Chapter 10 Ezra
My power prickled beneath my skin. A painful reminder that it was still there, still angry.
Only this time, it had a reason to be. Even as I climbed the stairs to the Verisepth, I could not guess what fresh horror awaited.
Each day was a test of exactly how far Stanhope would go, how deep his depravity ran.
He had rounded up girls. I did not know how many.
Only that each had been accused of ‘witchcraft’.
There were no witches. Not according to the priest from the caves, or the texts he bequeathed to Liv and me.
These girls had committed no crime. They were simply born as the Divine had once intended, before men twisted the inheritance of magic into something it was never meant to be.
I took my time through the halls. The blue lanterns flickered, but the silence and the shadows that accompanied them were almost comforting.
My own shadows swirled around my feet, writhing and twisting with unease.
They curled around the walls like living smoke, retreating only when I willed them back.
I allowed more of them to spill across the floor as I approached the doors to the meeting chambers.
Though I had not yet learned how to quiet the emotions that stirred my power, I found that surrendering a measure of control eased the pain. If only for a moment.
My breath caught at the chill of the brass door handle.
I froze. One deep, steadying draw of breath, followed by a long exhale.
The door creaked open. A heartbeat later, it struck the wall with a crack that drew every eye in the chamber.
I did not bother to rein in the shadows.
Though I do not believe I could if I wanted to. The sight before me was gut-wrenching.
The lords sat in a half-moon above the chamber, as though they had come to watch a spectacle rather than pass judgment.
I stood in the walkway that branched to the seats at the top of the stairs, and the shadows spilled down the steps ahead of me.
Below were the girls. Ten of them. They knelt in a line leading to a chair in the center of the room, heads bowed. Bile rose in my throat.
They varied in age. Some were no older than Liv and Helena.
Others were scarcely out of leading strings.
The smallest trembled, silent tears slipping from beneath lowered lashes.
Only the eldest held her head high, meeting Stanhope's stare without flinching as he paced before the chair.
Ten girls. Ten different powers. Ten different families.
Ten different lives reduced to a single accusation.
My thoughts drifted to their parents. How could they have surrendered their daughters to the mercy of men who cared nothing for their safety?
Then I answered my own question. Fear. Fear had become Stanhope's greatest weapon.
I cleared my throat. He knew I was here; he just hadn’t deemed me worthy of his attention yet.
“How kind of you to join us, Prevailing Diviner.”
He made my title sound like an insult. The satisfaction gleaming in his eyes told me all I needed to know.
He reveled in the strain that blanketed the room.
I moved slowly down the stairs, giving him nothing.
Indifference became my armor. He would not have the satisfaction of seeing it crack.
I clung to the plan. To the girls' freedom. It was all that mattered now.
“Now that you are here, we can begin.” He waved a hand, and one of the enforcers stationed at the exits stepped forward, wheeling a cart.
The wheels squealed against the floor, the sound echoing through the chamber until it came to a stop between me and the chair.
I already knew what waited atop the cart before my gaze dropped to it.
I simply wished, for one impossible moment, to be wrong.
“Now, my dears. You are here today because you are the lucky few whose families cared enough for you to be shown mercy. At the hand of our Prevailing Diviner. You will be offered salvation.”
He never looked at the girls. Instead, he fussed over the tools on the cart, lifting needles, bottles of ink, and leather straps as though preparing for an ordinary day's work.
One of the girls, the youngest by the look of her, let out a fragile whimper. Gods. My chest cleaved open. If only I could have found a way... My power surged. Shadows spilled across the chamber, swallowing every corner as black veins twisted beneath my skin.
“Now, dear child,” Stanhope stepped toward the girl with a smile that could curdle milk, “Do not be upset; this is no reason to cry…”
He slid his finger under her chin and forced her gaze to his.
She recoiled. He jerked his hand back as though she'd burned him.
She had. A thin veil of luminescent flame danced across her skin, covering her like armor.
He turned to the Lords sitting in the gallery.
“You see? Even now, when we are offering mercy, they lash out. This is precisely why they must be marked. The people of Verith should know who walks among them.”
Murmurs erupted. Hushed whispers of witches and danger.
All I saw was children with tear-filled eyes.
They were not the ones to be feared. Fear had already claimed them long ago.
