The Crimsons Heir

What Blood Sees

I didn’t sleep.

How could I, when my wrist pulsed like it had its own heartbeat? When every time I closed my eyes, I saw Calista’s face draining of color? When Master Veyr’s voice kept repeating: _If you take too much, it takes you._

Dawn came gray and cold. The castle felt different. Quieter. Like the walls themselves were holding their breath.

A guard came for me before breakfast. No words this time. Just a gesture. Follow.

Master Veyr waited in the same training yard. But today the yard wasn’t empty.

A goat stood tied to a post. Old. Thin. Its ribs showed through matted fur. A servant held it by the rope, eyes downcast.

Veyr didn’t greet me. “Rule one,” he said. “Blood magic feeds on life. Rule two: animal life is easier than human life. Rule three: the more you take, the less control you have.”

I stared at the goat. It blinked at me. Slow. Trusting.

“I can’t,” I whispered.

“You can.” Veyr’s milky eyes fixed on me. “Or Calista’s sisters will try to drown you in your bath tonight. I’ve seen it before.”

My throat tightened. “You knew?”

“I know everything that happens in this castle, girl. Now take.”

I knelt in front of the goat. My hands shook. The mark on my wrist flared white, responding to the living thing before me. I could feel it — a faint warmth, a pulse of life. So much smaller than a human. So much simpler.

The servant let go of the rope and backed away.

“Touch it,” Veyr ordered.

I placed my palm on the goat’s neck.

The world tilted.

I saw it — not fur and bone, but light. A soft golden glow flowing under the skin. Its life-force. Small, steady, innocent. It wasn’t afraid. Animals didn’t understand death the way we did.

And my mark… it reached for that light. Like a hand reaching for water.

“No,” I gasped. I yanked my hand back.

The goat startled but didn’t run. Veyr stepped forward and slapped me. Not hard. Enough to sting.

“Fear makes you weak,” he said. “Weakness kills you. Take.”

Tears burned my eyes. “I don’t want to hurt it.”

“Then you’ll hurt yourself.” He grabbed my wrist and forced my hand back to the goat’s neck. “Blood magic is not a choice, Seris. It’s a need. Like breathing. Like hunger. Deny it, and it will eat you from inside.”

I felt it then — a hollow ache in my chest. Deeper than hunger. Older. The mark pulsed harder, pulling at me. At the goat.

This time I didn’t fight it.

I took.

Just a little. A thread of golden light flowed from the goat into me. Warm. Sweet. Like drinking honey after months of bitter water.

The goat stumbled. Its knees buckled. It lay down on the stone, breathing slow. Not dead. Just… tired. Older.

I reeled back, gasping. The warmth filled my chest. The hollow ache faded. My head felt clear for the first time in days. Strong.

Veyr studied the goat, then me. “Good. You stopped. Control is everything.” He knelt and checked the goat’s pulse. “It will live. Weak, but alive.”

He stood and faced me. “Now tell me what you saw.”

“Light,” I whispered. “Under the skin. Like… like fire trapped in glass.”

Veyr nodded. “Life-force. All living things have it. Blood mages see it. We can measure it, taste it, steal it. Most mages only see it when they touch. You will learn to see it without touching.”

He pulled a dagger from his belt. Cut his palm again. Blood dripped to the stone.

“Look,” he commanded.

I looked. And for the first time without touching, I saw it — red light spilling from his cut, swirling like smoke. His life-force, bleeding out.

My mark burned. My mouth went dry.

“Don’t,” Veyr warned, seeing my face. “Not yet. You’re not ready for human blood.”

I closed my eyes. Breathed. The ache in my chest was back, worse than before. Now that I’d tasted it, the need was louder.

---

Training ended at noon. I wasn’t allowed lunch. “Hunger teaches control,” Veyr said.

I walked back to the castle alone. The halls felt emptier than yesterday. Servants pressed themselves against walls when I passed. No more whispers. Just silence. The worst kind.

Because silence meant fear.

I turned a corner and nearly ran into Calista.

She was waiting for me. Alone this time. No sisters. Her face was pale, shadows under her eyes from yesterday. But she stood straight. Chin up. Royal.

“You,” she said.

I stopped three steps away. “Calista, I didn’t mean to—”

“Shut up.” Her voice shook. “Do you think I’m stupid? Do you think I didn’t feel it? You stole from me.”

“I’m sorry,” I said. And I meant it. “I didn’t know how to stop.”

Calista laughed, but it was bitter. “Sorry. That’s what you say? My mark is dim now. The healers say it’ll take months to recover. Months where I’m weak. Where everyone sees it.”

