Chapter Sixty-Six
Sacrifice
A ripple of tension flows through each of my Guards as I tether my magic to hold a connection with the intent to siphon their distress should they need it.
They all close in to create a formidable shield no one would dare contest. Yet, despite their protection, panic slithers up my chest to wrap itself around my throat, until I can barely choke back any air at all.
His Majesty turns to look at me with what can only be described as bemusement, unnerving me with his calm demeanor while this ominous threat is held over my being. He wouldn’t have brought me here to be sacrificed for another land's benefit, would he?
Not unless they offered him something he values more—like immortality.
But surely they wouldn’t give a tyrant like him any more power. Not even if they need mine for whatever it is the Goddess of the Harvest requires to feed their citizens.
My heart lurches now that His Majesty’s mouth curves in a wry smile as he slowly turns to face the field.
Queen Celine reaches within the side of her skirt, dazzling the crowd as she brandishes a small silver dagger. Its hilt shimmers with sapphires and diamonds, and I flinch as she thrusts the blade high above her head.
The clouds continue to cover the moon, dampening its brightness and adding deep shadows over everyone’s features— the hollows of cheeks and the deep set of certain eyes seeming even more exaggerated with the lack of light around us.
Varic constricts his force-shield over my skin, which thrums harder with every heavy beat of his heart.
“It is time!” the Queen shouts.
Every hair on the back of my neck stands on end as I squint to better track her movements, and my pulse pounds harder when the blade in her hand reflects the red and orange flames dancing over the torches. Her brows furrow as she strikes down and slices a cut along her palm.
Blood oozes from the wound to drip down her fingertips, anointing the field below as her eyes fall closed.
My Guards flex their fists over the grips of their swords, rippling the tendons beneath the black ink of the sigil in their skin, while each one of them braces with their opposite hand held just above their daggers hidden within their ceremonial leathers.
My own fingers itch for a blade or two in hand, though I’m left to sit idly. I turn to observe each of them scanning our surroundings when it feels as if I have been stabbed—because my Guards—they’re all targets.
Five sorcerers so focused on my safety, they might not notice an attack on their being.
And if Varic were to fall first, any adversary would have a much higher probability of taking me captive.
Even though he has been a target before this, being assigned to my detail has only increased the reasons others would want to assassinate him.
“Queen of the Harvest.” The Queen’s eyes land on mine. “It is now your turn.”
Each of my protectors looks from His Majesty to me before considering the Queen.
“What exactly are you proposing, Your Royal Highness?” Varic asks in a more measured tone than I would expect him to be capable of.
Her smile widens. “Exactly what you have observed of me, Imperial Lead Guard Varic. We ask that our Queen of the Harvest sacrifice her blood in offering.”
If my magic is accurate, His Majesty’s mood remains stable, which does not seem possible. Not after he has ranted and raged when others have asked far less of me. Yet his expression has not changed, and my heart constricts now that I do not know what to expect from him.
Varic’s chest expands with a deep intake of breath. “Do you swear that is all that will be required of her, Your Royal Highness?”
“That is all.” The Queen’s tone is enchanting, and the words resound in my ears long after her lips are sealed.
Varic gestures for my Guards to huddle closer, and I strain to hear as they speak in such low tones I am unable to decipher anything before they straighten. Varic’s expression is pained as he offers me his hand, which I take without question.
He helps me to rise from the throne before leaning in to whisper, “I will only allow this to happen with your consent. And if you agree, I will maintain my shield everywhere except the area of your skin where I will be the one to make the incision, and only with the use of my dagger, so that the blade cannot be laced with anything.”
My chest expands, and I squeeze his hand while he aids me in stepping carefully over the uneven ground. “Thank you for thinking of this. I consent, should they agree to your terms.”
His cheek rises with the smallest of smiles, barely decipherable behind the fabric of his mask.
Though it is muted, my magic can still sense the fear and concern riddling his chest. I try to conjure a sense of calm for him when my stomach drops—as mere fragments, only bits and pieces of emotions, sputter within.
