Chapter 28 #2
The Fallen Prince glared at me.
And I glared back.
Crimson red ethereal cords shot out through the glass top platform, latching onto Quazar from all ends. Several Fallenspawn shot to their feet, crying out. They were yanked down by their fellow Fallenspawn by their wings, keeping them quiet and in place.
I studied the cords. I’d never seen them before.
“Those are bloodletters,” Jael said barely above a whisper, almost in shock. “The Farasees have access to bloodletters?”
“Holy stars,” Hosea breathed.
I watched as what Jael called bloodletters latched onto Quazar like leeches. There were so many of them.
My seven hearts began racing. I tried anticipating what was about to happen, but I’d never been exposed to Blood Rites before.
As I looked at Quazar, it seemed like the world fell away. As if in this moment, whatever was about to happen, while it was in front of the world, it was almost like it was happening just between him and I. I checked the veil of our bond. It was still there, stronger than ever.
Yet, I couldn’t help the sensation as if I could still feel Quazar. In my blood. My bones. My soul.
I felt his hatred and how it grew for me with every passing moment. I wish to the stars I could make him feel mine. After all, he was on that dais now because of what he’d done to my Manmi.
“Blood for blood,” Granmanmi said softly, but every ear in Titombwe heard her loud and clear. “For the Infinite, for the empyrean, for Farasee Amaryss. Blood for blood.”
The last word was spoken like a curse.
Then Quazar began to roar.
The bloodletters pierced into his body with spikes jutting out from their ends. I shot forward in my cloudchair, slamming my hands over my mouth. A cacophony of excitable screaming exploded across the arena. Lust for blood tainted the air as angels screamed for more.
The inscriptions on Quazar’s body came to life, glowing bright and golden across his skin. Whispers filled the air, reading the text aloud for us to hear. But it was an old tongue. A dead language. No one knew what it meant.
Poised like nobility, Granmanmi Asarah floated close by, watching Quazar as he was bled out, intently. Quazar strained against the bloodletters with all his might, but there was nothing to do for it.
As Quazar screamed, the bloodletters drained his blood.
Every last tendril began filling with the golden ichor, as it began seeping down the tendrils, into the glassy foundation, and beyond to who knew where.
I hyperventilated as the beast of an angel, tall as a mountain, and probably strong like one, too, was brought to his knees.
His limbs began contorting from an unseen force.
Black veins began crawling up his bronze-kissed arms, his neck, his face.
As if he was being drained of life. Being drained of his very spirit. His soul.
My stomach twisted, forming a knot that made me ill. I thought I would turn over and vomit with how nauseous I felt.
Quazar roared in agony. The angels roared back, demanding he give more of his blood. The more he bled, the more his inscriptions came to life, evidence of his curse.
My Safah. My precious fifi. Bend, but do not break. Burn, but never bleed. Never, ever let them see you bleed, Safah. Promise me. Manmi would say.
Who, Manmi? I’d asked.
Everyone, she responded gravelly. No one can see you bleed, my Star.
I ground my teeth together unable to wrench my eyes away from the curse crippling Quazar. From the blood being drained from him. Stars. There was so much blood. My hearts galloped at a speed I wasn’t sure I’d survive. My hands shook. I struggled to breathe.
“You are the one bonded to him, aren’t you, Safah?”
I didn’t look at Ezekiel.
But now all my siblings were looking at me.
I only had eyes for the Prince who’d now fallen to his knees and was writhing in agony from the torture. My nostrils flared as tears pricked my eyes.
This was what I wanted, wasn’t it? I wanted him to pay. I wanted him to suffer.
I wanted him to break.
But now that he was, now that he was being ripped apart, not just in front of me, but in front of the entire empyrean, why wasn’t I happy about it? Why did I feel sick to my stomach?
He’d earned this when he’d set my Manmi up to be slaughtered. And yet, his pain, his anguish, didn’t satisfy me. Every last one of my seven hearts were breaking instead.
“Safah,” Ezekiel pushed. “Is the Fallen Prince your temple-mate?”
Hèls. After what we’d experienced through Purification earlier, he was probably more than that now.
“Yes,” I whispered.
Quazar let out a scream so wrangled with pain, I bowed over, gripping my chest over my hearts. Still, I didn’t look away. I felt like I had to keep watching. Like I owed it to myself. To Manmi.
It was sick and twisted, but I made myself watch as blood seeped down his arms. His legs. Bathed the floor where he’d fallen, rolling in his own death.
Now, the Blood Rites were created for all Fallenspawn to participate.
For them all to share in the burden of proving fealty to the empyrean.
Instead, their Prince, Quazar Valoryen, negotiated, really he begged the Farasee Order, to let him take the full share of the burden unto himself. And in our generosity, we obliged.
Stars.
They would bleed him out for every Fallenspawn. I looked over to where they’d been sanctioned to sit. Every last Fallenspawn was on their feet, necks tense, hands clenched in fists, jawlines hardened as they watched their Prince get tortured like an animal for sport.
Then they all started to turn and look up at me. My brothers scooted in, spreading their wings around my sisters and I. I closed my eyes.
I didn’t know what to do. How to feel. The bloodletting went on and on. My mind filled with the symphony of Quazar screaming. But never, not once, did he beg for it to end. Did he ask for them to stop. He took it. He let them bleed him. Because if he didn’t bleed, the Fallenspawn would.
Unbidden, tears began streaming down my face. I felt torn. By truths I’d worn like armor only to find there were chinks in the mail. This was what I wanted but it felt so wrong. It didn’t satisfy me. Instead, it tore me apart.
“Sazu,” Hosea whispered, wrapping a wing around me, as Evanae leaned in, clinging on to me.
“Sissy,” she whispered. “I’m sorry.”
I let the tears flow. I sobbed uncontrollably, clinging to my gown at my chest. I felt his anguish. Felt his pain. Felt his tears. His sorrows. I let my mind rail. Let my hearts break. For Manmi. Myself.
For him.
Finally satisfied, Granmanmi Asarah called out once again. “Blood for blood!”
“Blood for blood!” the arena screamed out, as if on a high.
The bloodletting tendrils disappeared. And by some outrageous miracle, Quazar rolled himself over with his bloodied wings, pushed to his feet, and began hobbling off the dais.
I watched him take every agonizing step, until he finally reached Dakairi, who immediately took him into his arms. Then Quazar collapsed into his best friend.
I bowed over, dropping my head in my lap. Soothing hands brushed my back. I didn’t know who it was. I didn’t care.
“Let Titombwe commence!”
I didn’t recognize the voice. It wasn’t Granmanmi.
Stars. Granmanmi. How many times had she done this?
The amphitheater exploded with raucous joy and applause as music began playing. I figured the Cherubim had come out to sing and celebrate.
I couldn’t move. My head remained low and in my lap. I felt disgusting. Entirely ill. I couldn’t stop these rotting tears from flowing.
The soothing hand on my back never stopped. As Titombwe continued, I never stood up to join in the celebrations. And as time went on, I realized that none in my family had either.