Chapter 14 #2
“I’m not going to sit here and let you do this to her,” Fen shouts. “Silas, you are asking her to do something that almost killed Larkin and Warrick. How dare you put her in this kind of danger? After you’ve waited so long to be with her.”
“Fenmore. Hush,” Silas roars, slamming his fists on the table. “I won’t let Malachi corrupt her mind. She’s too valuable and knows too much. I’m trying to fucking save her.” He grips the table in a feeble attempt to calm himself. “And this is the only way I know how.”
Her eyes fill with rage, and she spits out, “If she fucking dies, Silas, I will never forgive you.”
“She won’t.”
Fen’s eyes lock on mine, and I see the fear behind her eyes. She lingers for a moment before shifting from the house, followed by a trail of shadows.
Silas stares at the space, but no regret shows behind his piercing eyes. He exhales harshly, rubbing his throbbing temples.
“Want me to bring her back?” Warrick asks.
“No.” Silas shakes his head. “We need you here.”
Warrick’s shoulders sag. “She’ll be okay.”
“I know she will.”
“We need to get started,” Warrick says. “Larkin, get up.”
Larkin raises his head, and nerves slam into my chest. His face is pale, and I notice his fingertips shake. He clearly does not want to do this, but I know he can’t say no.
What about this bothers him so much?
“We will do it here,” Silas says, pointing to the table.
“Briar should change,” Maines steps in.
“There isn’t time,” Silas responds.
He begins clearing the plates and various objects off, making a large enough spot for me to lie down. “Larkin, get the supplies, and be back here within five minutes. Briar will be ready for you to begin then.”
Larkin remains silent as he shifts.
Maines turns to me. “Are you sure about this?”
I take a deep breath, steadying myself. “If it protects us and what we know, then yes. I’m sure. I know Silas wouldn’t do this unless it were necessary.”
Silas nods. “Maines and Oak, you two will also need to do this, but another time. I fear you'll opt out after you see this, but please know this is for our safety.”
“No chance I’m fucking doing this,” Oak snaps.
Maines takes his hand, already anxious, and offers him an understanding smile.
I step out onto the balcony, taking a moment to think.
Memories of my brother flood my mind as I breathe in the sea air, and he’s all I can think about. Then, I realize Silas faced this situation after Thatcher shot him with an arrow.
A large hand gently touches my shoulder, pulling me out of my thoughts.
“I believe I survived the fourth trial because my body had already endured some of the poison,” Silas says, moving beside me to gaze over the horizon. “I would be lying if I said I wasn’t scared to do this.”
“I can do it,” I say, with a weary smile and more confidence than I feel.
“I know you can.” He grabs my hand. “But, when the needle touches your skin, it’ll burn like you’ve been dropped on the surface of the sun. When the poison breaks through the skin, you’ll want to tear your flesh from the bone. It will bleed, but once Larkin starts, he can’t stop.”
My chest heaves, and I have to steady myself again. “Great.”
“I’m here with you, and I won’t let you go. The pain you’ll feel isn’t forever, but the pain I feel for doing this will last a lifetime.” Silas’s hand traces the length of my arm. “Where would you like the tattoo?”
“Here,” I say, pointing to my shoulder blade.
Silas reverently kisses my jaw, neck, and shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine.
“You ready?”
I take a deep breath, then nod.
We reenter the living space. Maines and Oak sit in the chairs close to the head of the table, while Warrick stands over them. Larkin sits on the opposite side with a small workspace prepped, including various needles, towels, a bowl, and a small vial.
The vial holds a black liquid that appears to pulse as Silas and I approach the table. They all turn to us with soft, insincere smiles painted on their faces. Larkin still refuses to meet my gaze, even though I know he feels my stare blazing into him.
“She would like the Rigil on her left shoulder blade, Larkin,” Silas informs him.
Silas directs me to lie face down on the table. He pulls my hair to the right, making space for Larkin to work. My heart pounds against the wooden table, like someone desperately trying to get into a locked room, and I lie flat, my face pressed against the hard surface.
Silas rubs my head gently. “He will begin shortly. Just breathe, my love. It will be over soon.”
I feel Maines grab my hand from the opposite side of the table, and I try my best to steady my trembling body.
I turn my head, facing Larkin. He slowly lifts his head, finally making eye contact with me, and a wave of sorrow washes through his dark eyes. He grabs a dagger from his station and pauses, saying, “We need blood. I don’t want to use Briar’s because of how much she could lose in this process.”
“Use mine,” Silas says, quickly extending his forearm across the table.
Larkin nods and swipes the blade across Silas’s forearm without hesitation.
Bright red blood pools down into a bowl, and I already feel as if I may be sick.
He retracts his arm, and Warrick offers a piece of fabric to wrap around the wound, but Maines grabs his arm, placing her hands over the cut, and closes her eyes.
A small wave of magic leaks from her hand, and the bleeding stops just as quickly as it started.
Larkin pauses for a moment to silently pray to both Gods—Raddnoke and Kantore. The bowl lights up with a shimmering glow as he dips the needle into Silas’s blood and then into the dark poison.
Everyone’s attention lands back on me, and I inhale deeply. Larkin makes eye contact with me once more, worry painting his expression, and I dip my chin.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I’ll be okay.”
One.
Two.
My heart thunders.
Larkin inhales deeply, pulling his eyes from mine. “We’re ready,”
“Begin,” Silas says.