Page 2 of The Curse of Golden Blood
"You owe me a game of dice after this," I told Pelbie. "Don't forget."
"How can I forget? You never stop reminding me."
I opened my mouth to respond, but the sound of trumpets cut me off. It was a somber note, a warning that the Tithe had begun.
Everyone's attention turned to the sky as a golden portal split open above the square. Seven fae stepped through, wings stretched wide.
As they descended, the ground beneath the square shifted. A circular platform of pale crystal rose from beneath the cobblestones, groaning softly as if the land itself resented its return. Shards of translucent stone unfurled like petals, forming wide steps that led up to the platform.
It only ever appeared on Tithe Day.
They landed on the platform without a sound. Each one looked entirely different from the next. Wings in every shape and color, armors of bone or silk or shadow, faces too perfect to be trusted.
One had white wings and red hair. She had the largest wings I'd seen among the fae, huge feathered ones like those of an eagle. Sun Court.
The man next to her was tall with dark blue wings like midnight, and hair to match. He looked like a warrior, with broad shoulders, muscles straining at his tunic, and a hard expression.
His ears were sharp at the tips. A neatly-trimmed beard framed a face that was almost too perfect.
Authority radiated from the way he stood. It was clear that he was a leader. A general.
"That's him." Pelbie whispered fearfully as her eyes widened at the sight of the blue-winged fae. "Zydar. The Warlord of the Thunder Court, or so they call him."
His eyes narrowed as he gazed around the square. I caught the faint glow of red irises and quickly looked away. Only the High Fae had eyes like burning coals—a mark of true power.
"His court takes the best," Pelbie whispered nervously. "It's said he can use lightning, crush armies with his bare hands and fly faster than a thunderclap."
"I know what he can do." The words came out sharper than intended. I'd spent too many nights reading stolen chronicles by flickering candlelight, learning everything I could about our captors. Knowledge was the only weapon they couldn't take from me.
She didn't answer. She was too busy gaping at the fae who were now fanning out around the square.
A fae woman was looking over us. I assumed she was from the Wind Court, based on her green wings. They were delicate and almost transparent, like those of a dragonfly. She was tall with a dark complexion, flowing long white hair and a strong, muscular build that didn’t match the softness of her wings.
Her gaze settled on Pelbie. With her soft brown skin and her dark curls, she was the type of girl people looked at twice. The Wind Court always took the pretty ones. The charming. The delicate. The ones who looked good on display.
I didn’t think she would choose me. Beauty was just another trap in this world, and I never learned how to wear it properly. I had the looks, sure — tall, sharp-lined, with golden hair that refused to lie flat no matter how tightly I braided it. But I didn’t have the charm or delicacy.
My chances would have been better in the Rain or Cloud Courts, or even the Thunder Court, where they liked the strong and the skilled.
Still, the Tithe was always unpredictable. This year, they could decide to take everyone over the age of fourteen. They could kill anyone they didn't take. We didn't know. All we had were rumors, stories whispered late at night of what happened to the ones the fae took away.
They would die. They would be slaves. They would never be the same again.
"They chose him," Pelbie whimpered as she watched the Thunder Court take the first victim of the Tithe.
I knew him. Terys. The blacksmith’s son. He used to shove my books in the mud when we were younger, and called me names every time I walked past the forge. He’d laugh when I flinched. Now his face was contorted in terror.
I thought I’d feel something like justice. But all I felt was cold.
"He's strong. He'll survive." I didn't believe the words, but it was what Pelbie needed to hear.
"You're right," she sniffled. "He'll be okay."
But we both knew the truth.
I'd once read that they had an arena where they would pit their mortal prisoners against each other and demand entertainment until they were too worn to fight back.
"He's coming over," Pelbie said.
