Mia thought she’d seen it all.

  She’d seen the old and ill thrown away once they became a burden.

  She’d seen men gutted, the edible parts taken, and the rest left in the streets to rot.

  She’d seen what happened to the desired: men, women, children, it didn’t matter as long as someone stronger wanted them.

  There were also horrors waiting for the undesirable, forced to be thieves, murderers, or experiments for the blackest of mages.

  Those memories had faded, but this…it would live in her, linger long after today.

  Sailors forced chained men and women to jump into the sea. Those who resisted had their legs cut off, the weight of the people in front pulling them along. Their hands, torn and bloody, clawed at the deck to stop the slide into the churning sea.

  The screams echoed, chorusing with thunder. Lightning arched, highlighting the brutality. The ship, the stage, sat, buffered from the storms, waves crashing around it but not touching the hull.

  The audience was on deck. Gentlemen and ladies dressed in finery, standing around with drinks in hand, as butlers moved among them with trays of snacks. They didn’t focus on lives being lost; their attention was on the ‘wall’. Their expressions ranged from curious to fearful.

  Mia knew it was magic. She felt the characteristic thrum in the air from a powerful spell. A tall, shimmering blue ‘wall’ divided the sea into two. Water moved through it, but the ship couldn’t pass. The more people that hit the water, the paler it became.

  Sacrifices.

  They were being sacrificed to someone or something. Mia had never heard of such a spell. She never thought it possible.

  “Addi, I believe these two belong to you.” He glanced down, nose wrinkling. “A bit more spare change to bet and see if we're lucky.”

  There was a twittering of laughter, and the man who’d spoken turned back to his friends. The men patted him on the back, and the women smiled behind their fans.

  Mia forced herself to look away from the lives being sacrificed, focusing on the young lady.

  The young lady was radiant, her hair down, whipping in the wind. She didn’t look like a duke’s daughter. There was something wild and untamed about her, the magic in the air dancing on her skin, making it shimmer.

  Mia remembered the young lady’s whispered complaints about the confines of noble life, the weight of her father’s expectation, and the desire to delve further into magic.

  She’d listened without understanding, thinking it all sounded so grand and important. Now she wished she’d never heard any of it.

  It never crossed her mind what the price was for the young lady’s desires. The Vassa continent had a deep magical history, but it was nothing compared to Tigen.

  All these men and women were the children of nobles sent to study at magical schools dotted over the Tigen continent. The young lady’s brother would make this trip in another three years. The King had sailed to Tigen for a conference last year. Merchants moved between the two, carrying rare bobbles prized among the upper class.

  Everyone knew the Crown regulated travel, but no one could imagine why.

  Thud.

  Mia’s head turned.

  Beatrice was on the floor. She hadn’t looked away. Large eyes locked on the slaves. Her mouth was open in a scream, but no sound came out.

  “Mia, Beatrice.” The young lady looked put out as she broke away from the group.

  “That one wanted to stay in her room; this one couldn’t wait to curry favor.” It was the soldier who spoke, the leering, disrespectful one.

  “I knew I should have separated the two. Beatrice isn’t much of a loss, but Mia, no one could handle my hair quite like her.” She spoke above us, about us, but not to us.

  “When the toll is paid, toss them in. My final gift, they’ll have to do their best to survive in the wild.” The young lady airily waved her hand. “I’m in the middle of a discussion about Rine’s Law of Conversion, handle it as you see fit. Food, water, whatever.”

  “Miss,” Beatrice screamed, scrambling forward, grabbing at the young lady’s hem.

  The kind smile melted off her face.

  Mia saw the nobles’ faces change. They leaned together, whispering and pointing. Prestige mattered; the young lady had already lost face, her servants were dragged onto the deck, and now Beatrice was making it worse.

  Mia shrank back. She knew this song and dance. Make yourself small, do as you're told.

  Don’t be seen.

  Don’t be remembered.

  Never attract attention.

  Sir Bronson stepped forward, using his body to shield her. She felt bad for every mean thought she’d ever had about him. Relief swept through her, her knees nearly buckling.

