Chapter 3
Three
Ascension
Iopened the door and stepped into the night, leaving the metallic scent of blood behind.
Snow lashed against my face like needles of cold biting into my skin. It had been so long since I had felt fresh air that despite its harshness, I welcomed it.
Stonebriar Castle loomed behind me, silent and watching. Or perhaps that feeling was the weight of the life I had just taken. Either way, I was glad to run away from it.
My teeth chatted as the damp snow soaked into my slippers with every hurried step, the salty smell of brine creeping closer with every inhale.
I stuck close to the walls of the courtyard, moving fast and keeping low. It seemed most of the guards were at the Ascension, but I didn’t want to take any chances. After making it this far, there was no chance in the Seven Hells I was going back now.
The wrought-iron gates of the courtyard squeaked against the night, making me cringe at their noise.
I veered into the woods, seeking the cover of the trees.
The main path would be quicker, but it wound through the village outskirts, and I couldn’t risk wandering eyes.
Not yet. I tore through the canopy of dead trees, stumbling over splintered branches with my palms outstretched to feel the way.
The dark was so complete, I could scarcely make out the shape of my own fingers, and the trees punished me with every blind step.
The sound of drumbeats growing closer were the only thing that proved I was running in the right direction.
I glimpsed the ritual fire flickering between the trees, and I picked up my pace. Each rapid inhale of cold air burned my lungs as my feet pushed through the fresh snow.
I paused at the edge of the clearing, staying out of sight while I braced my hand against the rough bark of a tree, taking deep steady breaths to calm my racing heart. I was not used to running. There wasn’t room to do that on a pedestal of broken expectations.
People twirled and stumbled around the fire in a frenzy to the uneven pounding of drums while flames danced against the starless night. I watched them for a moment, mesmerised by their freedom, and a pang of envy shot through my stomach while my breathing steadied.
You will never be happy. The voice floated to me on the breeze. Maybe it was right. But perhaps the afterlife would be kinder.
My father stood at the foot of his dais closer to the tree line, speaking to viscount Barden with Aldric at his side. The sacred fire sat between them and the cliff face.
I set my shoulders and stepped into the clearing, heading for the opposite side of the fire, closer to the dead sea, and further away from the men who would drag me back to my gilded cage.
My fists clenched against the folds of my cloak, trying to clean my hands of the servant’s blood while I weaved between people.
Hopefully they were all too drunk to notice.
The scent of smoke and wine lingered in the air, mixing with the sharp tanginess of sea salt and primal beating of the drums. That, combined with the anticipation of the sacrifices felt intoxicating enough.
I kept my eyes trained on the ground, trying to ignore the rise and fall of drunken laughter, the clink of goblets and the gazes that felt too close.
I welcomed the warmth of the bonfire latching onto my skin through the oppressive cold, bodies dancing around me to the wild beat of the music.
I longed to join in. But my fear of being discovered kept my body from moving to the heady rhythm.
I pushed through the crowd of commoners and nobles towards the cliff’s edge, where the music faded and the air grew heavy.
No one danced there. No one laughed. Fear twisted some faces.
Others were frighteningly still, as if they had already died.
Some were praying to Gods who didn’t listen.
Sacrifices. I stared at the churned snow beneath my slippers and took my place among them.
“Sacrifices!” A loud voice boomed from one of my father’s guards clad in grey winter armour. “Line up against the cliff!” Cheers from the crowd broke out from around me, spiced liquor spilling onto the snow as they raised their glasses and stomped their feet.
I swallowed my fear, joining the line of people that had begun to form against the edge of the cliff.
There were at least two hundred of us. Dark, angry waves smashed against the sheer jagged rockface, each one a violent promise of a brutal death.
I hadn’t realised how high we truly were until now.
From here, we would be able to see the other Sacrifices make their leap into the waiting mouth of the sea.
The sea’s roar, tangled with the crowd’s fevered murmuring, grated against my uneasy nerves. The person in front of me moved, and I shuffled forward, keeping my eyes trained on the angry waves. My foot slipped, the ground vanishing beneath me in an instant.
