Free Bloodkin by Amelia Atwater-Rhodes Page B

had been convinced that if they could just help me change shape once, everythingelse would fall into place and my symptoms would subside.
    I couldn’t speak, but Vance could and did. “What else?” he asked bluntly. “When Midnight thought the Azteka were guilty, they demanded one healthy shapeshifter for each dead slave, or one bloodwitch for every ten. In the end, there were over twenty dead—and that’s
without
factoring in the price of rebellion itself, including an attempt on the lives of Mistress Jeshickah and her trainers. They won’t accept one younger prince for the full price, especially after so much time has passed.”
    “You sound like one of them,” Lucas said bitterly.
    “That’s why we’re
here
, isn’t it?” Vance snapped in reply. It was, obviously, which meant I had to let Vance speak even if it gave me chills to hear him talking like a mercenary.
    “They have already executed the witch responsible for the crime,” Laurence asserted. “A witch whose actions were not even condoned by the Family. And though I hate to admit it, I fear they have probably taken Amber—our messenger—as well. They can’t …” He trailed off, unable to complete the statement, which he had to know was so optimistically naive:
They can’t possibly ask for more than this
.
    “His actions were condoned by the sakkri,” I said, trying to remember that these people before me—especially the young man so close to my own age—were not entirely innocent. They feigned ignorance, but they were the rulers of this realm. An attempt to assassinate the leaders ofMidnight could only have been made with their consent, or if they turned a blind eye to it.
    Of course, if the plan had worked, they wouldn’t have been considered culpable; they would have been hailed as heroes. Did that make them martyrs now?
    Shane sat at the edge of the dais. He didn’t look up, didn’t meet anyone’s gaze as he spoke.
    “Everyone knows Midnight is seeking slaves with magic,” he said flatly. “I personally have little magical training, but every Shantel has the same potential for power regardless of bloodline. It doesn’t need to be awakened with obscure rituals like the Azteka. That makes me more valuable than any bloodwitch.”
    Except for the few hitches in his voice, he made the speech coldly, stating facts that he had obviously considered carefully. His brother looked away, as if he could not stand to keep his gaze on the young man who had so coldly assessed his own value and prepared to sacrifice himself.
    “Just out of curiosity,” I asked, “did you three draw straws? Or was it just the younger son’s lot to sell himself to slavery?”
    “I made the decision,” Shane said.
    “I offered myself,” Laurence said, “but Shane rightly pointed out that Midnight is unlikely to accept a man past his prime, whose ruling power has already passed to his son. I cannot do the value assessment as rationally as my son, but I do know that one broken-down king will notmake Midnight’s
point
. Equal value is the excuse. The truth is they want us to hurt.”
    “What’s your excuse?” Vance asked Lucas.
    The prince flinched. “The sakkri will not allow it.”
    “Which one?” I wondered aloud, recalling the way the two women had argued in front of us.
    I hadn’t intended to offend anyone—this time—but the three men reacted as if I had slapped one of them. It was Shane who finally bit out, “The sakkri speaks with one voice. Her power passes from one mortal body to the next as she meets the needs of each generation, but there is only one.”
    “There are clearly two.”
Stupid
, I chastised myself for being so tactless. They were obviously describing something mystical, and my words were apparently heresy … but if the women were
arguing
with each other, they were clearly not “one voice.”
    “The sakkri may live for centuries, but she is born as a helpless infant, as we all are,” Laurence said, with the same