  “I don’t want to die. Please.” Beatrice sank her nails in.

  The young lady winced.

  Sir Harris stepped forward. He kicked Beatrice.

  She screamed, rolling across the deck. Beatrice didn’t stay down. She got up, crawling towards the young lady.

  Sir Harris drew his sword.

  Mia wanted to help. Her body refused to move. She wanted to tell her to stay still, to play dead. Instead, she closed her eyes.

  There was a scream, a snick, a hollow thud.

  “If it were me, I’d have thrown them both over.”

  “Liar.”

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  They laughed, the groups reforming, and low voices started up. The interlude had ended.

  “Do you have anything to say, Mia?”

  “No, my lady.” The answer was immediate. She didn’t open her eyes. She kept her head down and her back bent.

  “You were always smarter than the rest. Such a pity to lose you here, I truly think you’d have thrived in Caldar.” The words were nice to the ear, but the tone was cold and dry. “I’m sure Benson will prepare you the best he can.”

  “Thank you, my lady.” The words tasted like dirt on her tongue. They made her filthier than any person or place before. That’s not what she wanted to say. She wanted to curse and scream. She wanted to be like Beatrice and beg, but her tongue was heavy, the words locked inside.

  If there were the smallest chance of survival, she’d cling to it. She’d dig her nails in. She’d hold on like when she took the duchess’s hand.

  Lady Adeline Ivy Muller laughed. It sounded angelic, and Mia remembered all the times they’d snuck out and gone picnicking. Or went to the stables for a ride. They’d spent six years together, and this might be the first time Mia had seen the true face of her lady.

  “Follow me.”

  Mia opened her eyes, but kept her gaze on his feet. “Is she?” Mia didn’t know why she’d asked. She couldn’t help herself.

  “No. That would be a waste, when they might gain a boon from throwing her overboard.”

  “Ah.” Mia looked at his face. A muscle jumped in his jaw, but his expression was neutral.

  Neutral.

  Neutral.

  Neutral.

  “Am I going to die?” She followed close beside him.

  “Maybe.” He brought her below deck, towards the kitchens.

  It was hard to tell if the twisting in her gut was fear or seasickness.

  “Maybe?” she forced herself to ask. All she wanted to do was curl into a ball and pretend this wasn’t happening, but she didn’t have the luxury.

  “I don’t know much more about the situation than you do.” In the kitchen, he stuffed jerky, biscuits, and a canteen into a bag, tied it to her waist, and then used a dishcloth to tie it over that like a sash. He pulled her shirt over it, making her look like a boy with a little potbelly.

  “To pass between continents, there’s a toll. Each gate has a different price. This gate demands lives. No one knows how many, but through trial and error, they landed on a number that worked every time.” He took a breath. This bothered him, I could see it now. That tick in his jaw, letting her go back to her room, but like her, he wouldn’t rock the boat. “It’s rumored that a surplus in lives leads to the people on the ship gaining a boon. A token of power, it’s rumored that the king's staff is such a gift.” He paused. It’s said the extras don’t die, but go somewhere else.”

  “Somewhere.”

  “Yes, somewhere.”

  Mia’s hand reached to touch the dagger. “Somewhere, I need a dagger?”

  “Most of the sacrifices are death row prisoners; the rest are slaves. As you know, most slaves are soldiers captured during war who didn’t have money or people to ransom them. If you end up anywhere with them, you’ll need to protect yourself.”

  Mia clutched the dagger.

  Worse than the slums, then.

  “Protect yourself. No one else will,” Sir Benson said.

  “Thank you.”

  They sat in silence before it became too large to bear.

  “That wall…”

  Sir Benson’s head whipped around, his gaze poisonous. “Don’t ask about that.” It lasted only a moment, that loss of composure before he put his mask back together. “What were you going to say?” His hand still rested on the hilt of his sword, finger white from the tight grip.

  Part of her wanted to sit in silence. To pretend she wouldn’t end up overboard like the slaves, like the trash, sacrificed because she saw too much, but the street rat in her knew any scrap of information could help you survive, and from the way they spoke, from the preparations Sir Benson made, she’d cling to the small chance she’d survive.

