Blood of the Thorns

The sun’s early light filtered through the cracks in the wooden walls, casting pale slivers across the cold floor. I woke to the same ache in my bones, a constant reminder of the work ahead. There was no time for sleep; there never was.

I rose, slipping out of bed quietly so as not to disturb my mother. She was still in the same position, her fragile body nearly swallowed by the bed. I could hear her shallow breathing—a sound I had come to know all too well. It was the sound of someone who had long given up the fight.

I shuffled to the kitchen, grabbed the tin cup, and filled it with water from the pitcher. It wasn’t much, but it was all we had. The smell of stale bread and mildew clung to the air as I drank, my throat dry and scratchy from years of disuse. The house felt smaller every day, the walls closing in around me.

“Calista!”

My father’s voice rang out from the next room, harsh and unforgiving. I didn’t flinch anymore. It was just his way.

“Milk the cows.”

I didn’t respond; I just moved quickly to do what I was told. My father’s orders were always simple, but the weight behind them was crushing. He never looked at me like a daughter—only as a servant, a tool. And my sister, Elara, treated me the same way.

As I grabbed my boots, I felt her presence behind me. I didn’t even have to turn to know what was coming. A sharp shove to my back sent me stumbling forward, nearly knocking the pitcher of water off the table. Elara’s laughter echoed through the room, cold and mocking.

“Watch where you’re going, you clumsy idiot,” she sneered, her voice sweet yet dripping with venom.

I didn’t argue. I never argued. Not with Elara. The slap across my cheek came next, a sharp sting that burnt more than the physical pain. I rubbed the back of my hand across my face but said nothing.

My mother’s faint groans drifted from the other room, pulling me back to my task. I had no time for Elara’s cruelty today. The cows needed milking, and the herbs needed gathering. The market was waiting.

Outside, the chill of the morning air bit at my skin. The frost-covered ground crunched beneath my boots as I made my way toward the barn. The routine of the day—the endless cycle of work—was all I knew. But for some reason, today felt different. There was a strange tension in the air, something I couldn’t place.

As I finished milking the cows and tended to the other chores, the sound of commotion reached my ears. At first, I thought it was nothing. The market was always busy, after all. But then I heard the soldiers—dozens of them, moving quickly, surrounding the plaza. They marched through the street, their heavy boots stomping in unison.

I moved closer to the market, my curiosity piqued despite myself. People gathered in the square, their voices hushed, murmuring amongst themselves. A circle of bodies was forming, and I could see the unmistakable banner of the king waving overhead, caught in the wind. The royal insignia was unmistakable, a sign of something bigger than anything that concerned me.

I kept my head low, my heart pounding. I wasn’t here for this. I had a task to complete—herbs for my mother. But there was something about the scene that felt off. The soldiers stood guard, keeping the crowd at bay, and I couldn’t ignore the shiver of unease creeping down my spine.

Without another thought, I pushed my way past the gathering, determined to stay out of it. I wasn’t like the people here. I wasn’t royalty. I wasn’t relevant.

The market was filled with a bustle of activity, but the whispers of the crowd swirled around me. The tension thickened, and as I passed the crowd, I noticed something—someone was at the centre, but their face was obscured. All I could see was a pale figure, shackled and guarded. The whispers grew louder, but I refused to listen. I had no business in this.

As I moved through the market, my path lined with herbs and jars of dried flowers, I could feel the weight of the moment. Something wasn’t right, but it wasn’t my place to question it. Not here. Not now.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I arrived at the stall where I could get the herbs. The old vendor eyed me with little interest as I picked the plants I needed. I handed him the small coin I had saved up for this, then turned to leave.

The sound of a voice behind me caught my attention, faint yet unmistakable.

“They’re starting the bloodstock expedition.”

The words sent a cold shiver down my spine, but I didn’t turn to investigate further. The vendor’s words hung in the air as I hurried back home, my mind racing. Blood stock. I had heard rumors of this before. Humans, like me, were being sold off to serve the royals, who used their blood like livestock.

The thought twisted my stomach, but I quickly pushed it from my mind. I had to keep my focus. I had a mother to care for and a family to feed. It didn’t matter what the royals did. It didn’t matter what happened to the others.

