Chapter 3
Alette
I’d fought the guards with every ounce of my being when they’d forced me to the edge of the human lands, stopping just feet from the veil into the fae lands, and chained me to the altar. And I hadn’t stopped. Not until I had nothing left.
And still, it wasn’t enough. I’d ended up here.
The chains rattle with every movement I make, the metal biting into my skin.
I’m strapped to a pale white altar of some kind in the middle of the woods, my wrists bound tightly above my head, and my legs stretched out uncomfortably below me, secured so I’m permanently standing.
Beneath me, jagged rocks are stained with blood.
A lot of blood.
Being this close, knowing those deadly creatures are so near, makes me feel panicked, like a vice is closing around my throat. Like I need to slip into the safe place in my mind. But this is a new danger, one I don’t know how to handle. One that requires me to be present, to pay attention.
It’s been hours since the guards had abandoned me here, and all I can focus on are my stinging wrists and ankles, and the fear weaving through my body that I can’t ignore.
Still, I struggle against the chains, trying to find a way to escape, even though it’s clear that it’s no use.
The chains are too tight and too strong.
Strung up like a pig, I sag as much as the chains allow and draw in a deep breath. “What in the world do I do now?” I ask myself aloud.
At least they left my bag near my foot. Unfortunately, my dagger had been taken.
There might be something useful in my bag, but I’m not sure I can reach it.
The edges of the leather straps brush against my foot, but I can’t quite kick it closer with the chains around my ankles.
But even if I could get it closer, it would be pointless without my hands.
“How the hell do I get free?” I shout.
Only the wind slipping through the forest answers me, rustling the leaves around me. Reminding me that the only way I’m going to escape this is if I free myself. I have only myself to count on.
“Alette, think. There has to be a way out of this,” I whisper, panic clawing at me.
I clench my jaw, forcing myself to focus, to stay in the moment. To escape this nightmare. My father always said the best way to survive is to keep a clear head and just focus on what needs to be done.
Keep a clear head, Alette.
I force my breathing to slow. I remind myself I’ve survived worse.
My memory goes to my father in the days before his death.
How he’d developed a cough that seemed to shake his whole chest. How a cold clamminess had washed over his skin one moment, and then he’d be burning up the next.
I cared for him for days while he got slowly weaker and sicker until I’d had to make my way to town for the first time alone for medicine.
I’d ridden through the day and night, not stopping until I reached my destination.
I’d done everything in my power to save his life. Everything.
And yet, he’d died. My only human companion. The only parent I had left.
Sobbing alone, I’d dug his grave in the rain, pouring out my heart. Screaming into the storm. Knowing no one would ever hear me. That no one would ever understand.
Then, my grandparents had come and with them came the bite of leather that I didn’t expect against my unprepared flesh.
I'd never been whipped before, didn't even know to be afraid when my grandfather lifted his heavy leather strap the first time.
I knew so little of cruelty and pain before then.
With my father, I trusted everyone. With my father, I felt loved and safe.
Then he died.
And I haven’t felt safe since.
But I survived. And I’ll survive this too. Only if I stay calm.
Twilight falls over the land, painting the sky in dusky purples and oranges, then in gray, as I strain against the chains, this time more carefully, testing them for any weaknesses.
The fae lands shimmer in front of me, their border a hazy line between the realms, a delicate veil that separates my world from theirs.
Something stirs at the edge of my awareness.
I can feel the change before I see it. The air thickens, the wind ceases for a moment. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I suck in a sharp breath as the figure materializes from the border of the fae lands.
A woman.
She’s tall, draped in a blood-stained dress. Her teeth are sharp and jagged, inhuman and dangerous-looking. She floats just above the ground, her movements so graceful they’re unnatural, and her skin glows in the dim light. She’s both mesmerizing and terrifying.
I know who she is. What she is.
My heart skips a beat. Her hair is long and silver-white, flowing around her as if it’s alive, and her face is pale. Her eyes glow with a sharp, otherworldly light that seems to pierce through me. Everything about her isn’t of this world. Isn’t human. She’s a ghost. No, a fae deity.
Varua. How could I not recognize her? Not only is there her statue at the temple in town, but there’ve been a million pieces of art created in her image.
