Page 150 of The Blood Rites

“He knows what I am,” Nyxen says. “That’s enough.”

“Which is?”

There is another pause. Longer this time.

Then, quieter. “Someone who doesn’t leave.”

I frown. “That’s not an answer.”

“It’s the only one you’re getting.”

We walk in silence for a few steps, and the sound of water grows louder.

I can’t let it go. “Please,” I say. “I want to understand him.”

Nyxen exhales sharply through his nose. Not quite anger. Not quite restraint. “It is not only my story to tell.”

“You said you would die for him.”

Something shifts in his voice. “I almost did, once.”

“Tell me,” I say again, not sure why I need to know.

He doesn’t argue. “When he was a child, the Crown—Kael’s father—sent him to be trained by the Blessed. No heir had been sent to them before. But Kael was soft then. Too soft for the Crown’s liking. He barely survived.”

“Why would his own father do that to him?”

“It’s hard to say.” He exhales. “Do you know of the Withering?” he asks.

“No,” I answer.

“It’s what happens to a Crown when they’ve been in power too long. The magic addles their mind. Makes them angry, volatile—different.”

An image of the Crown of Light comes to mind. A barely-there puppet, collapsed on his throne. The Withering, he called it. That’s not what I know it as.

“We call it the Unravelling in the Light Dominion,” I interrupt. “But our Crown is not cruel. He’s barely present, sitting on his throne like a broken doll.”

“I see,” Nyxen says. “The Light Crown has been in power for many centuries. No one from the Light Dominion has ever won the Blood Rites. Not in any record I’ve seen. Kael’s father, by comparison, won his Rites only a century ago.”

I huff in disbelief. “Kael’s father is over a hundred years old?”

“The Shadow Crown is ageless. He looks no older than me. The magic of the Crown grants eternal life... at the cost of your sanity.”

“Winning doesn’t sound much better than losing, to be honest,” I spit.

“Kael is not the first prince to be sent to the Blood Rites, you understand.”

My stomach clenches. What kind of person sends their own children to die? Obviously, the kind so warped by power they’ve lost all sense.

The sound of the water is overwhelming now, making it difficult to hear, but I want more answers while he is still willing to give them. “So, what happened to Kael, then?”

“The Blessed...” He stops. “They called it training. But they were poisoning him,” he says.

“What?”

“Small amounts. At first.”

“Why would they—”