Chapter 15
CHAPTER
15
Four excruciatingly long days, that is how long I’d be stuck in a tiny, uncomfortable carriage alongside my mother and father. I was informed we’d only be making brief stops along the way to relieve ourselves. Chef had already prepared meals for us to eat on the way. We were instructed to keep moving and told that we wouldn’t be allowed to stay overnight at any private residences or inns to avoid bringing attention to our caravan. Hence, the unmarked carriage and lack of regalia on our company’s attire.
We each mostly kept to ourselves, napping, reading, occasionally forcing small talk and then staring out the window at the passing scenery. My mother gave me a silent but questioning nod at the feather earring peeking out from between strands of my hair, but with a single eyebrow raise from me, she did not pry any further.
I had not been to Tinsilor Castle since I was very young and had forgotten how monotonous the trip was. Occasionally, I’d find myself daydreaming about Trace and where he might be with the Kingsguard.
My father informed us we’d be arriving around nightfall and that they had a strict timeline and very clear instructions for the Offering. My mother and father donned their normal attire, but I was provided a plain white, long-sleeved dress to change into.
The material was cheap and thin, the texture slightly itchy. There wasn’t a single marking or design to be found anywhere on the fabric. Lastly, and most uniquely, the top of the dress included a hood, and attached to that was a thinner, sheer-white fabric meant to be pulled over my entire face as a veil. When I pulled the veil over my face and sat across from my father in the carriage, he began to panic.
“Seraphine, we can’t do this. I won’t!”
He began to move about the carriage in a flustered manner. My mother’s eyes widened with concern.
“They must accept something else. Surely money, jewels, a fleet of ships. Anything but her!”
My mother was on the verge of tears, witnessing my father’s breakdown. He fidgeted with his hands, unable to sit still or calm himself. I lifted the veil to reveal my face to him, hoping the gesture would bring him some sense of relief.
“Father, I’ve accepted my fate. Don’t waste the last moments I have with you.”
My words broke him and he began to cry too, reaching for my hands to clasp in his. He apologized profusely over and over in a whisper. My mother shook her head in despair, unable to tear her gaze from the window and face me. She placed a hand on my knee but kept her eyes averted. I removed one hand from my father’s grasp and placed it on top of hers.
There was nothing I could do to console them, but I was steadfast in my courage. I was done crying and feeling sad for myself. I wanted no pity, not even my own. The silent tears carried us like a river the remainder of the journey to the castle’s doorway, where outside our window, pitch black consumed the starless night sky.
They each placed a kiss on my cheek, and I took one last look into their eyes without the constricted view of the veil. Mother’s dark eyes contrasted Father’s green, but the whites of their eyes were both moist and red with the same agony.
“I love you, and I always will.” I imparted my final words to them before pulling the sheer veil across my face and turning to the carriage door. To become an Offering.
My mother and father escorted me up the steps of the castle and into the expansive great hall. The room was concerningly empty, except for a few individuals at the dais. The king and queen, another male who looked unassumingly dangerous, and a female who most certainly had to have been a priestess given her ethereal beauty and attire.
The hall was absent of any tapestries or banners of the great Houses. Not a single family crest in sight, no tables filled with gold plate settings, no silk draperies. None of the usual symbolic decorations were displayed to welcome an audience. This, combined with the secrecy of our caravan, only further assured me that we were not an audience they wanted the kingdom to be aware of.
With each step we took forward, I felt like heavy stones were weighing down my feet. The barely-there gown did little to shield me from the breezy halls of the castle.
When we arrived at the foot of the dais, the male standing at the king’s right spoke, his voice smooth and confident.
“Who presents this Offering to his majesty, King Aeon I, Son of Ciaran, ruler of Cambria?”
My father answered, his voice still trembling with emotion, “We do, Your Majesty. Niall, High Lord of House Blackthorn, and my wife, High Lady Seraphine. We present to you an Offering. Our daughter, Cressida Blackthorn. May she serve you and the realm for all her days.”
At the closing of his remarks, he and my mother bowed, and I quickly followed their lead, dipping my veiled head.
Aeon’s mouthpiece continued ceremoniously, “The king accepts your most precious Offering with humble gratitude. He shall now gaze upon her unveiled face in recognition of who she is now, who she has been, and who she will always be to you.”
Aeon stepped forward, and my hands began to tremor nervously at the prospect of the king approaching me. He lifted the veil with both hands, holding it above the brim of my eyebrows and stared down at me like he was peering into my soul. I could not bring myself to blink. I just stared back, a well of emotions pooling in my chest at what he was doing to me, to my family, and with zero explanation for his actions.
