Chapter 6 #2
“The time has come for another Godbound to rise!” The words crack through the air like the snap of a warden’s whip.
My heart slams against my ribs. My pulse is a war drum in my ears. I turn to face Mael.
His plan to sneak me away, to bind me in marriage under the cloak of secrecy, must fail. A maddening desire to be free of him sparks in my gut. I feel like a cornered alley cat, ready to scratch, fight, or run. Anything to escape.
Mael’s face twists with determination at whatever he sees in my expression.
He half-turns, about to call his men.
When I move.
His body tenses—a second too slow—but I see the shift in his stance, the flare of his nostrils. He knows what I’m about to do.
He grabs my hand. “Guards—”
But the silk of my glove slips against his grip, and I tear free, leaving it behind in his hand. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Eva reaching for me as well. Then I leap—
The parapet vanishes beneath me, and for a breathless second, I am weightless. The world tilts. A rush of wind, a kaleidoscope of gold and marble blurring around me.
Then the temple’s carpet slams into me, wrenching the breath from my lungs as I land on my side.
Agony bursts, a jarring shockwave that ricochets through my ribs, my spine, my skull. I barely register the gasps, the startled cries, pain is my entire world. I roll, my body protesting every inch of movement, clutching at my aching side as the temple explodes into chaos.
Voices rise in a frenzy, footsteps thudding toward me, hands reaching.
Then Mael’s voice cuts through the madness. “Do not touch her!”
The temple stills, just enough for my pulse to thunder loud in my ears, for the realization to anchor deep in my bones. I drag in a breath, my lungs burning. My body screams at me to stay down. But I don’t.
I push up. Slowly.
Pain splinters through me, but I don’t waver.
The wide space here lies open between two clusters of benches, their rows flanking me on either side.
Directly ahead, a broad path cuts across my course— to the left it climbs toward the dais on its high stage, to the right it leads straight to the tall entrance doors.
I don’t look up until I’m standing, my spine straight, my hands trembling only slightly at my sides. Then I meet Mael’s gaze.
He stands at the railing, staring down at me. Waiting. Not chasing. Not calling for my capture. Just… watching. As if expecting me to crumble beneath the weight of my own choice.
I lift my chin.
Gritting my teeth, I stagger forward. I cross the open gap between the benches on the left and right, moving past more rows whose aisles are softened with dark carpet. Ahead, a straight path draws me onward, leading directly to Calista’s statue.
She’s carved in white stone, her figure lean and regal.
Her horns begin thick at the base, laid fluidly across her hair like adornment until they sweep upward into sharpened, vicious points.
Her triangular sigil is carved over her chest. It’s an upside-down triangle lined with outward-facing spikes and blood-like droplets pooling within. It’s beautiful. And terrifying.
But my choice is made.
“She’s cursed!” someone’s voice rings through the temple, finally noticing the blackened fingertips from my single, gloveless hand. But I don’t look back.
With a swift motion, I drag my bare palm across the sharp, decorative edge of the stone at Calista’s waist. The fallen goddess, forgotten by almost everyone.
“I, Raylane Troubelle, pledge myself as your champion.” Blood smears the goddess’s altar.
The silence is deafening. As I look over the crowd, I see the same disgust that darkened their faces before Brienne’s attempted lashing.
Nobody moves. A heartbeat passes. Then another.
The temple itself seems to hold its breath. The scent of blood thickens, iron and incense mingling in the air. A shiver climbs my spine, cold and unrelenting, as I wait for something, anything, to happen.
A murmur ripples through the gathered crowd, hesitant, uncertain.
A shadow shifts and something is flung over my head. A noose tightens around my neck. A vicious yank hauls me backward, slamming me onto the naked marble floor.
Voices rise in shouts, words of hatred cracking through the temple. All sorts of objects begin to pelt me from the crowd—fans, cups, even a handkerchief—as I claw at the thin wire digging into my throat. Zyrel’s noose, I realize in an all-consuming horror.
I feel like a worm writhing on hot coals while others watch.
But I don’t care. My mother didn’t fight when they took her, she wanted to spare our family any further disgrace.
But I am not my mother. I will not disappear quietly.
I thrash, kicking wildly. My nails dig into the wire, fingers slipping against the wine and blood. My foot connects with flesh. A sharp curse. But the noose only tightens.
Then, finally, the seven-layered voices of the Sibyls thunder. “Release her!”
I writhe for another moment before air floods my lungs, and I gasp desperately, afraid this breath might be my last. I pull myself up onto my hands and knees, my disheveled, wine-soaked hair hanging over my face, ends splattered against the marble.
A red strand falls in front of my eyes, and I blow it away before looking up.
The Red Hunter glares down at me with disdain. His black dragon behind him. He still holds the noose, though the tension has slackened.
“Rise,” the Sibyls command, their voices closer now.
The crowd parts, revealing seven robed figures standing in a semi-circle, the Sphere hovering above them.
Their faces are a canvas of scarred tissue, melted over where their eyes should be.
Their ears are like bits of melted clay.
Their connection to this world exists only through the will of the gods.
They see what the gods show them, hear what the gods allow them to hear, more than any mortal could ever comprehend.
And now, those gods are watching me.
“Rise,” the Sibyls repeat.
I shove the noose from my neck, rubbing the raw skin before pushing to my feet. Then I spit blood at Zyrel’s boots.
Mael pushes through the throng, stopping just behind one of the Sibyls.
“She is not fit to be a champion,” he says, gesturing toward the other champions, barely visible through the murmuring crowd. “She is a simple girl, and a cursed one at that. She brings shame upon the ritual.”
“Raylane Troubelle has pledged herself to Calista, Goddess of Blood and Decay,” seven voices chant in eerie unison. “She is no longer yours to command.”
Mael stares at them. At me. At Zyrel. Then back at me. “These really are dark times,” he sneers, “if we allow a whore to—”
A sudden downpour of wine covers Mael’s head, cutting him off mid-sentence.
Gasps ripple through the hall as heads tilt upward. Eva stands on the balcony above, an empty pitcher in her hands. She isn’t smiling.
“Forgive me, Your Highness,” she says, her white teeth flashing against her brown skin. “I aimed for the cursed girl. My aim, alas, was as poor as my judgment. I beg your pardon.”
But there isn’t a shred of apology in her voice, only thinly veiled contempt.
A few snickers break through the stunned silence, but Mael’s expression darkens. Rage smolders behind his eyes, promising retribution in a place where no one will witness it.
My chest tightens in gratitude even as I glower at her for recklessly endangering herself. I pray Archer’s power at court will be enough to protect her.
I open my mouth to pull everyone’s attention from my bold, beautiful friend, but only a gasp tears from my throat as something surges through me—a force pressing against the nape of my neck, flooding my body, sinking into my very bones.
I know what it is in an instant: Calista’s magic, pouring into me.
Before I can catch my breath, tendrils of shadow slither into the room, stretching from every darkened corner of the temple. They creep and pool like spilled ink.
Am I calling to them?
No. No, whatever magic is filling me is internal, fluid and viscous, like molten lava. It’s surging in, not reaching out. These shadows are not mine. They’re something else. Someone else’s.
Another pulse of magic snaps through my veins, slamming against my ribs, searing through bone.
Then a voice slithers through the gathering darkness, curling around my spine like a phantom’s breath. Deep and powerful.
“Let’s show them what real darkness looks like.”