She stepped closer. I didn’t move back.

“You’re dangerous,” she whispered. “Everyone says so. Even the King. He told my father you should be locked away.”

My blood went cold. “What?”

“He said you’re a weapon with no sheath. That weapons like that get broken before they kill their owners.” Her eyes filled with tears, but she didn’t let them fall. “I don’t hate you, Seris. I’m scared of you.”

She turned and walked away. Her steps were slower than they’d been yesterday.

I stood there long after she disappeared. The mark on my wrist pulsed once, twice. Like it was tasting her fear in the air.

I wasn’t a weapon. I was a girl.

But no one would believe that now.

---

That night, Mother came to my room.

She didn’t knock. She never did. She just appeared in my doorway like a shadow.

“Stand,” she commanded.

I stood. The room was dark except for moonlight through the window. It made my white hair look like snow.

Mother crossed to me. She grabbed my wrist and shoved my sleeve up. Studied the mark. The spiral turned slow under her gaze.

“It’s growing,” she said. Her voice was flat. “The lines are thicker.”

“I don’t know why,” I said.

“Liar.” She released me. “You’re lying to me. To your father. To everyone. You knew what you were all along.”

“No!” I stepped back. “I swear, Mother, the Stone didn’t light for me. It stayed dark. This— this just happened.”

Mother’s eyes narrowed. “Then make it happen again.”

“What?”

“Heal me.” She pulled up her sleeve. The black veins were back. Fainter than before, but spreading. Crawling up toward her shoulder now. “Do what you did three nights ago. Take my sickness.”

I stared at her arm. I could see it now — without touching. The black light of her illness curled under her skin like smoke. Rotten. Poisoned. Hungry.

My mark pulsed. Hungry too.

“Mother, I don’t know if I can control it,” I whispered. “Master Veyr said if I take too much—”

“I don’t care what that old man said.” She grabbed my face with both hands. “You are my daughter. Your blood is my blood. If you can heal me, you will. Or I’ll tell your father you’re refusing your duty.”

Her fingers dug into my skin. Pain shot through me. And the mark reacted.

White light exploded between us.

I saw her life-force — storm-gray and sharp, like her eyes. But threaded through with black veins. Rot. Decay. Something ancient and wrong.

And I took.

I didn’t mean to take it all. But it was like opening a door and having a flood pour through. The black veins rushed toward me, into me, through my arm and into my chest.

Mother screamed. She collapsed to her knees, gasping. The black veins faded from her arm. Her skin turned pink. Young. Healthy.

I fell back too. Gasping. My chest felt full. Too full. Like I’d swallowed a storm.

For a moment, silence.

Then Mother stood. She looked at her arm. Smooth. No veins. No sickness. She touched her face. Her hair.

Then she looked at me.

And smiled.

Not the cruel smile from before. Not the queen’s smile. A mother’s smile. Warm. Relieved.

“Thank you, daughter,” she whispered.

I couldn’t answer. My vision swam. The storm in my chest was too big. Too wild. It pressed against my ribs, my throat, my head.

I saw things — Mother as a little girl, laughing in a garden. Mother the night she married the King, terrified but determined. Mother the day I was born, holding me and whispering “You’ll be stronger than me.”

Then the memories twisted. Darkened. Mother poisoning her sister for the throne. Mother ordering executions. Mother standing over my cradle, whispering “Please let her be strong.”

I screamed.

The light died. I collapsed to the floor, shaking. Mother knelt beside me, but she didn’t touch me. Not anymore.

“What did you see?” she asked quietly.

“Everything,” I whispered. My voice was broken. “I saw everything you’ve done.”

Mother went very still. Then she stood. “Good. Now you understand why we do what we must.”

She walked to the door. Paused. “You will heal me again when the sickness returns. That is your duty now. The King agrees.”

The door closed behind her.

I lay on the floor, shaking, the storm still roaring in my chest. The mark on my wrist spun faster and faster, like it was laughing.

I had taken her sickness.

And now I carried it.

---

Later, I dragged myself to the mirror. My face looked the same. White hair. Silver eyes. Nine years old.

But my eyes… there were black threads in the silver now. Thin as spider silk. Growing from the pupil outward.

Like Mother’s veins.

Like the rot I’d taken from her.

I touched the mirror. My reflection touched back.

“Monster,” I whispered.

The mark pulsed in agreement.

I wasn’t just a girl with cursed blood anymore.

I was a vessel.

And vessels break.

---