A king was accountable to no one except the Gods. His face remained solemn as he nodded and lowered the veil back down to cover my face. He returned to the throne and seated himself.
The mysterious male carried on, “As generations have before, so too are you now required to sacrifice an Offering. Know your king takes no pride or pleasure in breaking the sacred bonds of blood. This loss will not be in vain. The Gods smile favorably on the protectors of the realm.”
He paused briefly. The air was still and silent but for the faint crackling of the torches that lit the room.
“Lord and Lady Blackthorn, we thank you for the sacrifice you’ve made today, and for your unwavering fealty to the king’s cause. You may kiss the Offering’s hands in parting.”
And just like that, they were expected to leave. I turned toward them, fighting back tears with all the strength I could muster. I was not sad for myself. No, I was angry for the sadness my parents had been forced to endure, and will likely endure for the remainder of their days. My mother grabbed my hand and raised my knuckles to her lips, kissing gently, holding her lips there for a few seconds. She released me and I turned to my father, who gathered both my hands in his.
He bent down to kiss them both. I could feel his wet tears fall on my fingers, and he then pressed them hard against his forehead and stood. Leaning in closely, he whispered the words, “You are chosen, not offered.” I do not believe he was permitted to speak, but no one intervened.
They both turned from me and began to walk the long distance of the great hall back to the entrance. I stood there watching, willing them to turn and look at me once more, but they did not. I was starkly reminded of my inability to turn back and glance at Trace as we parted ways, and it was then I understood.
When I turned back around, the priestess who had been silent the entire time was standing before me. She beckoned me to follow her and the strange male behind the throne, where I discovered a large, elevated, round fire pit glowing bright and hot. I noticed the king followed behind us quietly, the steps of his stride echoing.
When she spoke, her voice was melodic, almost entrancing. I think she could have requested anything and I’d have complied without hesitation.
“Please present your family medallion.”
My breath hitched with worry that I had forgotten where I’d placed it, but then I remembered the side pocket of the dress. Fetching it quickly, I felt the heaviness of textured metal in my hands and was reminded of how little I had cared for this thing, how unimportant it had seemed before now.
I handed it to the priestess, who placed it in the center of the flames before us. Behind the veil, I watched as our house crest melted away into nothing, and soon after, the medallion lost all shape and meaning.
“Cressida, you will soon be born anew in the Bath of the Four Mothers. With you, you’ll take a name, but not a house. Your new brothers and sisters await you, and together you will take an oath. But first, a tribute. As the bonds of familial blood have been severed, so must you make a new one. Please hold out your wrist.”
Before I could even react, the priestess lifted a tiny metal rod from the fire, its tip glowing orange with heat, and pressed it against my wrist. I did not recognize the symbol she branded me with.
I quickly clutched my hand to my chest, the pain pulsating from my red and pink flesh. The king, now uncomfortably close to my side, held out his wrist to display the very same brand long healed over. His skin was shiny, almost silver where the mark resided.
“My blood is my bond; you shall be reborn in the name of the nameless. May the Gods favor the protectors of the realm, and may you be protected all your days, until your last breath.”
His voice was even more hypnotic than the priestess’s. I clung to every word, distracted from the pain. The king clasped his hand around my wrist, and when he pulled it away, the wound had healed just like his. Like it had been there for years, not just mere seconds. He then waved his hand over the top of the healed symbol and it disappeared completely. It was gone. Not even a scar remained visible. My skin was restored, only the memory of pain remained.
I had just lost my medallion, my family name, been branded, and yet I still had very little understanding surrounding what I was here for or who I was to these people. Was this just a bunch of ceremonious nonsense before I was sacrificed to the Gods in the name of the king and the realm? The priestess directed me to follow her out of the great hall, and I did so despite the mounting list of questions confounding my head.
As I walked behind her, still veiled, I ran my thumb over my wrist trying to see if I could feel any sense of the symbol, but I felt nothing. She led me down a narrow, winding stone staircase. Lower and lower, to the unknown depths beneath the castle.
This is where I was going to be murdered. Somewhere the staff couldn’t hear our screams. Trying to ignore the endless steps, I found myself wondering about the other Offerings. Were they down here as well? When I saw a faint blue light ahead, I surmised the steps were coming to an end and we were nearing the bottom. If not, would I be led farther into some sort of catacombs? I could feel the muggy steam and moisture hanging in the air.
I turned the corner, and through the veil, I could barely make out a glowing pool in the center of the room. My surroundings felt constricting. The ceilings were low, the stone walls wrapped around the circular body of water, and the only exit appeared to be another dark hallway.
Tall figures dressed similarly in all-white and veils were encircling the pool of water. After indicating to me that I should remove my slippers like the others, she pointed me to an open spot near the pool. By now I had confirmed it was a hot spring, given the steam hovering around my toes.
