of The Cost of Blood and Bonds

“You know I have the nobles handle most of them. But some won’t touch the younger ones, and others lack restraint; they make too much noise.” His expression goes flat. “And the young ones invite sympathy, rumors, and panic.”

He comes around the desk as if proximity makes this a conversation instead of a command.

“That’s why your work is necessary,” he says. “You’re careful; you don’t draw attention or turn it into a spectacle.”

His hand settles on my shoulder, familiar and possessive. I keep my face still.

“Voss has served me well,” Father says. “But he’s mortal. In a few decades, he’ll be gone. Hayes won’t.” His gaze sharpens. “He’ll rule for centuries. He needs someone who can stand beside him through all of them.”

His thumb presses into my shoulder, a reminder and a claim.

“You’ll understand this better after the trials,” he says. “Once your magic awakens, you’ll see what’s actually at stake.”

He straightens, already finished.

“Yes, Father,” I say. The words come easy, but they cost everything.

The weight of it stays with me through the day, until the evening quiet settles over the castle. My stomach twists as I make my way through Terrath, the rough-spun tunic itching at my neck.

The first missions with Voss surface the way they always do, whether I want them to or not.

My gut clenches at the memory of him slicing the throats of two sleeping twins, quick and efficient, with no hesitation. I made it outside and vomited until there was nothing left. When I finally straightened, Voss was there, watching me with disappointment.

I went on missions with Voss until I learned how to wear the unaffected mask. Most of the children were asleep, but some weren’t. Their parents screamed either way.

Once Voss decided I could stomach it, I was sent alone. I went there intending to follow orders.

The house was quiet, too quiet, the kind of quiet that pressed against my ears as I stood in the doorway of the children’s room, with a knife in hand.

The twins slept side by side, their bodies angled toward each other, small hands nearly touching on the shared pillow. One of them stirred, and his eyes opened. He looked back at me, confused but not afraid yet. He had brown curls plastered to his forehead and cheeks still round with baby fat. He couldn’t have been more than six. His brother slept on, breathing slow and even.

For a heartbeat, I saw Hayes at that age, the same wide eyes, the same unguarded expression. My grip tightened around the knife, but my arm wouldn’t follow. It knew before I did that I couldn’t do it.

I stepped back, and my boot brushed the floor, too loudly.

The mother appeared first, hand flying to her mouth. The father moved in front of her instantly, placing himself between me and the room, even though we both knew it wouldn’t matter. They knew why I was there.

“Please,” the mother whispered, her voice shaking. “Please. They’re just children.”

I raised my hands slowly. “I’m not going to hurt them,” I said, my grip still aching where the knife had been. “I just—I need a moment.”

I paced the small room, heart hammering, while they watched me like prey watches a predator. The boys shuffled out, rubbing sleep from their eyes, and the mother gathered them close while the father’s jaw clenched.

I explained. They needed to leave immediately that night. Each boy must be sent to a different village, to family who could keep them apart. The parents would stay and let the village believe their children were gone…dead. Then, only then, could they leave to find them.

Hope flickered in the mother’s eyes, and I let it live for half a breath. Then I told her there would be no later, no fixing it once they were gone. If the boys were ever seen together again, even once, this wouldn’t end in separation. My father would make sure it ended in blood.

The boys could never live together again. They could never be seen together. Ever.

Something in me died when I told her this. I still haven’t gotten it back.

The parents looked at each other, and the hope drained from them, leaving only what was left to survive. Then they nodded, because there was no other choice.

The boys clung to their mother, sobbing now. The father stepped forward and pressed a small pouch of coin into my hand. I would bet it was everything they had.

I pushed it back. And took out my own purse instead.

“Never speak of this,” I told them. “And never let those boys be seen together.”