My breath catches in my throat. This goddess is a force of nature, a being of power and destruction, like all gods and goddesses. Beings like her don’t show themselves to mortals unless they have a reason. And that reason is never good.
I’m in trouble. More trouble than I even thought.
She approaches me, her gaze never wavering from mine. I feel a sudden pull in my chest, an invisible force that focuses my attention on her, as if my soul is being magnetized by her presence. My skin feels hot, too hot, and I feel sweat bead my forehead.
Is this what it’s like for a mortal to be near a god?
Varua stops right in front of me, her cold eyes scanning my face. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the silence between us oppressive.
“You’re my sacrifice,” she says, her voice like the whisper of the wind.
“I’d rather not be,” I tell her, my words only shaking a little.
She cocks her head. “Are you sure?”
“I’m certain. All I want is to go back to town, get my supplies, and go home.”
A dangerous smile flashes across her face. “That’s not what you want, you just don’t know it yet.”
Then, without a word, she reaches out.
I flinch as her fingers brush against my forehead, icy cold. My breath catches in my throat, but I can’t pull away. I’m tied in place. A shudder runs down my spine as I feel her magic flooding through me, filling every inch of my being.
There’s a pull. A force. And then it begins.
Images flood my mind. My mother’s face, smiling and laughing.
One of my last clear memories of her before…
before the blood. Before her violent death.
The fae’s magic probes inside me, pulling out the memories of that day, and I scream, trying to fight the fae in front of me, but more images replace the ones of my mother.
My father, his loving face, his hands rough as he taught me how to survive.
The memories of those long nights after my mother died, when it was just me and him, trying to make our way in the world.
And then...
My father’s illness. His decline. The quiet in the house. The realization that my survival now depended on me. I would need to do all the hunting alone. All the repair work alone. Work our garden, alone. Live or die, on my own.
I see myself, only ten years old, alone in the world, trying to survive. Trying to bury my grief, trying to keep going.
Somehow I thought things couldn’t get worse, and then my grandparents had arrived.
Cruel words were constantly thrown at me, reminders that I was ugly, stupid, and useless.
Hands slapped my face. Fingers pinched my skin.
Leather struck my flesh. Safety was gone.
Any sense of belonging in this world was stolen away.
But it’s too much. The flood of images is overwhelming. The memories are too vivid, too real. I feel as if I’m drowning in them. I gasp for air, but it’s as if I can’t breathe.
I scream again, but the sound is muffled, as if it’s caught in my throat. The memories won’t stop. They keep coming, one after another. My father’s death. My mother’s death. My lonely survival. My grandparents. Everything, all of it, rushing into me.
And then, just as quickly as it started, it stops.
I gasp for air, feeling the burn in my chest as I try to steady my breath. My body trembles, my hands shaking, but I don’t collapse. I can’t collapse, bound by the chain.
Varua’s hand is still on my forehead, but the pressure lessens. I blink, dazed, trying to make sense of what just happened.
She pulls her hand away.
But it’s not over.
I watch in stunned silence as Varua steps back, her expression unreadable.
She places her hand at the back of her neck and begins to…
to pull her spine out of her skin. She screams, a bloodcurdling sound, and more blood splatters her already bloody dress.
I look away, squeezing my eyes shut until the screaming stops, and then I chance a glance at her.
She stands before me, clutching a blade made of her very bones.
It glows faintly, the sword shimmering with an otherworldly light. I don’t know what she intends to do with it, but the fear in my chest grows stronger.
This is how I die. This is how she kills me.
But instead of striking, she does something strange. She places the sword on the ground between us. As the steel touches the bloody stones, the sword shrinks into a dagger made of bone. I look up, and Varua gives me an intense look.
“Human, you’ve been chosen. Do not waste my faith in you.”
Then she turns back to the fae barrier and crosses into it, disappearing into the haze. Around me, the wind stirs again. The creatures begin to make their nightly sounds, and I stand alone. Still trapped on the fae altar.
I don’t know what just happened. I don’t know why she showed up, why she put me through that flood of memories. But there’s one thing I do know for certain: I’m still alive.
For now.