  “It shouldn’t be possible. Magic like that, sacrifices like that.”

  “Do you remember that soldier from earlier?” He leaned against the table, his eyes never leaving the door.

  “The rude one?” Mia asked, shivering as she remembered the look in his eyes.

  “He’s a spatial soldier trained by the imperial family to make sure no knowledge of that ‘wall’ and the price to cross it ever reaches the public. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you more, it’s that I can’t.”

  “A vow or a curse?”

  “Is there a difference?” he asked.

  “Every human has magic; sacrificing them like that should corrupt the spell. That’s what the young lady said. That’s why dark mages end up ill, foreign, volatile mana poisoning their bodies.” Mia picked at her nails, the words coming slow like burnt molasses.

  “The magic you learn and the magic they learn aren’t the same, but from what I gathered, they don’t know how that barrier works either.”

  “That’s terrifying.” How great and terrible must they be to have the power to cast such a spell?

  The silence settled again, weighing down Mia’s shoulders. She wanted to scream, the urge to claw at her arms settled in her mind, and wouldn’t let her go.

  “Why are you helping me?” She blurted out.

  Sir Benson smiled, a twisted thing that tasted almost as bitter as her words. “I’d every plan to marry you.”

  Her mouth opened, eyes wide.

  “Oi, time’s up.” He was there, the scary soldier. He vibrated with glee, a grin splitting his face. Leaning against the door, he did nothing to hide that he’d eavesdropped. “Was wondering why the great Garett Benson was sticking his neck out for a maid.” He pushed off the door, slinking further into the room. “Did he tell you what he is? That he’s like me? An imperial dog who hunts down people like you who know too much? Hmm. That he’s responsible for rounding up the sacrifices? It was his idea, you know, the safe houses.”

  “That’s enough.” Sir Benson stepped forward.

  “Heh, before I’d have to listen, but you’ve given up your position. You’ve requested to retire and live on Tigen. Now I know why?” He glanced around Sir Benson, his gaze curious. “You like her enough to walk away from the order, but not enough to jump into the sea with her? Lacking in dedication are we? Then again, you’d have to abandon your sister, a pretty little thing. We both know what would happen to her without you.” His laugh was cruel. He snapped his finger, and soldiers poured into the room. “You stay here. We’ll take her to the deck.”

  They grabbed her by the arms, dragging her out of the room. She didn’t look back; she didn’t know why, but she couldn’t bear to, it would make it real.

  I can walk, the words rattled around inside her, but her mouth stayed closed.

  Their grip on her arms was bruising. They wanted it to hurt. They wanted to humiliate her.

  The deck was clear. The people…no sacrifices. She had to minimize them, making them smaller, making it easier for her to push away the horror. The sacrifices were gone, and the blood cleaned from the deck. The barrier had vanished, and the ship once again rocked from the waves.

  Beatrice was there, leg missing, breathing low, propped against the railing. Two soldiers guarded her.

  Mia didn’t scream or try to run. Toes dragging on the damp deck, she hung her head resigned.

  The young lady stood with Sir Harris. Her expression was calm, and the faintest smile hung on the corner of her lips. “Throw them over.”

  Beatrice went first, screaming and clawing at the arms of the soldier who threw her overboard.

  Mia listened for it, but didn’t hear her hit the water.

  “I wish there was another way, truly. You’re an artist with hair, and Sir Benson’s interest in you was useful, but the rules are strict, you understand, don’t you? Think of it as repaying my mother for saving your life.” The young lady meant every word. She believed Mia shouldn’t be resentful.

  Mia imagined it, reaching out and slapping her. It left her achy and fearful, even on the brink of ruin, the thought of raising her hand against her master…it hit her then that she may be a free commoner, but she was a slave nonetheless. They’d chained her mind, binding tighter than any manacle.

  Mia held the young lady’s eyes as she went over.

  The water was cold. Her arms, thrashing against the water, feet kicking. Something slimy latched onto her skin, thumbing.

  A wave grabbed her and threw her against the side of the ship.

  Darkness swallowed her.