The Curse of Golden Blood (The Seven Deadly Courts #1)

Chapter 1 The Tithe

one

The Tithe

Miralyte

The last time I saw the fae, they were dragging my sister's body through the snow, her blood marking a crimson trail behind them.

Now, watching the same snow swallow the footsteps of the next batch of victims, I wondered if it still remembered Ciradyl's screams.

I tore my eyes from the drifts, forcing myself to focus. That day was long gone. But this one might end the same.

Hundreds of us marched toward the town center with our breaths rising in white puffs, the sky heavy with clouds.

Winter had never been kind to us.

The chill sank its teeth into me, burrowing straight into the marrow. It was the sort of cold that made your muscles stiff, your skin numb, and your mind dull.

Perhaps that was why the fae had chosen this season. No one could fight when their limbs were frozen solid.

We were herded together in the middle of the town, where the cobblestone streets were swept clean, and the wooden signs advertising local shops had been taken down. A crowd had already gathered, waiting for the procession.

Most of them were the families of the unlucky souls who would soon be picked. Some were openly sobbing. Others had the same hollow, lifeless stare as the rest of us.

"It's so unfair," Pelbie muttered. She'd been saying the same words for the last ten minutes, as if repeating them would change the situation.

I'd already made a vow never to utter that phrase again. Fairness didn't exist. Wishing otherwise was a waste of breath.

"Don't let them see your fear," I nudged my friend's side. "You don't want them to see weakness."

"You should take your own advice."

Pelbie had a point. My fists were clenched at my sides, and my shoulders were drawn up so high I could feel the tension creeping into my neck. I forced myself to take a few deep breaths and relax.

The Tithe had to be carried out with a certain amount of fanfare. We had to parade around dressed in our finest clothes, and pretend we were honored to be selected.

"They won't even let us choose which court we get sent to," Pelbie went on.

"What difference would it make?" I asked. "You'd still be a Vessel. You'd still have to serve them."

"Well, some are better than others, aren't they? I heard that the Cloud Court is beautiful."

I rolled my eyes. Beauty meant nothing when the Cloud Court specialized in dream magic—stealing pieces of who you were until only an empty shell remained.

I'd read enough forbidden texts to know that much, even if women weren't supposed to touch the old books.

"It doesn't matter how nice their castles are.

You'll still be trapped. Is that really what you want? "

"No," Pelbie said glumly.

She tugged at her sleeve, eyes flicking to the crystal platform as if calculating its circumference. Pelbie always solved things in her head to stay calm. Formulas, facts, herbal dosages. Genius under pressure .

I reached for her and squeezed. "They're not going to pick either of us. The odds are low."

Pelbie’s fingers twitched at her sides, like she was counting something only she could see.

Survival odds, maybe. Probabilities. Her mind never stopped, even when her voice did.

"Don't be so sure," Pelbie said. "They take more each year. Faeries don’t breed fast enough.

They need us to keep their courts running. "

I frowned. "Greedy parasites, the lot of them."

The square was completely silent aside from the crunch of footsteps on the salty pavement and the muted rustling of clothing. It made it easy to hear the distant bells as the churches up north began to chime for nightfall.

"It's always so dramatic," Pelbie broke the silence.

The fae had a flair for the dramatic. The Tithe was the only day they came in full view, dressed in power and ceremony, reminding us who held the leash.

"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.

I barely contained a curse. I'd been eyeing one of the other groups, hoping the Warlord would go for someone there. Instead, his red gaze was fixed on ours.

As he moved through the square, he touched the shoulder of each mortal he chose. No words, no explanations. They climbed the transparent platform, now dusted with snow, and waited in silence.

By the time he reached us, he had already chosen nine.

I could feel the tension rising among the others, the fear. It was a strange sensation. I'd never been afraid of the fae before. I'd always hated them, and I'd always known that one day, I would make them pay.

But now, standing here, looking at him, I felt a sliver of fear.

I turned to Pelbie. "No matter what happens, no matter who he chooses, don't say a word. Don't look at him. Don't give him a reason to pick you."

Pelbie nodded. Her face was pale and her hands were trembling, but she was trying. I was proud of her.

The Warlord didn't bother with any theatrics. He strode straight over to our group and surveyed us. He stood right in front of me.

He smelled like ozone and crushed violets. Like stormlight soaked into soil, like something sweet left too long in the dark. The scent was dizzying. It caught in my throat and stayed there, heavy and strange.

He was taller than I'd expected, and broader.

Up close, his wings were magnificent, a deep, rich blue.

His face was sharp in a way that felt almost sculpted.

A strong jawline, full lips, and long lashes.

Too flawless. Too inhuman. The kind of beauty that made you forget what he was. Until he looked at you.