57. Chapter 57
57
Graysen
F at streams of wax dripped from candles flickering in the dark recesses behind the dais. Each glowing candle represented a fallen God or a God, like Zrenyth, who fell into the Great Slumber during the time of mist before our history separated and hid from the mortal masses of this world.
The Horned Gods didn’t require litanies or chanting, or even for us to worship them. We prayed to the old gods who had given us and the Horned Gods life. We were their warlords, and more importantly, their thieves. Bred to guard them, fight for them, keep them hidden from the mortals, and provide them with anything they desired.
Right now, they didn’t want to know what I wanted, what burned through my veins with bloodlust.
I wanted to end them. Every last one.
I could barely breathe. A bluster of riotous emotions raged deep in my chest. A storm of guilt and fury in equal measure. My frantic heartbeat matched Nelle’s. My fists trembled not with fear, but from the scant control I possessed to keep my need leashed.
When Urstlo had sensed her—Nelle’s terror had consumed me, flayed me from the inside. As the Horned God approached, that thing that bound Nelle and I together, dug its claws into my mind and sang to me—an ancient and wild and wicked strain— Save her, save her, save her…
And violence erupted. Great gusts of savagery seared my throat and tasted like cinder on my tongue.
But it wasn’t me who stepped out to protect Nelle. It was my brave, foolhardy, and stubborn sister. I’d have drawn my dagger from my jacket and plunged it into Urstlo’s shadowy head if it had even touched a single strand of Nelle’s moonlit hair—instead, my sister rose and stepped forward.
And two opposing desires had cleaved me in half. To strike back at Lyressa or to save Nelle from Urstlo. To look upon my sister’s sunrise eyes in that Frankenstein creature, when everything inside me was a whirlwind of conflict, screaming for revenge, screaming to save Nelle, almost broke me, and nearly severed that connection I had to my little bird.
I’d rarely seen Lyressa since she’d plucked my sister’s eyes like grapes from her sockets.
Ferne had been a child, barely older than a baby. Her agonizing screams, the memory of them, fresh as newly cut grass, had exploded in my mind the moment my gaze landed on that insidious Horned God.
I couldn’t believe what Ferne had done—diverted Urstlo’s attention from my little bird by confronting Lyressa. I wouldn’t have accomplished it the clever way she had. No, I’d have slid my blade beneath the dried sinew and slit, unpicking the Frankenstein limbs like stitching needing to be reworked, and reveled in that creature tumbling to ancient stone in flailing bodily pieces.
I drew in a deep breath through my nose, blew it out, and with it my rage and guilt for my sister, my fear for Nelle. Purposefully clearing my mind, I gathered my near-shattered control. I had to be calm. Careful. Controlled.
Something tinkled, drawing my attention downward.
Glass...no, not glass, but adamere scattered over the ancient floor, powdering Nelle’s dirty shoes.
And not just a bead or two. Those minuscule balls had been crushed.
No one human could shatter adamere. But there it was between us in chunks and shards and dust.
My gaze flicked up. Dim light glanced off Nelle’s deathly pale skin, glistening with sweat. She remained focused dead ahead—not seeing, not blinking—as if she warred with something internally. She clutched the loops of the necklace that graced her wrist between trembling fingers which were bone-white, grinding the beads with force, as if she was pouring every inch of herself into that motion. Shards of adamere slipped between her knuckles and fell like flakes of fine snow.
I quickly scanned the nearest faces, scouting the Houses who hunted—the V?duvas, Estlores, and Lyons—had they noticed? Had the Horned Gods?
Lyressa and Urstlo stood side by side on the raised platform, high enough that they could see every single one of us. Thankfully, both of them fixed their gazes on the arched entranceway, but—
Sirro honed his attention in our direction. He tilted his head, narrowed his eyes in curiosity, and flashed a small smile that showed his teeth.
Fuck, fuck, fuck—
His power slunk through the gathered Houses like tendrils of mist, searching for her.
I went to reach for Nelle, to move her behind me and out of sight, when a noise distracted him, distracted us all, and had Sirro’s power recoiling back to him.
The tithes.
All the stolen souls the Houses gave in offering for the blessing entered the temple one by one.
Our own, Gaptooth, that sick motherfucker who strangled young women to death, stepped into view first, his unblinking blue eyes vacant as he drifted through the clearing between Upper and Lower Houses toward the dais and the Horned Gods.
A girl followed behind him with a slow, dreamy gait. Her red hair fell in long waves halfway down her back.
Her. Red. Hair.
Red!
Jett’s whoosh of breath filled my ears.
Horror shot through my body, swifter than an arrow.
The girl we’d saved, Red, an Unbroken Shard.
But… that night Jett had taken her far away so no one could find her. Not a soul from another House. Nor a Horned God. At least that was what we’d both thought.
My hands fisted. There was no other answer since her presence here proved it. Someone had discovered Red, stole her, and now offered her up to the Horned Gods.
