Chapter 34
The ritual chamber is deep in the house of gold. Croesus leads me through in silence, his hand tight around mine.
The door, when we finally reach it, is different from the others in the house. Not gold, but black stone carved with symbols which hurt to look at directly. Protective wards, I realize. Ancient ones. It’s definitely not the same ritual room I’d used for my purges.
Croesus pauses before opening it. "Once we start, we can't stop. No matter how much it hurts. No matter what you feel. We have to complete the ritual or–"
"Or I die. I know. Isn’t that how it always goes?"
"Or worse." He turns those gold eyes on me. "There are things worse than death when it comes to broken magic."
"Then we won't break it."
He doesn't look convinced, but he opens the door.
The chamber beyond takes my breath away.
It's circular, maybe fifty feet across, with a domed ceiling which is carved to look like a night sky. But instead of stars, there are seven points of light, one for each house, I realize. Gold, platinum, iridescent, red, rose-gold, amber, and that pale, colorless light.
The floor is black marble inlaid with gold, not a random style, but a perfect seven-pointed star. At each point sits a cushion, and at the center, where all the lines meet, there's a space for me.
The six other angels are already here, each standing at their designated point.
Seraph in white and gold, wings folded against his back, looking like carved perfection.
Kael wreathed in smoke, embers drifting from his scarred skin.
Idris in black, their lips moving silently.
Lysander lounging like a cat, purple eyes bright with interest. Dorian holding a wine glass despite the solemnity, his warm brown eyes sad.
And Caspian in the shadows, leaning on his cane, looking more exhausted than the last time I saw him.
"She's here," Seraph announces unnecessarily. "Let's begin before I change my mind about this insanity."
Croesus leads me to the center of the star. The moment I step into the space, I feel it, power humming through the floor, through the air, through my very bones. The wards here are so strong, they're almost visible.
"Sit," Croesus says gently.
I do, cross-legged on the cold marble. He moves to his point on the star, the golden one, naturally, and sits facing me.
All seven angels are positioned around me now, creating a perfect circle. I'm at the center, and suddenly I feel very small. Very human. Very mortal.
"The ritual requires blood," Seraph says, all business now. "Yours and ours. The bonds are created through the mixing of essences, your angel blood recognizing ours, creating a bridge."
"How much blood?" My voice sounds thin in the vast chamber.
"Not much. A few drops each." Dorian pulls out a ceremonial knife, silver, etched with more of those painful symbols. "But the cutting is just the beginning. The bonds themselves..." He trails off.
"Will hurt," Kael adds bluntly. "A lot."
"Comforting."
"I'm honest, not comforting." But there's something almost like respect in his ember eyes. "You're about to let seven deadly sins into your head. Most humans would go insane. You might too."
"Then I guess we'll find out."
Brave or stupid, Idris comments in my mind. Still can't decide.
"Can we just get this over with?" Caspian asks tiredly. "Standing is exhausting."
Seraph shoots him an annoyed look, but nods. "Very well. Raven, hold out your hands."
I do. They're shaking slightly, but I force them steady.
Seraph approaches first, knife in hand. "This is the last chance to back out."
"I'm not backing out."
"Then let's begin." He takes my right hand, presses the blade to my palm. "This will sting."
It does more than sting. The knife cuts deep, and I gasp as blood wells up, red.
Seraph cuts his own palm without hesitation. His blood is different, platinum colored, shimmering like mercury. He presses our palms together, and the world TILTS.
Power floods into me, not gradually, but all at once. Pride, absolute and overwhelming. The certainty that I am perfection incarnate, that everyone else is lesser, that I deserve worship and obedience and– I scream.
It's too much. Too alien. Not mine, but trying to BECOME mine, trying to rewrite who I am into something proud and perfect and utterly inhuman.
"Hold on," Seraph's voice cuts through the pain. "Don't let it consume you. You're not becoming me. You're just connecting to me."
Easy for him to say, but I grit my teeth and hold on. The pride settles slightly, becomes more manageable. I can still feel it, his absolute certainty, his need to be flawless, but it's not drowning me anymore.
When Seraph pulls his hand away, I'm gasping, and there's a thread of platinum light connecting us. I can see it pulsing between my chest and his.
"One down," he says quietly. "Six to go."
"I can't."
"You can," Croesus says firmly. Through our existing bond, he pours strength into me. Love. Determination. "You can do this."
Kael moves forward next. His approach is less ceremonial, he just grabs my bleeding hand, cuts his own, and presses them together without preamble.
