Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy, #1)(32)

The yaeger’s gaze sliced to his kapitan and the strange man dressed in black; he gave a curt nod.

The kapitan turned back to Ana. “It is unlawful for anyone to be found without proper identification documents—especially Affinites. We’ll need to take you in for questioning. Our contractor can explain this to you.” He cast a nod at the black-cloaked man.

“No.” The sob was barely a breath from May’s lips, loud enough for only Ana to hear. “Don’t listen to them, Ana. He’s a bad man. A broker.”

A broker. Ana stared, her mind careening. The Whitecloaks, specifically, were meant to find and stop the brokers.

How had two figures on opposing sides of the law ended up working together?

Who do you think pays them more? The Empire? Or the profitable businesses that rely on them to employ Affinites? Ramson had asked.

It suddenly all clicked with the weight of a broken world: the picture she had been searching for in the dark, now blindingly bright.

Ana staggered back.

This was wrong—this was all wrong. The bad men were the Affinite traffickers and brokers that her mamika Morganya had described to her as crooked storybook villains. Not the Imperial soldiers who served her father and brother, who pledged to protect the Empire.



What kind of an empire had her father ruled?

“We are not—” Her voice shook, and whatever denial she’d been about to voice dissipated on her lips. The pastry vendor had retreated to her now-appeased employer’s side, her eyes downcast, her face in the shadows, the employment contract trembling in her hands.

I am Anastacya Kateryanna Mikhailov, Ana wanted to scream, tears burning her eyes. I am the Crown Princess of Cyrilia.

Yet the tricky thing about truth, Ana realized, standing beneath the shadow of the Imperial Patrols with empty hands and a threadbare cloak, was that it meant nothing if it couldn’t be proven.

And it struck her, in this very moment, that there was nothing at all different between her and the grain Affinite.

Dimly, she heard the kapitan issuing orders to the rest of his squad. “Prepare for lawful arrest by force should the subjects not comply.”

The yaeger moved forward.

May screamed.

And Ana snapped.

She scooped May into her arms, swallowing a scream as she barreled through the crowd. She could sense the Whitecloaks behind them, the yaeger’s control on her Affinity flowing and ebbing like waves. With his manipulation, her awareness of the blood around her flickered, throwing off her sense of balance. He was gaining on them—fast. And May was heavy.



She made a split-second decision. Ana set May down on the ground and gave the girl a hard push. May staggered. “Run,” Ana ordered. “I’ll be right behind you.”

“No!” May screamed. “Ana—”

At that moment, the yaeger’s control over her slipped. Her Affinity flared; she used that moment to latch on to May’s blood. I love you, Ana meant to say, but she only managed, “I’m sorry.”

She seized the blood in May’s small body and flung the child as far back as she could.

Ana turned to face the yaeger. She was shaking, desperately grasping at her Affinity as it slid in and out of her command. The crowd around her parted in panic as the yaeger advanced on her. He’d slowed to a walk, his footsteps falling on the cobblestones like the beat of an execution drum.

Panic whitened her mind as she continued to back away.

Stop. She wanted to plead. I am your princess. I am the Princess of Cyrilia.

But being Princess had only meant a crown on her head and the walls of a palace to protect her from this fate.

The fate of being born an Affinite.

The yaeger was barely a dozen steps away now. She could see the chiseled lines of his face, the hard edges of his muscles like cut marble, trained to be lethal. His Affinity clamped over hers like an indomitable mental wall, and her Affinity vanished.

Still, Ana raised a trembling hand—

The ground exploded. The yaeger’s face barely registered surprise before he was thrown backward, skidding across the street, cobblestones tumbling around him. A crack had split the road between Ana and the yaeger. Her confusion was mirrored on his face as they stared at the rocks and dirt that seeped out from the fissure, rising slowly into the air.



From a row of stalls behind them, a small figure stepped into the middle of the street.

May’s fists were clenched, her brow furrowed in concentration. In the dead silence, her voice rang out sharp and clear across the street: “You will not hurt her.”

She tilted her head. Without warning, the suspended rocks shot toward the yaeger. He grunted as a dozen fist-sized rocks slammed into him, pounding him backward.

His hold on Ana’s Affinity wavered.

Ana acted. She smashed her Affinity down on the yaeger’s bonds, seized him, and hurled him farther down the cobbled streets, away from May, away from any possibility of even reaching May. He’d have to kill Ana first.

She felt a flash of triumph as he slammed onto the ground and lay there, motionless.

She didn’t see the other Whitecloak until it was too late.

A shadow fell between the stalls behind May: a Whitecloak with a bow and arrow, aimed and ready.

Ana was already screaming, and even as she tore toward May, a part of her was telling herself that this was not real, not real, not real. Time seemed to slow as she ran with all the strength her body would give.