Had they been tracking us, or was this merely a coincidence?
It could have been one of Byron’s men who I’d allowed to trail me that night to ambush me for the fun of annihilating them all, and shoving a Fuck-You Byron’s way. But I didn’t think so. It had to be another House, but which one?
Jett glanced over his shoulder at me. Fury lit his eyes into a bright amethyst and his jaw clenched tight. Dread twisted in my stomach.
This was the last thing we all needed right now—Jett exploding in wrath.
I could see what was going through his mind. He wanted to unleash.
I shook my head— No.
Reaching forward, I grabbed his upper shoulder hard. He understood what was written across my expression— There’s nothing we can do for Red.
He wrenched himself free, lips curling from his teeth in a silent snarl. But there was something else there too, a sliver of terror shadowing his fierce glare.
Caidan caught what was transpiring between us and half-twisted around. A frown creased his brow as he mouthed— What’s going on?
Keep him from doing anything stupid —I mouthed back.
We had enough going on and couldn’t deal with Red as well. And Jett could be unpredictable, especially if he had a score to settle. Not exactly an unusual quality for my brothers and me. Even Ferne.
The tithes silently arranged themselves before the dais, spreading out in a double row. They were a mix of men and women of all ages. Some were stolen for their beauty, while others, like Red, had unique souls that glowed in the inky gloom of the temple. A few, like our tithe, had more interesting qualities.
Lyressa followed Sirro as he stepped down from the raised platform, casually strolling along the line of tithes. He halted in front of Red. Lazily stroking his forefinger down her cheek, his mouth curled up on one side. “This one’s mine,” he informed his companions without turning their way. But his gaze glided to one person in particular—his Familiar, standing on the outskirts. Her hunched spine stiffened, and her faded eyes widened with foreboding as Sirro apologized. “Sorry, my sweet.”
Hells, Red had just replaced her.
Almost reluctantly, Sirro shifted to Gaptooth. His silver-threaded power twisted and coiled, slinking over our tithe. Thick eyebrows drew together as if he were analyzing the information his dark might gathered. Short black lashes flicked wide and his eyes cut to my father, the golden hue darkened to bronze. “Interesting, Varen,” he murmured. A sly, approving smile. “I want this one too.”
Lyressa stood behind a woman, rubbing strands of midnight hair between her thumb and forefinger as if she were measuring silk. I had a sinking feeling I knew exactly where this tithe was going to end up—a dried-up husk wrapped in cobwebs, her hair strewn amongst a nest. “The Orbweever will like this one,” she murmured softly.
From the corner of my eye, I saw Nelle sway, then buckle.
Twisting around, I grabbed hold of her before her knees slammed into stone.
That intensity that brewed between us hit me full force as soon as I touched her, stronger than I’d ever felt before. It was as if a lightning bolt had struck me. My blood charged and pulsed, and all the fine hair on my body prickled with the electricity skating all over my skin. I almost, almost , staggered against it.
I wound my arms around her waist, straightening, pulling her in front of me to support her tiny figure sagging against my own. Her heart jack hammered in her chest and my heart matched hers beat for beat.
What the hells is wrong with her?
I bowed my head and whispered. “You haven’t been to the woods today?”
She shook, sucking in wet rasps of breath. I felt pressure on the back of my hand and discovered she was drawing a letter with her finger. N. Then a second. O.
Shit, what can I do?
Her whole body trembled in my arms and she could barely stand. Was it this place? The temple? Was it all that shit I’d put her through today and she hadn’t the time or been in the right mind to do what she needed to hide herself?
She’d never been to an engagement blessing before.
Never seen a sacrifice.
Had been too young to attend Annalise and Aldan’s Blessing.
I rubbed her shivering shoulder with my hand, stunned at how icy she felt. Cold sweat dampened my palm, and fear sliced through me. What was I going to do? How was she going to survive this? She was rapidly unraveling.
Caidan’s worried gaze caught mine over the top of her head. He muttered quietly, “Get her out of here.”
I shot him a look— How the hells can I?
It was too late. Even if we tried to slip away, someone would notice. The Horned Gods themselves, perhaps, and with Sirro’s unwanted curiosity—
Fuck, we were so fucking fucked!
My gaze went to the dais. The Wychthorns’ tithe lay on the altar, calmly staring up at the stone vaulted ceiling.
Cupping Nelle’s chin, I tilted her face toward mine to avert her gaze. Whatever she was struggling with inside clouded her eyes. “You don’t want to see this, Wychthorn.”
I gritted my teeth and glanced at the altar.
The entranceway to the temple was Hazus, ruler of the Nine Hells. But the dais and altar were Skalki, mother of life. We entered through Hazus to be re-birthed through Skalki.
