Chapter 35 Zaria
ZARIA
Ilay there staring at the ceiling, trying my best not to move.
The altar feels warm behind me. So warm I feel it through the fabric of my shirt, pressing against my spine, my shoulder blades, the curve of my skull.
I turn my head to the side and see the handle of the blade that is pinning me down.
It's the silver ornate one, with the end twisting into a crow's wing. It's the same one I've seen on other altars, on Cormac's desk, and used in ritual.
Every breath makes my body go up and down, and it feels like the knife slices more and more into me.
The pain from my shoulder radiates down my arm, across my collarbone, into my ribs. My muscles scream at me to hold still, but I can't stop breathing. I can't stop existing, even when existing hurts this much.
The stab wound felt hot at first, but now it feels cold, and I feel the constant drip of blood pooling under my shoulder.
I look around slowly and see Cormac talking to some men in the distance.
He's standing near the entrance, gesturing with his hands.
His robe sweeps the floor as he moves, the black fabric catching the firelight from the candles.
The men around him nod, their faces hidden beneath hoods.
I recognize a few of them by their build, the way they stand.
Brother Johnny. Brother Eli. Maybe Brother Jameson.
Everything moves in slow motion, and while I can't hear what they're saying, I know they're talking.
Their mouths move and one of them gestures toward me, and Cormac glances over, his expression unphased.
He doesn't care.
The incense fills my nose as I inhale, but something else comes along with it. It takes me a moment to realize what it is.
Gasoline.
The chemical smell is unmistakable. I force myself to breathe through my mouth, but it doesn't help and I feel like I can taste it on my tongue.
I close my eyes, and a tear slides down my face.
On one hand, I want Callum to come. I want him to burst through those doors and pull me off this altar and carry me out of here, his breath against my hair, his voice telling me I'm safe.
But I don't want him here. Not in this place where Cormac can hurt him.
Not where fire waits to consume everything.
If he comes, something bad is going to happen, and it'll be my fault.
It's always my fault.
"Please," I say, mustering up all the energy I have. "Just leave him alone. He has nothing to do with it. He didn't even know about it."
My voice cracks and sounds weak, but it's all I have.
Cormac's head snaps toward me.
"LIAR!" he yells.
I flinch, and the movement makes the blade shift. I gasp, biting down on my lip to keep from screaming.
"He knew, and even if he didn't, he deserves death for what his family's done."
"He doesn't. You don't have to be like this. You could have done so much more."
Suddenly, Cormac stomps over to me and puts his hand on the knife handle and jiggles it.
That white-hot agony explodes again through my shoulder.
I scream. I can't help it. The sound rips out of me, raw and almost sounding like an animal's howl.
My back arches as my hands claw at the altar, my vision blurs.
He lets go, and I collapse back down, gasping, sobbing.
"No more talking," he says, his voice cold. "Or I'll put another one in your other shoulder."
I cry but try to force myself to stop, as it causes more pain from the blade.
Every sob makes my chest heave. Every heave makes the knife tear me open a little more.
I press my lips together, trapping the sounds in my throat. My body shakes with the effort of holding it in, and fresh tears spill down my face, but I don't make another sound.
Cormac steps back, satisfied. He turns away from me, his robes swirling.
"Finish the preparations," he says.
The men scatter, moving to the edges of the room to do God knows what. I can hear their footsteps, the rustle of fabric, the clink of metal, but I can't see them.
Suddenly, I hear gunshots.
The sound is muffled at first, distant, like fireworks going off blocks away. But then it gets louder and closer together.
My chest tightens.
Callum.
One of the hooded figures runs to Cormac, his voice high and panicked. "He's here!" he says.
Cormac doesn't even turn around.
"Light the fire!"
No. Please, no.
Stupidly, I try to sit up, but the blade holds me down and I cry out, my voice breaking.
"Don't. Please!"
Then I hear a loud whooshing sound, and a ring of fire ignites around the room.
The flames burst to life all at once, climbing the walls in a perfect circle. The heat hits me like a punch. It feels like it's searing my skin, stealing the air from my lungs.
"The Morrígan is ready for her sacrifice," Cormac says, arms outstretched.
He stands in the center of the room, bathed in firelight, his face twisted in rapture. He looks like a prophet turned madman.
"Bring him to me!"
I hear windows shatter and the gunshots are louder now. I can hear shouting, the sounds of something breaking, and men running out of the room.
The fire roars, crackling and hissing, consuming everything in its path. Smoke rises in thick, black plumes, curling toward the vaulted ceiling. I turn my head, trying to see the entrance, but the flames block my view.
All I can see is orange. All I can feel is heat.
And all I can think is that Callum is walking into a trap.
He's coming for me, and he's going to die.