Page 29 of The Blood Crown

His skin was flushed as he gazed down at her, breath ragged in his throat, his pulse thudding faster than it had a few moments ago.

Stepping away from her, he tilted his head toward the corridor and led her further into the mountain keep.

She didn’t know anything of his upbringing other than the bits and pieces he’d told her of his mother. All of his fond memories seemed to be tethered to Ravenstone—to his truehome. And yet it made her wonder what memories he tried to blot out, which ones he chose not to remember.

A child wandering these halls . . . It was impossible to picture a small, innocent boy in this cold, cruel place.

They passed the set of tunnels that stretched on either side, her eyes skirting the periphery of the cells. Dull eyes gazed out from between the iron bars, lifeless and unresponsive.

“Why don’t they fight? Why don’t they try to flee?” she whispered.

Ven glanced toward the cells. “They’re fed small amounts of blood—they lose their will over time until they’re pliable and obedient.” The words had a bitterly sharp edge.

Seeing these humans completely devoid of any will. Any choice. Any thought of their own.

Shame flooded her veins, turning them cold as she recalled the same look on Bastien’s face when she’d used compulsion on him. She couldn’t bring herself to regret what she’d done in that moment, but now she understood why Ven was so hesitant to use it.

“The Nostari treat humans no better than chattel—but they’ll offer their blood to them?” she whispered.

“There’s power in our blood . . . just a small amount, but enough that it gives the humans unnaturally long lifespans. Keeps them subservient. A human doesn’t pose any threat to their magick, and it’s a small price to pay for a blood source that can last more than a century if they’re careful.”

Muffled sobs echoed out from one of the cells. Small, quiet pleas from a voice that didn’t sound dazed like the others. Hazel eyes met Aurelia’s through the bars, the fire in them still blazing with hatred and clarity—the same woman she’d seen before. She must have been a new prisoner if she still had the will to fight.

How long did it take for a human to finally break? How much blood was required to poison their minds against any desire to leave this hell?

A prickle tugged at her skin, and she looked down to see the hole in her shoulder knitting itself back together, the jagged tear smoothing over with new, flawless skin. Bitterness coated her mouth at the reason both of them were alive right now, and she glanced toward Ven.

“You killed her so that I wouldn’t. . .” she said softly.

Crimson eyes flicked to her. “I tried to ease her passing,” he quietly replied.

You will feel no pain, no fear. Go to your gods and leave this place behind.

He’d used compulsion to offer one final mercy.

Ven had drained the life from that girl so that she wouldn’t have to. He’d seen the hunger in her eyes and known she wouldn’t be able to refuse for long—half-starved and injured. He had much more control than she did, he probably could have held out for days longer—weeks. But he’d taken an innocent life so that she would remain clean of the sin. So that she wouldn’t be the one to bear that burden.

“So he knows,” she said softly, “about your gift.” Guilt coiled around her, wondering if he'd exposed himself trying to offer her a chance of escape.

He gave a humorless laugh. “It’s the only reason my father hasn’t killed me. I’m useful to him as long as I’m here under his nose." Determination blazed in his stare as he gripped her arm. "He can never find out about you—ever.” Something else flickered in his expression . . . Fear.

He only released her once she nodded her understanding.

“Karro . . .” She couldn’t bring herself to ask the question aloud. Didn’t want to conjure the thought into existence.

“If they’d killed him, my father wouldn’t have done it quietly. He’s alive—he’s more useful that way. Karro is the only other person with a claim to my mother’s throne and he’s another carrot to dangle in front of me.”

“But what does he want from you?”

“My father is hungry for what he might accomplish with me at his side—it’s why my mother took me and fled from this place. She saw the gift I possessed long before he realized I was avorare.” He glanced toward her. “A mind eater.”

“It’s not a kind name.”

“It’s not a kind gift . . .” he countered, looking down to his booted feet. “He wants me to rule beside him.”

“But what of Valea?” she asked.

It seemed like the easier answer. She already stood at his side willingly, and she seemed formidable in her own right with the way his court seemed to fear her.

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