15. The First Game #2
He’d catch a flash of her thick golden hair and be reminded of his widow, then compassion would take hold of the angel blood in his veins, and he’d take pity on the two humans from Tidecrest who needed desperately to catch themselves a break.
“There’s food here now, Seraphina. Eat with me, please.”
I shake my head.
It’s not real. She’s not real.
My mother would never lead me to temptation.
Don’t think about food. Don’t think about food. Don’t think about food.
In my childhood fantasy, the villagers would gush to our most virtuous ruler, telling stories of my mother’s forever kindness and countless selfless good deeds.
The High Seraph would look into my mother’s hazel eyes and see the purest soul and truest heart in all of the Kingdom. He’d see not just how much she loved me, but that there was plenty more love in her to give.
He’d decide at that first glance to save us from starving in the streets and ask for my mother’s hand, for her help to raise his dead wife’s children, and she’d love them as fiercely as she loved me.
Life would be so good that I wouldn’t have to fight the green-eyed monster for her attention, as envy would be beneath me.
Gluttony is beneath you, too.
I was a child when I had such selfish dreams.
I’d get to eat every day. Three square meals, no less. I would feast in the Great Hall and play with my siblings-by-marriage whenever our stomachs weren’t too full of all the rich meats and sugary puddings.
We would be so close, my new siblings and I, that the different blood running through our veins would not hold significance. It would be unimportant.
I'd be given dresses that weren’t ripped or soiled, and a bedroom with a roof that didn’t leak. There would be dances and courtships, and one day I’d meet a kindhearted male with a pure seraphim bloodline.
Keep going. It’s working. Don’t think about food.
He wouldn’t care about my weak blood, and our children would not be born to the pits of society.
Being born with angel blood is the difference between a life and an existence. Between being a useful member of society or someone who will forever need and want and take. A scrounger begging or starving in the street.
My stomach squeezes painfully.
So empty. So much food to fill it.
No, Seraphina, you will not fail at the first test.
I have to survive to get my journal back and prove my worth to my father.
He will be horrified at what I’ve uncovered at the academy, he might even acknowledge my place in the House of Helvane and allow me to walk freely around the citadel, no hood or need for a new mark.
No more weeks and months inside the turret. He will be glad we share the same genes and that I inherited so many features, all will know I am his from a glance.
I hold my stomach.
Don’t think about food.
Don’t think about food.
DO NOT think about food.
I haven’t thought about love or marriage for a long time. Not since Elias disappeared.
So many regrets from that night. The main one… never seeing him again.
I tried so hard not to think about him or his fate. The memories are too painful, but the distraction is necessary now, to stop me from climbing the table and shoveling food down my throat with my bare hands.
In my dreams, things are different.
I fall in love, and wed, have a family.
Our children grow up to do the same because their lives are so full, so easy, that sinning never needs to cross their innocent minds.
Years of happiness would go by, and my mother would grow old, her hair would turn that pale gray shade of nephilim feathers that humans get with age.
And when she’d catch her reflection, she’d find those deep crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes, speaking to how often and easily she’d laughed in life.
I can hear her laugh now. Enticing me to take a seat at the table with her.
I should have listened to my mother while I had her. She always did warn me. “Be careful what you wish for, Phi Phi, lest the angels take your wishes and turn them into punishments.”
Now she says, “There’s more cake, Phi Phi. Don’t make me eat it alone.”
No!
You aren’t real.
That nickname died with her all those years ago.
My back is flush to the wall now, as far from the tables as the cavern allows, which is not very far at all.
Are the walls closing in? Forcing us to smell every saliva inducing scent.
I sink down against the rough rock and clamp my hands more tightly over my ears.
Rocking back and forth, I’m delirious, my mind mangled between childhood dreams, distant memories and the desperate need to fill my stomach or die.
As time passes, more cadets fail.
One by one they begin to fall, to die.
Cambion’s eat and burn. Nephilim collapse, their lips blue and eyes sunken, gray feathered wings on full display now without their consciousness working to glamour them away.
Poor Jack and Micah and Gabe.
I should be hurting more than I am.
I should be sobbing and grieving but all I am is hungry.
Us nephilim were vastly outnumbered before, now there are only two of us left, and Diana just collapsed beside me.
I crawl toward her. Her lips are cracked and she’s whispering something I can’t understand.
Pressing a hand to her chest, I’m relieved that her pulse is there, but it’s too slow. Her body is shutting down after a few hours of fighting hunger's temptation.
This isn’t right.
There is food everywhere, and my people are dying of starvation.
The scent of death joins the scent of the feast, yet it’s no less appetizing.
“Come on, Seraphina,” my mother’s voice calls. “Let’s feast together. For old times’ sake.”
Feast?
For old times’ sake?
I almost laugh.
Outside of my dreams and fantasies, I don’t have a single real memory of us ever feasting together.
Picking through a tavern’s trash under the cloak of night? Yes.
Foraging along the coastline for cockles and winkles and limpets? Absolutely.
On a good day, we’d maybe get to share a slice of…
I look at the bread, then Diana, then the bread again.
My gut is not the wisest thing to follow right now, but not eating is clearly not the answer either.
This is a game. A test. A puzzle. There has to be a way to solve it.
How had Silver done it?
I reach for the bread and rip it in half.
The crust burns my fingers, but I don’t eat it. I press one half against Diana’s mouth.
“Eat.”
She shakes her head.
Angels forgive me, I roll her onto her back awkwardly, trying not to hurt her soft wings that are now on full display. At what point had she lost control of the glamour? It doesn’t matter, mine will not appear, no matter how starving I am.
I straddle her chest and pin her arms under my knees.
“I won’t let you eat any more than this,” I hold up the torn bread until understanding crosses her eyes. “You owe me, Diana. Come on. Eat. Do this and I’ll forgive you.”
It doesn’t feel right to use her desperation for my forgiveness against her, but I’m already in Hell, how much worse can I get?
She doesn’t move at first.
Then slowly, she opens her mouth.
I feed her the bread and she chews.
Once.
Twice.
Angels, please don’t let it kill her. Please don’t let her be my next mark.
If she dies, I’ll be the only nephilim left...
She swallows.
Color blooms under her skin almost instantly. The whispers inside my head change. Softer now, and somehow, I can sense the approval in them.
I eat my half next.
Rich, savory, and slightly salty.
Delicious.
For several long heartbeats, I wait, expecting my body to ignite like so many cambion had.
Any moment.
But the fire does not come. Neither does the hunger, or the voice of my dead mother.
Others see, and one by one, they follow. Breaking bread or fruit or meat. Sharing. Feeding each other with nervous hands.
The hall glows brighter, grows wider, as if the obsidian belly is glad to be fed by our defiance.
Time limps on. Az, Khali and several others from Ferrum sit beside me and Diana, forming a circle around us.
Is this how Az felt after his win in the Triad?
Eventually, the scent of honey and cheese and turkey vanish, leaving death in its wake.
With the spell broken, reality suddenly sinks in.
My eyes take note of everybody, my heart hammering and hands shaking. We’ve lost so many cadets, all the Companies have, and it’s only the first test.