A Tithe Of Blood

The morning sun had climbed higher, spilling honey-gold light across the rolling hills as Elira made her way back toward the village. The path beneath her worn leather boots was soft with fallen leaves and the faint scent of pine needles. 

A gentle breeze stirred the trees, carrying the distant song of a lark that seemed to echo the melody in her heart.

She paused briefly to look back at the river where she had spent the early morning. The water glittered beneath the now-clear sky, winding like a silver thread through the emerald landscape. 

For a moment, the world felt untroubled, as if the hills held their breath in quiet peace.

But the peace was fragile.

The village lay nestled at the foot of the hills a scattering of timber cottages with smoke curling from chimneys like whispers in the cool air. 

Its heartbeat was steady but cautious, shadowed by the knowledge of the Blood Tax that would soon come again, like a winter frost creeping across the land.

Elira's village had escaped the last two years, but this time, the parchment had come. Marked with the seal of the committee — the iron crescent burned into the edges — it bore the name of their home, folded and sent down by courier two days past.

One girl. Chosen. Claimed.

Elira's cottage stood at the village's edge, modest but sturdy. The wooden door creaked as she pushed it open, stepping inside where the warm scent of burning wood and fresh bread greeted her like a long-lost friend. 

The low walls were lined with rough-hewn shelves holding simple treasures — clay pots, woven baskets, a small carved wooden bird her father had made when she was a child.

Her younger sister, Lilin, sat cross-legged by the hearth, humming a soft, lilting tune as she tended to the dying embers. Her dark eyes sparkled with a mix of curiosity and innocence, framed by tangled curls that fell over her freckled cheeks.

"Did you bring the bread?" Lilin asked, her voice tentative but hopeful.

Elira smiled and set the basket gently on the wooden table. "And honey too. Nicholas brought it."

Lilin's face brightened, but a flicker of worry crossed her features. "Do you think he'll visit again?" she asked quietly.

Elira crouched beside her, brushing a loose strand of hair from Lilin's forehead. "I think he will. Nicholas is kind. He cares about the hills… and about us."

Lilin only nodded, chewing as she spoke, "Do you think they'll come today? The Blood Committee?"

Elira hesitated. "Maybe. Maybe not today."

She didn't want to say that the bell in the village square had already been strung with black cloth the sign that meant the girl's name had been selected, and the men would ride down from the capital estate at any moment.

She didn't want to tell Lilin that their own home had been discussed behind closed doors. That she had overheard her stepmother whispering late into the night.

A name had been written.

Lilin's name.

Elira had frozen in the hallway when she'd first heard it. The words had been soft, deliberate, spoken in Mara's syrupy tone. She'd heard the words clearly:

"She's young, yes, but what do these creatures care for age? Let Lilin go. Elira is fit for a good match. She has her mother's eyes. It would be a shame to waste her on a monster's estate."

Elira had gripped the stair rail, the wood biting into her palm.

Lilin? Her baby sister?

Eight years old soft, sweet, and still afraid of thunder.

The very idea had made Elira sick. And in that moment, something in her hardened.

She would not allow it.

⸻

When her father came home that evening, drawn and silent, she knew something had shifted. His shoulders sagged as he removed his coat. His boots dragged like anchors.

He avoided Elira's gaze as he stepped into the kitchen.

"Father," she said calmly, as if her heart wasn't pounding, "can we talk?"

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded and sat at the table. The firelight flickered across his face, revealing a man who had aged more in worry than in years.

"I know the committee sent the notice," she said. "I know someone from our house submitted a name."

Mr. Smith's lips parted, then closed. "It… it wasn't what you think."

"I think it was Lilin," Elira said, voice low and sure. "And then you changed it. To me."

His eyes widened in surprise.

"Who told you?"

Elira leaned forward. "Is it true?"

He ran a hand through his greying hair, suddenly looking every bit the tired farmer he was.

"I changed it," he confessed. "I went to the village head and gave them your name instead. Lilin is only a child. I couldn't let them take her."

Elira's chest ached. "Why was her name there to begin with?"

