Page 23 of Blood of the Stars

The soothing and rhythmic flow of waves contrasted with the light sobs escaping Cyrus, who dropped to his knees. She bent down, rubbing his back, her throat clogging with tears she felt unworthy to shed. He shrank away from her touch, further magnifying her own anguish, the wall between them now as impenetrable as the barriers.

Which they’d now breached.

“About time,” Arvid muttered. He yanked on Aeliana, forcing her to stand in front of him. “Remember our annual test?”

Aeliana shuddered but held still. If she fought him, it would only take longer. “You told me it was to check the quality of my blood.”

He pulled back her cloak and tore at the collar of her blouse, exposing the top half of her back. “I don’t suppose you’ll believe that anymore.”

“I never did.” The breeze on her sweat-soaked skin made her shiver. Sharp pain followed as Arvid carved into her skin, sending waves of heat through her torso. She pulled away, but her blood still covered his hands, her own energy holding her prisoner as he finished his task.

In the past, he’d left it there for a day, sometimes more, until she cried out in pain as her magic carved a second mark. She’d tried countless times to see what marked her back, but he placed them strategically where her eyes couldn’t reach. After the second mark came, he always claimed she was holding out on them, threatening to take more blood if she didn’t behave. Then he removed the marks until the following year.

“What are the marks really for?” she asked through ground teeth, but neither of her guardians answered.

“Gams.” Cyrus’ tortured voice brought Aeliana fresh grief.

“Hush.” Vera jabbed him in the side with the toe of her boot, but her eyes scanned the skies.

“You killed her. She would never hurt anyone, and you killed her.” Cyrus’ voice grew louder, his words too frantic to be directed at any one person. Still, Aeliana felt each one aimed at her heart.

“What don’t you understand about being quiet?” Vera hissed, her attention shifting to the surrounding forest.

Arvid finished his handiwork and stepped to Aeliana’s left, eyes narrowed as his focus intensified between two trees. He rubbed his hands together, the congealed blood covering them still far too potent. The air around him practically hummed with the energy of it, but this time he held back, waiting for the right moment.

The change in tactic left Aeliana more wary than when he used the magic freely. She took a step away, gingerly letting her shirt and cloak fall against her back even though it stung. She’d need to leave it open to the air that night so it could scab over. Whenever Arvid had to treat it for infection, he blamed her.

Cyrus wiped his cheeks and stood, eyes blazing even through his grief.

Before Aeliana could question his fresh determination, a blinding light exploded, bringing them all to a crouch. It held more color and heat than Orra’s light, and the scent of singed fabric and hair lingered in the air even as the heat receded. It had come from the space Arvid studied.

There was something else out there.

Arvid grunted, and as Aeliana’s vision normalized, the sight of charred flesh on his arm made her stomach turn.

Despite his earlier rejection, Cyrus pushed Aeliana behind him, protecting her from the new threat just as Vera reached out a hand. Instead of finding Aeliana’s arm, Vera trapped Cyrus in her iron grip. Undeterred, Vera pulled out a knife, slicing Cyrus on the palm.

The heat of Aeliana’s wound flared, then sent a cold bite sliding down her spine. The sight of his blood spilling was like a deadly omen. “You can’t even use his blood.”

Cyrus’ howl nearly drowned out her panicked words. The knife shifted dangerously close to his neck while the flow of blood poured uselessly from his hand to the moss as he squirmed and groaned.

“Maybe not, but if I slice a little deeper, a little higher, he won’t have much use for it either,” Vera said. “But if you give me some of yours, I can use it to heal him. Blood for blood.”

Aeliana bit her lip in consideration. Vera wouldn’t heal him, but she might trade Cyrus for Aeliana’s blood. Cyrus’ eyes begged her to respond, but she wasn’t sure which answer he wanted her to give. He squeezed his good hand over the injured palm, applying pressure to lessen the flow.

Arvid took several steps toward the tree line, leaving Vera to deal with Cyrus and Aeliana while he dealt with whatever was in the woods. He roared, releasing his own rush of heat and fire, the blood on his hands like oil fueling flames. Aeliana had never seen him use magic so openly, the wildness of it terrifying and limitless. Even when he had welcomed the dark spirits, letting them fuse with his body, it had been done surreptitiously. But here, he had no reason to hide.

A figure emerged from the forest line, lit up but unharmed by Arvid’s fire.

“Sylmar,” Arvid hissed.

The other man, Sylmar, had greying hair and a short beard, and he gripped an intricately carved staff. He appeared more beast than man, the deep scars covering his face and arms like gouges cut from a craggy mountain, far different from the snake-like lines marring her palms. As he held out the staff, his gaze watched for Arvid’s next move.

Now Aeliana knew why Vera wanted the blood trade, why she needed it now more than ever before. They’d left all their stores of her blood back in Lorvandas. They were running out, which meant Arvid’s magic wasn’t as limitless as it seemed. Understanding flashed on Cyrus’ face as well.

“Run,” Cyrus whispered, waving Aeliana on toward the tree line, distracting her from the tense words Arvid and Sylmar exchanged. Cyrus gasped as small drops of blood beaded down into his collar from the knife cutting his skin.

“If you run, he dies.” The cold truth in Vera’s voice made Aeliana shiver.

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