Meaning the connection I maintain with our ruler and each of my Guards must require more of my power than I can spare. And yet I cannot quit. I need to know their emotions. It’s too dangerous to be left in the dark and leave them without my support.
My throat bobs as I swallow against the fear of what might happen should I lose connection, as His Majesty’s intrigue comes through rather hazy—a tell-tale sign my magic is weakening.
Though my Guards’ emotions are crisp and vibrant, all I can hope is that I do not use too much and faint before everyone.
Queen Celine gestures for me to stand beside her, and I do as she bids while Varic explains his demands. She graciously acquiesces while my Guards surround me, save Varic, who lifts my left hand with one of his own while prying his dagger free with the other.
Moonlight casts down now that the clouds have cleared, allowing an ethereal brightness to illuminate the Queen as she makes her speech, on which I can scarcely focus, seeming like a garbled mess to my ears.
“Are you ready, mei waella?” Varic whispers.
I nod in affirmation. Because it’s him. The one I trust with my whole being.
A tingling sensation rolls down my skin, and I lift my gaze to peer at the bright gray orb with the distinct feeling that my magic has been enlivened.
Thrumming while I focus on the magical tether I hold with His Majesty and all of my Guards.
Sensing their emotions in bright, vivid colors.
Awe strikes me, and I stare at the moon in appreciation, as if it were possible to be empowered by its beauty alone.
“I have chosen to make a concession,” Queen Celine says. “To allow Imperial Lead Guard Varic to do the honor of drawing the blood in place of myself.”
Varic’s nostrils flare at the use of the gruesome description.
Then he forces out a breath and parts his shield over the middle of my palm.
Warmth disappears from the skin where he is to place the blade over my hand, then my heart constricts when Varic flicks his eyes up to mine in sympathy.
I follow as he lowers his gaze, where he studies the indentations made by my nails, each one appearing more prominent with the shadows made by the angle of moonlight.
He rubs the pad of his thumb over every crescent-shaped divot before he presses four pulses into my skin—proving he wants me, claims me even, despite my brokenness.
I nod once he raises his dagger in question, then stare down as he places the sharp end of his blade to my hand.
His movements are sure, and he makes the cut with careful precision before his eyes flick up to mine in careful assessment.
I smile to let him know he did not hurt me. Or at least, not in the way he worries.
He squeezes four more pulses into my flesh before indicating the field behind my back.
I drop my hand to my side and maintain eye contact when I squeeze my hand into a fist, then shudder from the sensation of warm blood seeping from between my fingers.
“All Hail the Queen of the Harvest, who so selflessly gave part of herself for the good of all who inhabit our land,” Her Royal Highness shouts, garnering applause from the crowd as I turn to her in question, hoping this has been enough to appease her.
The crowd parts, and I hold my breath when Prince Auden strides through the opening.
Queen Celine gestures for him to come closer and announces, “Prince Auden will now perform the dressing of your wound.”
I turn to Cirrin and shake my head, communicating the need for him to wait and heal me after this part of the tradition.
Prince Auden smiles at the servant who offers him a strip of gauze before turning to me.
I hold out my bloodied hand to him and look for a bowl of water, as I expect him to wash my wound prior to wrapping it—though Varic would most likely assume it was infused with poison and refuse to allow me to use it.
Yet no servants arrive with such, and I force out a breath when Varic holds a hand up to halt us.
“Wait. How do we know this bandage was not treated with any substance?”
“Here.” Cirrin produces a small section of gauze from his leathers.
Prince Auden thanks him and takes it without challenge, suggesting the gauze they intended him to use was perfectly clean. The prince flicks his gaze pointedly at Varic before focusing on his task by taking my hand, as offered. He begins wrapping the bandage, and I stare down to watch his work.
“I hope you are enjoying being the center of attention,” Prince Auden says, folding the end of the gauze under the top layer to secure it before he pats the side to indicate he’s finished.
A buzzing, itchy sensation rises along the skin of my palm and fingers while I thank him, then clasp my hand within the other, confounded by his statement after all he’s learned of me and my situation.
Cirrin places his hand over mine to heal the incision when a servant moves closer.
“I’ll take that for you,” the servant says, holding her hand out while my brow furrows.