He hesitated. "Your stepmother thought… She said the girl's young age might appeal more to the lords. That it was safer. Less risky. She claimed that older girls — like you — might catch unwanted attention, or be kept longer."

"Or used differently," Elira whispered bitterly.

He shook his head. "I don't know what to believe anymore. But I couldn't let Lilin be taken."

"You still let her name go forward in the first place."

Mr. Smith looked ashamed. "I trusted Mara's judgment. I thought she was trying to protect you both."

Elira felt the sting of betrayal like a blade beneath her ribs. Mara — always quiet, always watching. Ever since she'd come into their lives, she'd worked her way into every corner of the house. Slowly, without confrontation.

She'd made herself indispensable — and invisible.

"Do you know what she wants?" Elira asked coldly. "She wants Lilin gone. And me married off. You out of the way. She wants this house."

Mr. Smith blinked, stunned.

"She wouldn't—"

"She would," Elira said. "And she nearly succeeded."

They sat in silence for a long while, the fire crackling between them. From the other room, Lilin's soft humming drifted in, oblivious to the storm outside her innocence.

"I'm sorry," Mr. Smith whispered.

"I'm not," Elira said, rising. "If someone had to go, I'm glad it was me."

⸻

The bell tolled at midday.

Its slow, metallic cry echoed across the hills like a dirge.

Elira stood by the window, unmoving. The sound settled deep in her bones.

The riders were here.

She heard the hoofbeats before she saw the shadows stretch across the lane. Two men, cloaked in black and red, bearing the crest of House Calvorn a fang through a rose.

Mr. Smith opened the door before they could knock.

"Elira Smith," one of them said without preamble, holding up the scroll. "You have been chosen."

Elira stepped forward, chin high, shoulders squared. She didn't flinch when the man looked her over like livestock.

"You will report by nightfall tomorrow. No delays."

"Wait," Mr. Smith said. "She's only sixteen. Isn't she too young?"

The man gave him a flat look. "Your household submitted her name. It is final."

Elira felt Lilin press into her side, small fingers clinging to her skirt.

"What happens to her?" the child whispered. "Will they hurt you?"

Elira knelt beside her sister and wrapped her arms around her. "They won't. I'll be fine. I'll come back. I promise."

She did not believe her own words. But Lilin needed them.

The second man spoke next. "There's more. Your family owes House Calvorn a debt. A loan taken last winter."

Mr. Smith went pale. "But we… I thought…"

"You thought wrong," the man said coldly.

"The debt has not been repaid. Therefore, your daughter's service is extended."

"For how long?" Elira asked quietly.

"Ten years."

The words echoed like thunder in the small house.

Ten years.

She would be twenty-six when she returned if she returned at all.

The men left without another word, leaving the door swinging on its hinges.

⸻

That night, Elira walked to the edge of the village alone. Her feet led her without thought toward the stables near Nicholas's home.

She found him in the barn, brushing down his horse. He looked up and froze at the sight of her.

"They chose you," he said softly.

"They did."

He stepped forward, anger flashing across his face. "Why didn't you come to me? I could have—"

"Done what?" she asked. "Challenged a law sealed in blood? Fought vampires with your father's pitchfork?"

"I would have tried."

"I know." She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes.

"Then let me help now."

"You can't."

He looked at her for a long moment. "I'll wait."

"You don't need to."

"I do," he said. "Because you're not just some girl to me, Elira."

She swallowed hard.

"I don't know what I am to you," she whispered. "But right now… I need to be something else. A shield. A sacrifice."

Nicholas stepped closer. "You're more than that."

"Not to them."

"To me."

She looked away. "Then don't come tomorrow. I don't want to see your face when they take me."

"I'll come anyway."

Of course he would.

⸻

That night, Elira packed in silence. Her father hovered in the doorway, helpless.

"I wanted to spare her," he said at last.

"You did."

He nodded. "But not you."

Elira didn't answer.

Outside, the wind howled, shaking the shutters. The world was shifting, turning.

Tomorrow, she would belong to monsters.

But tonight for one last night she belonged to herself.