The Trash Picker and the Secret King

The Price of Blood

The words hang in the air like poison. Use my blood.

I stare at Jax, the purple fire still burning hot on my hands. The room goes quiet. The rebels working at the tables stop what they are doing and look over at us. Their faces do not show shock. They do not look surprised at all. They just watch, waiting to see what I will do.

What did you just say? I ask, my voice dropping low.

Jax does not blink. He walks closer, his heavy leather coat brushing against the edge of a computer desk. He does not look like a savior anymore. He looks like a hunter who just trapped an animal in a corner.

You heard me, kid, Jax says, keeping his voice steady. The central vault in the high glass towers has a lock that only opens for royal blood. For fifteen years, we tried to break in. We lost good people trying to crack those doors. But the council magic blocks every tech tool we own.

He points a finger at the heavy metal box still tucked under my arm.

That box holds the codes. But the final gate needs a physical sacrifice. It needs the blood of the true king to burn through the council's magic shield. Once the door opens, we storm the tower and take back the city.

And what happens to me after the door opens? I ask, stepping back.

Jax does not answer right away. He looks down at the floor for a second before meeting my eyes again. You get your revenge. You find out what they did to your parents.

That is not an answer, I snap, the purple light on my hands flaring brighter. Do I survive the door opening, or do you bleed me dry until I die on the floor?

Before Jax can speak, Lyra steps between us. She places her hand on Jax's arm, her face calm and unbothered. She looks at me with her sharp dark eyes, offering a warm, soft smile that does not reach her eyes.

Do not listen to him, Kian, Lyra says smoothly. Jax always sounds like a warlord because he spends too much time underground. We need you alive. A dead king cannot rule River City. We just need a few drops of your blood to trigger the lock, nothing more.

I look between the two of them. My head spins. Just yesterday, I was picking trash in the dirt, trying to avoid Aunt Elena's stick. Now I am standing in a secret room with rebels who want to use my body as a key to a fortress.

I am not your tool, I say, backing away toward the heavy iron door we just came through. "I am walking out of here right now.

Jax laughs, a dry, harsh sound. Try it, kid. The second you step outside those doors, the elite guards will track the magic on your skin and turn you into ash. Here, you have protection. Here, you have a weapon.

He walks over to a weapon rack on the wall and pulls down a heavy metal staff that glows with a pale green light. He tosses it across the room. I catch it out of reflex, the heavy metal dropping into my hands.

If you want to survive the night, you need to learn how to fight like a king, not a trash picker, Jax says, turning his back on me to walk back to the computer screens. Lyra will show you to the training room. Tomorrow night, we hit the glass tower.

Lyra gestures for me to follow her down a narrow hallway lined with rusted pipes. I grip the metal staff tightly, my mind racing. I do not trust Jax. I do not even trust Lyra. But looking back at the dark tunnels, I know Jax is right about one thing. The guards are out there, and they want me dead.

Lyra opens a heavy metal door at the end of the hall and leads me inside a small, empty room with concrete walls and a single flickering lightbulb overhead.

Put the box on the table, Lyra says, closing the door behind us.

I set the heavy metal box down on a wooden crate, but I keep my hand resting on top of it. I look at Lyra, who is leaning against the wall with her arms crossed over her green jacket.

Why are you really helping me, Lyra? I ask, keeping my voice low. You do not care about the slums. I saw the way you looked at Jax's plan. You have your own reasons for wanting that tower open.

Lyra smiles, a slow, knowing smile that makes the hair on the back of my neck stand up. She walks closer, stopping just a few inches away from me.

Everyone in River City has a reason to hate the council, Kian, she says softly. "Some people want revenge for their parents. Some people want freedom for the slums. And some people just want to watch the glass towers burn down to the ground."

Which one are you? I ask.

Lyra reaches out and gently taps the metal box with her fingernail. I am the one who is going to make sure you get to the top of that tower. What happens after that is up to you.

Before I can answer, a loud, ear-piercing siren screams through the underground base. The flickering lightbulb overhead turns from white to a blinding, flashing red.

Outside the room, shouts and the sound of gunfire echo down the concrete hallway.

Lyra's calm face instantly vanishes. Her eyes go wide with shock. "That is not possible," she whispers.

The heavy metal door of our training room suddenly caves inward with a deafening crash, and a swarm of elite guards in black armor floods into the room.