Page 49 of The Blood Rites

He crosses his arms, taming his nerves, eyes finally meeting mine. “Doesn't mean I want to die, though.”

I nod. “Do any of us?”

We stand in silence, breathing false air while the Embrace hums around us.

Alaris breaks the quiet. “You looked good out there. In the Dome, I mean. We saw you fighting that Shadowborn. I thought you put up a good fight.”

It sounds like a compliment, but his eyes linger a little too long.

“I’ve had practice,” I say, my cheeks warming. “But, obviously not enough.”

“The way he pinned you was crazy,” Fen says. “I thought he was going to end you when you headbutted him. The look in his eyes—”

He circles a finger at his temple. “That guy seems crazy. We’ll be avoiding the Shadowborn and the Fireborn. They’re all cracked.”

Alaris chokes and Fen keeps talking. “The Fireborn, the older one, Atheron... he's done this before, hasn't he?” I ask. “Why would someone do this more than once?”

Fen nods like it makes perfect sense. “Fire always wins, apparently. They’re a tight-lipped Dominion, but the Visconti triplets are well-known.”

I'd heard people complain that the Fire Dominion always seemed to win, but nobody had ever explained why.

Fen continues to draw circles on his palms, his eyes downcast. “The Visconti triplets have won for decades. They each enter the rites in sequence, alongside a couple of compensated Offerings. That’s what the brand on their arm means. They’re not much different from us. But it seems to carry more shame in the Fire Dominion. They’re expected to defend the heir with their lives.”

“I certainly wouldn’t be laying my life down for them,” Alaris interrupts.

Fen huffs. “But what if the heir goes on to win and your family faces the consequences,” he says, his voice higher now. “The Visconti triplets are old and powerful; they don't age as fast because of their time as the Crown.”

“Well,” Alaris stutters, “I hadn’t really thought about that.”

His posture softens slightly as he looks at me. “Sorry, we’re not trying to spook you or anything. It’s just the way it is. The Blessed really keep you all in the dark in the Light Dominion.”

I almost laugh at that. How ironic, when the sun never sets.

The moment is broken by a sudden echoing crash down the hall. Raised voices—shouting, then a heavy, breaking sound like shattering stone.

“Time for us to go,” Alaris says.

Fen nods in agreement, but something about the shouting pulls me down the corridor.

The noise brings me to the communal hall near the Dome. The Embrace feels endless at times, but right now its corridors are conspiring to lead me straight into trouble.

When I turn the final corner, I see the third Water Offering first: a slight girl with thick blonde hair in twin braids, usually wrapped neatly around her head, now half-undone and sticking to her tear-streaked face. She is huddled against the wall, arms raised to protect her face, her thin wrists flinching at every movement.

Callen stands between her and her attacker, shoulders squared, every muscle taut.

A mountain of a man from the Earth Dominion, judging by the dark-green uniform, looms over Callen with a relaxed, almost casual brutality. His fists are like boulders, streaked with blood and what looks like dust. He doesn’t bother with threats. He simply stands there, waiting for Callen to act. The Water girl—Morwen, I’m sure—weeps, her body shuddering.

There are more people here than I expected, none of them likely to help.

Marissa is noticeably absent, and that fills me with dread. I hope she’s somewhere safe.

Atheron is perched on a marble bench, legs outstretched lazily before him, arms folded in measured disinterest. His Fireborn flank him, their faces schooled into boredom, but their alert eyes tell a different story. The other Earth Offerings are also here, lingering on the outskirts, both of them keeping a protective eye on their kin.

Callen tries reasoning with the man first.

“Leave her alone,” he says, but the difference between these two men is stark.

“Who are you talking to?” the man growls, his voice a landslide. “I’ll crush your fucking head into a pulp and then I’ll have my way with her afterwards.”