“Everyone, please kneel.”
As each of the strangers lowered themselves, I couldn’t help but feel the utter subservience of the action. A bow was respectful and honorable, but this felt different, almost wrong. When we were all clearly kneeling on the slick hard ground, she spoke again, weaving her words like poetry.
“Each of you has been offered willingly, and each of you has performed a tribute in blood. Before you is the Bath of the Four Mothers. Tonight, you will be cleansed of your former life and blanketed in the waters of eternity. Your body is a vessel for the will of the Order. Within these waters, there is no past, there is no shame, there is no regret. You are forgiven before forgiveness is asked.”
I stared down at the pool below the edge of my veil and noted the milky consistency of the water; how it glowed like moonslight regardless of being in this deep dark place shielded from the sky.
“You may stand, and I ask that you each carefully enter the pool as you are for the cleansing.”
I took that to mean fully clothed and veiled; I focused on my footing, ignoring the others’ entry, trying to make sure that I didn’t fall face-first into this water. The liquid was warm and inviting. Beneath my feet, I could feel a stone ledge running along the perimeter of the pool, making a space for me to sit and submerge myself up to my neck.
I had only been submerged briefly when I began to feel a hum deep in my bones. It was faint, but occasionally felt stronger in tiny, almost unnoticeable waves. The bath, itself, felt strange in all ways. If I had to give a description, it was like feeling younger, cleaner, stronger, more powerful all in one but light not heavy.
We all sat there in silence. Our clothing was fully soaked through as we awaited guidance from the priestess.
“May you be born of the waters and receive the blessings of the Four Mothers at first breath. Please submerge yourself fully, and upon rising, you may remove your veil and witness your new family.”
I took in a shallow breath of air and ducked under the water, drenching the final inches of my body. When I arose, I inhaled sharply, the fabric of the soaked veil pressed firmly against the outline of my face. I lifted the veil over my head and looked up, only to see familiar eyes staring back at me in horror.
I gasped in shock, trying to calm myself at the sight of Trace standing before me. The thin fabric outlined every dip and curve of his body; my eyes were unable to stop scanning the shape of him. I became instantly bashful, realizing that I, too, might as well have been naked given the fabric, and went to shield my chest with folded arms, angling the front of my body away.
I was once comfortable in the complete nude with Trace, and now I shied away from the male looking back at me. As the others exited the pool, I struggled to follow suit without tripping.
Trace and I stared at each other; our gazes filled with unimaginable confusion. My mind was unable to reconcile seeing Trace in anything other than the color black. I noticed his eyes dip to where my new earring rested; his jaw tightened. This time not in lust, but in anger, pure and raw. I had completely forgotten about the feather earring until I felt its damp barbs tickling my cheek.
I might have been embarrassed at his realization, except my attention was drawn to the thin scar splitting the fine dark hair of his eyebrow. An old wound, not new but healed. Below the soaking-wet sleeves of his garment, I saw the dark lines of his tattoo on not one but both arms. Was I hallucinating? Who in Gods’ names was this person standing next to me?
We were directed to a set of rooms where our belongings awaited us and instructed to dry off and change into comfortable attire as we’d be traveling. If I hadn’t been entirely consumed with disbelief over Trace, I might have been more irritated at the thought of more travel after having spent four full days in a carriage.
Digging through my articles of clothing, I tried to grasp what this meant. Was Trace High Fae like me? That was the only logical possibility. Only members of the High Court were called to the Offering, according to my father.
More importantly, why did he look so different from the last time we parted? I dressed as quickly as possible, eager to find a way to be alone with him. I was too angry and confused to find any relief that someone I knew and trusted was here with me. My trust in him was now entirely in question.
With my belongings in hand, we made our way through another door and up a staircase. I walked a few persons behind Trace, angling my head behind their tall stature, trying to catch glimpses of him. Upon reaching the ground level of the castle, we were escorted to a group of large carriages by the male who had been at the king’s side earlier.
The priestess was nowhere to be seen. He handed us each a vial of liquid and instructed us to drink it without question. I eyed Trace nervously, and we watched each other raise the vials to our lips.
“You will each enter a carriage. In a few minutes, you will be asleep thanks to the liquid you just ingested. Do not worry, it is safe. You will be transported to our next destination and likely awaken upon arrival. Where you’re going is not something you’re privy to at this time.”
Trace intentionally waited to see what carriage I boarded and did not join me. I leaned back against the seat, utterly exhausted by everything that had just transpired.
My eyes became heavy, my vision blurry. The last thing I saw were the long blonde curls of the beautiful female sitting across from me.