“We are not lashing out! Do you know nothing of actual power? She is terrified. It is only a reaction to that! This is not mercy, it is condemnation!”
The eldest girl, the one who had held her head high and stared down the monster threatening their freedom, shot to her feet.
Defiance burned in her eyes. She reminded me so much of Helena that, despite everything, I nearly smiled.
A crack sounded, and her head jolted back.
She fell back to her knees as Stanhope withdrew a handkerchief from his waistcoat and calmly wiped the evidence of the slap from the back of his hand.
Despite the redness that bloomed beneath her lip, and the small trail of blood that trickled down her chin, she did not waver.
Her head remained high. Her shoulders stayed squared.
The same defiant glare remained fixed on Stanhope.
“Insolence will not be tolerated in this sacred place. You will learn respect for Verith and the ancient balance, or you will face the gallows.”
He smoothed his hands over wrinkles that were not there on his trousers, then rolled his sleeves.
“Now, which of you lucky, brave girls would like to go first?”
His attempt at kindness was infinitely more terrifying than any threat he could have uttered.
He was answered only with more whimpers.
None of the girls would volunteer. The girl was right; this was condemnation.
One of the girls lifted her head. “I…is it going to hurt?”
Her voice was so small, so shaken. I could feel the tears now burning behind my own eyes.
Fuck this, and damn the gods for allowing it. I did the only thing I could.…
“I will go first.” The sniffling ceased. The murmurs died. Even the room seemed to stop breathing. Stanhope's brow lifted, amusement twinkling in his eyes.
“Oh?”
I stepped toward him and rolled my sleeve, “If this is truly an honor, a mercy, a gift…should it not be bestowed upon your Prevailing Diviner first?”
Something ugly flickered across his face. He could not deny me; it would discredit his entire ploy. He had to play along.
“Of course. You are correct, Prevailing, as usual. You should receive the gift from the council first. Though…”
He stepped closer to me, the glint in his eye more dangerous now.
“You should bear this mark with pride; this gift should be worn by our Prevailing with distinction.”
He gripped my shirt and tore it open, buttons scattering across the floor.
“You, Prevailing, should wear your mark on your chest, closer to your heart.”
His finger dug painfully into the skin of my chest. A challenge. But I did not falter.
“Perfect.” I refused to look away. He nodded toward the chair.
With a lazy wave of his hand, he summoned one of the balancers.
I took my seat without ever breaking his gaze.
The wood dug into my arms as they tightened the leather straps around my wrists.
I hissed through my teeth as another strap cinched across my chest, forcing my back hard against the chair.
“A precaution.” Stanhope smiled.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw the youngest girl staring at me, her hands no longer shaking quite so violently.
The first prick felt like a bee sting. Sharp at first, then radiating as they worked the ink into the tiny wounds.
One puncture after another. It seemed to go on forever.
But I did not let the girls see my discomfort.
I did not give Stanhope anything he could use.
Before it was finished, he had gotten bored and joined the other lords in the gallery.
By the time they were finished, my skin throbbed beneath the fresh ink. Every movement set the mark ablaze. But still, I did not show it. The first girl stepped forward. The eldest one with the fire in her eyes.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered next to her ear as I leaned in to fasten the straps on her arms. I positioned myself so that the lords could not see my face as I copied the enforcers’ actions with precision. The girl winced at first.
“No,” I whispered. “Do not let them see you falter. Keep your chin high. This is the worst that I will allow you to endure.”
I pressed the needle into her skin, just above the leather straps, again and again, gritting my teeth with every stroke.
Through the process, I explained my plan in hushed tones.
Making it look as though I was comforting her as I told her of Liv and Helena, and their escape.
By the time I was done, she sat even taller than before.
Hope shone in her eyes. She passed the girls on her way out, offering them encouraging words, assuring them it would be okay.
Stanhope lorded over the room, his gaze oppressive. But even the smallest of the girls was braver than he knew. One by one, the girls came. They sat. They endured. And they consumed every ounce of rebellion I fed them.
They had survived the worst of it. As the last girl rose from the chair, the last sacrificial lamb had been marked.
Stanhope believed he had branded obedience into their skin.
He had not noticed that rebellion had taken root instead.
I left knowing that I had done all I could.
And when we met at the border that night, they would leave Verith behind forever.