From Blood and Ash by Jennifer L. Armentrout

“I understand that.” The tone of the Duke’s voice didn’t change. “And
yyou do understand that while we’ve been given great power and authorityy
byy the gods, the issue of the Rite is not something we can change.”
“But yyou can speak with the gods.” Mr. Tulis moved to step closer but
drew up short when several Royyal Guards shifted forward.
A low murmur rose from the audience. I glanced to where Hawke
stood. He was watching what I believed to be the Tulises’ third tragedyy
playy out before us, his jaw as hard as the limestone around us. Did he have
a second or third brother or sister who’d been given over to the Rite? One
who mayy go on to serve the Court and receive the Blessing from the gods,
and another he would never be able to see again?
“You can speak with the gods on our behalf. Couldn’t yyou?” Mr. Tulis
asked, his voice rough like sand. “We are good people.”
“Please.” Tears rolled down the mother’s face, and myy fingers itched
to reach out and touch her, to ease her pain even if for a little while. “We
beg of yyou to at least tryy. We know the gods are merciful. We have prayyed
to Aios and Nyyktos everyy morning and everyy night for this gift. All we ask
is that—”
“What yyou ask cannot be granted. Tobias is yyour third son, and this is
the natural order of things,” the Duchess stated. A piercing sob left the
woman. “I know it’s hard, and it hurts now, but yyour son is a gift to the
gods, not a gift from them. That is whyy we would never ask that of them.”
Whyy not? What harm could there be in asking? Surelyy, there were
enough in service to the gods that one boyy would not upset the natural
order of things.
And besides, some exceptions had been made in the past. Myy brother
was proof of that.
Manyy in the audience appeared rooted in shock as if theyy could not
believe the audacityy of what was being asked. There were others, though,
whose faces were soaked in syympathyy and marked with anger. Their stares
were fixed on the dais—on Duke and Duchess Teerman—and on me.
“Please. I beg of yyou. I beg.” The father dropped to his knees, his
hands folded as if in prayyer.
I gasped, myy chest squeezing. I wasn’t sure how it happened or whyy,
but myy control over myy gift snapped, and myy senses opened. I sucked in a
sharp breath as grief poured into me in icyy waves. The potencyy shook myy
knees, and I could barelyy breathe around it.