Fire. Rage. Violence barely contained.
This time I don't scream. I just burn.
Kael's wrath is different from Seraph's pride. Where pride was cold certainty, wrath is hot fury. It wants to destroy, to burn, to rage against everything that exists. It's exhausting and exhilarating and absolutely terrifying.
"Breathe through it," Kael growls. "Let it pass through, not into."
I try. It's like trying to breathe through a forest fire.
But gradually, gradually, the wrath settles. Becomes a red thread connecting us, pulsing with heat.
Kael releases my hand. "Not bad, sin eater."
The next three come in quick succession.
Idris, envy, sharp and cutting, making me want everything I don't have, making me hate what others possess. Their mental voice in my mind becomes a constant whisper: you could be more, have more, BE more.
Lysander, lust, overwhelming and immediate, making every nerve ending come alive, making me want to touch and be touched and lose myself in sensation. His purple eyes watch me writhe with clinical interest.
Dorian, gluttony, the need for MORE, always more, never enough, wanting to consume and experience and devour everything. He steadies me when I nearly collapse, his warm hands gentle.
Each bond is agony. Each thread of light another tether. By the time Dorian pulls away, I'm shaking violently, covered in sweat, barely holding onto consciousness.
Five bonds. Five threads of light connecting me to five angels. Five sins flooding through my awareness, each one demanding attention, each one trying to influence how I think and feel.
"Two more," Croesus says. He sounds worried through our existing bond. "Can you continue?"
"Yes." The word comes out as barely a whisper.
Caspian approaches next, moving slowly with his cane. He looks at me with those pale, exhausted eyes.
"Apathy," he says quietly. "The absence of caring. Are you ready for that?"
"No."
"Honest answer." He takes my hand, cuts his palm. His blood is nearly colorless, like diluted milk.
When our palms touch, I feel... nothing.
And that's somehow worse than all the others combined.
The apathy is an absence, a void, a complete and utter lack of anything. It's not peace, it's emptiness. The sense that nothing matters, nothing has meaning, nothing is worth the effort of existing.
I feel myself starting to slip into it. Starting to think that maybe I should just give up, stop trying, let the void take me,
"NO!" Croesus's voice cracks through the chamber. "Raven, fight it!"
But why? Why fight? Why do anything? It's all so pointless, so exhausting, so...
Pain lances through our existing bond. Croesus, deliberately hurting himself to hurt me, to shock me out of the apathy.
It works. I gasp, cling to that pain, use it to anchor myself.
The apathy settles. Becomes a pale thread connecting me to Caspian.
Six bonds. Six threads. Six deadly sins all pulling at my consciousness.
And then Croesus is in front of me, and I realize we're creating a seventh bond, reinforcing the one we already have.
"I'm already connected to you," I manage to say.
"Not like this. Not permanently." He takes my hand gently, carefully. "I'm sorry. I know you're exhausted. But we need to complete this."
His blood is pure gold when he cuts his palm. When we connect, greed floods through, but this time it's familiar. I know his hunger, his endless need, his three-thousand-year emptiness.
The new bond forms quickly, solidly. Becomes a golden thread that blazes brighter than all the others.
Seven bonds. Seven threads of light. Seven deadly sins all connected to me, through me, part of me.
I collapse backward, unable to sit up anymore. The threads remain, pulsing with light, tethering me to seven fallen angels who are all staring at me with varying expressions of concern.
Through the bonds, I feel them ALL now:
Seraph's pride and worry.
Kael's wrath and respect.
Idris's envy and fascination.
Lysander's lust and interest.
Dorian's gluttony and concern.
Caspian's apathy and... something else, something that might be actual feeling.
Croesus's greed and love and absolute terror.
"It's done," Seraph says quietly. "The bonds are formed."
"Are they stable?" Dorian asks.
"For now." Seraph studies the threads of light. "But they're not temporary. I can see that already. The magic...it's locked in. Hopefully it won’t be permanent."
"Fuck," Kael mutters.
"Eloquent as always," Seraph says dryly.
We're bound to her. All of us, Idris adds. And through her, to each other.
The implications of that hang in the air.
"Can you feel us?" Croesus asks me gently.
I nod weakly. I can feel all of them. Not their thoughts, thank god, but their emotions, their presences, like seven distinct flavors in the back of my mind.
"How long until the battle?" I whisper.
"Hours," Seraph says. "Dawn is still far off. You should rest."