A jolt of terror shot through my chest.
My arms flailed for a moment before I crashed onto my back.
The wind whooshed out of my lungs and my hood fell from my head.
I sat quickly and tore the hood back over my hair, tucking my braid firmly back in place.
The frozen slush seeped through my cloak and the thin material of my slip, dragging a violent shiver from my body. Gods, did someone see me?
A pair of sturdy boots stepped into my vision, and I forced my gaze up to meet a pair of assessing brown eyes.
I waited for her to shout for the guards, fear sinking in my stomach. But instead, she tilted her head at me. Whatever desperation she saw was enough for her to hesitate.
A small, knowing smile curved her lips as she extended a graceful, brown hand. Her black curls sprung from the two braids that hung over her shoulders, refusing to be tamed.
“Silk does not fare well against ice.” She looked down at my slippers as I considered her hand. “Don’t worry though, they have real shoes at the barracks.”
I reached for her hand hesitantly and let her help me to a standing position, embarrassment flushing my cheeks. I offered her a small smile before tucking my hood further over my head.
“Thank you,” I said softly. If she recognised my face, she clearly did not care.
My eyes drifted back to the Dead Sea’s black waters; it was boiling with a hunger born from a hundred years of curses and grief. A graveyard of broken souls.
It was a living testament to the wrath of the Gods who had loved the Sirens and mourned their extinction with such fury that they cursed the seas they died in.
Father said the Sirens deserved to die, that they held too much power and fed off men, Fae and Mortal alike.
But it was the Fae who slaughtered them after finding a way to steal their magic.
“It’s intimidating being this close, isn’t it?” The dark-haired woman said, watching the sea next to me.
“Yes, though I find myself enthralled,” I answered honestly.
“Well, I guess we are all a bit crazy for volunteering to do this,” she stated idly.
My back stiffened at the word, but she didn’t seem to notice, lowering her voice and leaning towards me.
“Whatever your reason is for running. Make it worth it. Run far and do not look back.” Before I could respond, a tall man with dishevelled brown hair pushed in front of me, earning a shove from another initiate.
“Fancy meeting you here on such a fine evening, Dreya.” The man looked at the woman who had helped me, a mischievous smile lighting up his face.
“Go to Hells Riven,” she glared at him, and he chuckled.
I stood frozen, unable to look away from him.
He was devilishly handsome, but that was not why my gaze clung to him.
His grey eyes met mine, and my breath stuttered to a stop.
There was something so familiar about those eyes.
I dipped my head quickly, letting the hood swallow my face.
Before I could be sure if he saw my face, the drums surged.
Deep and primal, like a heartbeat before a kill.
The crowd fell into silence as a priestess stepped to the stone basin at the cliff’s edge, the bonfire behind her throwing her grey robes into ripples of firelight.
But it was the man walking next to her that turned my stomach.
The architect of my scars. The emissary to our estranged Gods.
The priest.
But how could they favour him when I knew how his eyes darkened with hunger every time that he fastened my chains?
I knew how hard his cock got every time he cut open my skin.
His blonde hair was cropped shorter at the sides and sleeked back neatly at the top.
Robes of deep grey surrounded his strong build.
Others found him handsome. Charming. But I knew the truth.
My breath turned shallow, shoulders hunched against the memories.
My skin crawling with the need to run. The priest hid his vulgarity behind the mask of divine righteousness, abusing me in the name of our Gods.
I swallowed the bile clawing up my throat and kept my gaze low.
But rage sparked behind my eyes, hot and trembling.
Spill his blood, the whispers carried to me on the breeze.
Kill him. My vision blurred. Not from tears.
But from sheer, bone-deep rage. I wanted to give in to the voice.
To let my darkness take over and make him suffer.
But I couldn’t give in completely. If I did, there was a chance I wouldn’t remember it.
And I wanted to remember every second of his death.
They stopped before a large stone basin, arms raised to the blackened sky.
The wind died and the music dulled to a pulsing thrum, and it felt as though the entire crowd held their breath.
The surface of the water rippled as if something beneath stirred. Something waiting.