Unlike my little bird, who had been caged on this estate, Evvie was fully invested in our world. We knew no other way, no other life. It just was. We’d had our history lessons drummed into us through our childhood—where we came from, who we served, and we worshipped the old gods who birthed us. Mortals had long ago forgotten the Horned Gods. Now, the mortals only felt whispers of their presence if they were nearby, or if they’d, unfortunately, become the creatures’ next meal. And to us, our way of life, there was a certain amount of entitlement. The mortals owed us their unique souls so we could live decades longer and be disease free.
Still, sometimes it didn’t sit right.
Blessings like this one were only for the highest-ranking family, Great House Wychthorn. We all received long life through marriage unions but without the pomp and ceremony.
Sirro’s voice rumbled through the temple. “Byron Wychthorn, Aldert Pellan, do you bestow your blessing that your children should unite?”
Both men answered, “I do.”
Byron handed Evvie a silver dagger. The pommel had Skalki’s face crafted into it, with her forked tongue twisting about the hilt. She hesitated a fraction before her fingers wrapped around the ceremonial dagger.
She took the tithe’s left arm and sliced it cleanly.
Evvie passed the bloodied blade to Corné.
His hazel eyes gleamed with eagerness. He held the tithe’s limp arm, pressed the sharp tip into her flesh, and slit the skin right down the length of her limb, splitting it like overly ripe fruit, hitting a vein. Blood poured from her arm into the channel, dug into the stone, running down to drop from the altar into a golden urn below.
It took a good few minutes of waiting in silence until Evvie bent down to retrieve the urn.
Sirro’s power flared around him like a wrathful silver storm. He spread his fingers over the tithe’s chest, his brow and face creased in concentration as he pulled the hand back, drawing out her soul. A dust cloud of golden filaments glittered and swirled above his open palm, pulsing like a heartbeat. The Everlasting Shard—her life essence, her spirit, her very soul. Without her soul, the tithe’s complexion dulled like any other mortal, and the life behind her eyes went flat.
Sirro pressed his palms together, enveloping the glittering dust cloud between his hands and ground them together. Relaxing his motion, he sprinkled her soul like grains of sand into the urn.
Evvie swirled the urn and poured the mixture into two goblets held by Corné. He handed each goblet to Lyressa and Sirro.
Lyressa’s throat worked as she greedily drank the blood, but Sirro sipped as if savoring an aged Bordeaux.
A cup was passed from Sirro to Evvie, from Lyressa to Corné. Blood stained Evvie’s mouth crimson as she fed from the goblet, her tongue darting out to lick it from her lips. After handing the goblet to a servant, she dabbed at the red-speckled corner of her mouth with a finger, and for one brief moment, she seemed to glow a little brighter.
This was the offering—the sacrifice.
The blood and soul from the Everlasting Shard would give fertility and longer life. Happiness didn’t concern the Horned Gods, nor mercy.
Blood continued to drain from the tithe, coursing across the altar in a river of red to splatter on the stone floor. I could hear the tithe’s fluttering pulse, how weak it became as her heartbeat slowed…slowed right down…her breath shallow—
Urstlo’s gigantic figure exploded.
Like tearing off a cloak, the darkness ebbed away, revealing exactly what it was. A multitude of silvery fangs and claws, chattering and clacking in a whirling inky wind.
The tithe snapped out of her dreamlike state. Her brown eyes flared wide with terror at the monstrous nightmare that Urstlo had become.
Her mouth gaped. A warbling sound of a scream tore from her throat—
Urstlo struck—
A streak of black wind engulfed her. Lifted her high into the air. Only the flash of limbs, flailing brown locks, and a wide mouth could be seen amongst the rotating fangs and claws.
Her scream resounded in the temple. The hair-raising noise of sawing teeth, and talons ripping through tissue and bones, clashed against the walls, as that black wind whipped like a tornado.
The smell…gods, the smell of ruined flesh and blood…as that scream cut short. The taste of it on my tongue, the fevered excitement from the Houses, both exquisite and vile.
The inky wind dispersed and bones fell in a clatter, raining down like hail on a tin roof. Just bones. That was all that remained of the tithe—flesh-picked bones.
Urstlo reappeared beside Lyressa, his enormous height once again made up of pitch-black darkness with the faintest sound of gnashing teeth and those four crimson eyes.
“ Gray— ”
I tore my gaze from Urstlo and that litter of bones to my little bird. One of her hands clutched her bracelet, the other gripped the lapels of my jacket as she sucked in ragged breaths. Tears glistened like dewdrops on her eyelashes and tendrils of pale hair stuck to her clammy forehead. “ Too much ,” she gasped, more breath than words. Her fisted hand twisted my jacket and her whole body shook violently in my arms. “ It’s too much. ” Something alive swirled in her eyes, like smoke caught in a glass bowl. Her pupils were slitted vertically like a cat’s in bright light—gone the next blink.
Holy Zrenyth, what is she?
And I felt it, a stirring in the temple—air being inhaled into one spot.
Ours.
Horror spiraled right through me.
Oh, hells no…no, no, no…
As one, The Horned Gods froze.
As one, their gaze swung toward the Houses.
Our way—
Her way.