I was just a tool.

But maybe, just maybe, there was more to me than I realized.

The day dragged on, the same routine repeating itself in the harshest of ways. But outside, the chaos continued to grow. From the farmhouse, I could hear the distant cries of people—some pleading, others shouting in fear—as the royal expedition began to take shape. It was no longer a quiet affair in the market. The royal guards started rounding up people and pushing them through the plaza, their eyes filled with fear.

By the time the sun had begun its descent, casting a shadow over the land, I could hear the sound of heavy boots and clattering chains. The royal guards moved through the town, dragging people by force, their faces pale with terror as they were taken away, their fates sealed by the cruelty of the kingdom.

I kept my head down, focusing on the tasks at hand—feeding the animals, cleaning, and tending to my sick mother. But as I went about my chores, a gnawing feeling tugged at me. What would happen when the expedition reached our house? Would we be spared, or would we be swept into the madness like everyone else?

As evening approached, the air grew thick with tension. The cries of frightened citizens echoed through the town, and the sound of distant screams sent chills down my spine. The chaos was growing, and with it, the looming reality that our family might be next.

It was then that the knock came.

A loud, forceful knock at the door shattered the silence of our house.

My father, who had been drinking heavily by the fire, grunted and stumbled to the door. When he opened it, the royal general—clad in dark armor—stood in the doorway, holding a scroll in his hand. Behind him, two soldiers flanked the entrance, their eyes hard and unfeeling.

“Your name,” the general barked.

“Gerald Blackthorne,” my father said, his voice shaky, a mix of fear and anger. “What’s this about?”

The general’s eyes scanned the room briefly before he unrolled the scroll in his hand. His voice was cold and detached as he read the words aloud:

“By order of the kingdom and the royal court, every household is required to present one individual to be bought by the kingdom for service to the royals. This person will be taken into custody and made part of the blood stock.”

The air went still. My heart pounded in my chest as my father’s gaze shifted toward me and then to Elara, who stood frozen by the window.

“This is the decree,” the general continued. “And by the king’s command, this household is to present a suitable candidate for the royal court. You will be compensated with two goats.”

There was a long pause, broken only by the tense, audible breaths of my family. Elara’s lips trembled in anger as her eyes locked onto me.

“This is your fault, Calista!” she shouted, her voice rising in fury. “It should be you! You’re the one who’s always causing problems! You’re nothing more than a servant anyway!”

Before I could say a word, Elara stormed toward my father, pushing him aside with force.

“Father, we can sell her,” she sneered. “We can finally be rid of her. She’s nothing but a burden!”

I stood frozen, my chest tight with panic, my mind scrambling to make sense of what was happening. My father, who had been quiet for a moment, suddenly looked up at the general, a glimmer of something cold in his eyes.

“Five goats,” my father bargained, his voice low and urgent. “Five goats for her. She’s young and pure. Five goats instead of two.”

The general’s eyes narrowed, but he nodded. “It will be done.”

My heart skipped a beat, and before I could react, one of the soldiers grabbed me by the arm, dragging me forward.

“Wait—no!” I cried out, but my voice was drowned by the heavy hand of the soldier pressing against my chest. I could barely breathe, my thoughts spiralling as the reality of what was happening hit me all at once.

My father’s voice echoed in my ears. “You’ll go to the royal court. You’ll be useful there. This is what you’re worth, Calista.”

Elara was smirking now, satisfied with my fate, her cruel words lingering in the air like a bitter poison. “Good riddance.”

I barely noticed when the soldier placed a cold, metal bracelet around my ankle, the heavy weight a physical reminder of my new fate. The bracelet was enchanted—its magic binding me to the royal court. The cold iron pressed into my skin, its edges sharp, as though it was meant to remind me of my new status as blood stock.

The soldier twisted the bracelet tighter, and I winced in pain, but there was no escaping it. This was my life now. My body, my blood, my name—they were no longer mine. The magical bracelet sealed that fact, its cold magic wrapping around my soul. I would never be free unless the royal court itself declared me so.