Chapter 23 #2
Don’t keep defying him, actually, he says slowly, like we’re both caught in the gaze of multiple rabid dogs. But dogs wouldn’t be nearly so threatening as the smile that slowly stretches across my Guardian’s face as he inclines his head toward the seat right in front of me.
“I see that your legs are shaking, Saskia. Better take a seat.”
Okay, so running isn’t an option. I’ll have to play their game and beat them by breaking the Rules later.
Because here in this palace, the veiled threat isn’t actually veiled.
Gripping the edges of my cloak, I force myself forward and sink between the arms of the seat, trying to ignore the feast staring me in the face.
There’s no way I could be hungry with the sucking and squelching sounds still emanating from my right, especially when the Third Guardian moves to stand right behind me like a solid bar of iron.
Caging me in.
You’re doing so well, Lucan says soothingly, though I can tell by the murderous quiver in his voice it’s a farce for my benefit. It’ll all be over soon.
Is that what my mother had to tell herself when she faced this? Did she witness any of her fellow Chosen Ones running and dying just as quickly? What will that woman’s family think when their beloved daughter never comes to the balcony? My fists clench in my lap.
Before long, the remaining Guardians drift in with their Chosen Ones, and gasps prick the air as my fellow humans witness the mangled mess of blood and guts that I refuse to look at. When their Guardians urge them all to take a seat, there are no more raised chins. No more defiance.
By the time the eleven of us are staring at each other from across the table, a vampire standing guard behind each of us, the energy in the room pulls tight, the presence of the Twelve Guardians pressing in on us from every direction.
Somewhere behind me, an echoing boom signifies that the double doors have officially closed, locking us in. For the rest of our lives.
Silence stretches and flexes. No one dares breathe. Even Lucan remains silent, as if he’s afraid his words in my mind will bleed out into the air for the vampires to hear.
My skin prickles, all too aware that it could be pierced at any moment.
Finally, it’s the First Guardian—the eldest-looking one with his hair tied back in a braid—who breaks the nauseating silence swelling throughout the room.
“Eat.”
We all glance at each other, more confused than ever. Another Chosen One across from me catches my eye, eyebrows high in silent question. I wish I could say something back, but the Third Guardian is breathing clouds of icy vapor down the back of my neck, watching my every movement.
They’re nourishing you before they take your blood, Lucan says in disgust, and he doesn’t have to finish the thought for me to fill in the dots myself: like pigs before a slaughter.
“Eat,” the First Guardian says again, this time more forcefully.
Jolting, we all reach out and grab our silverware.
Try to get something down, Lucan encourages me, his tone morphing back into something soft, as if he forgot his manners. You’ll need your strength. Besides, this is real food. Not the cardboard they regularly feed you.
I’d prefer to not ever look at food again, not as the dead woman’s Guardian finally begins to drag her deflated sack of skin and bones out the door, the sound hissing across the floor. But I don’t want to join her, so I shakily grab a bowl of pudding and take a bite.
A wretched sweetness coats my tongue. Maybe in another lifetime it would be enjoyable, but now I’m forcing myself to take tiny spoonfuls even though I can hear each of my swallows.
The chewing, the lip smacking from an older Chosen One to my left, the scraping of knives and forks—it grates on my eardrums even worse than my lonely dinners with Malcolm.
Maybe some sounds have always bothered me because of what they represent. With Malcolm, it was endless, meaningless routine. With this, it’s the false promise that our Guardians are giving rather than taking.
Did I ever tell you about the first time I turned into a Monster? Lucan asks conversationally.
I cling to the distraction as I swallow the slimy, too-sweet pudding. No, Lucan. You’re not really the mushy-tell-childhood-stories type.
He chuckles for my benefit. You know me so well.
Apparently not well enough, because curiosity is sprouting amid all my fear and anger and grief for the life that was just lost right in front of my eyes. What happened? How old were you? Did you freak out?
I was eighteen, and I only freaked out because I didn’t know where my balls had gone for a moment. A cough travels up into my stomach from where the necklace touches me. Sorry. Bad table manners.
On the contrary, thinking about Lucan’s balls rather than the blood to my right or the vampire at my back is helping me get all this food down better. I swallow another bite and say, Did you find them? Your balls, I mean?
Yes. They’d just moved slightly in comparison to my…
well, we don’t have to go into detail. I halfway want to tell him to go into as much detail as he can conjure up so that I can picture his male anatomy after I take the necklace off tonight, but that would be really bad table manners, and he’s already hurrying on.
As soon as I had settled into my new body, it’s like all my senses just exploded.
There was this energy in the air that I could taste.
And I just started running before anyone could stop me.
I allow my eyes to close for a second, getting a bite of roasted meat down but imagining that I’m far away, running through the mist of the woods with Lucan.
I didn’t stop for three whole days, just ran and ran and ran—around the perimeter of the Wall until I’d memorized every part of it and just about collapsed from exhaustion.
My eyes flash open. You ran for three days straight without stopping for food or sleep? The healer in me is both mortified and awed. What kind of body does he even have if he’s able to do such a thing?
And what wouldn’t I give to possess that same kind of strength? I could have stopped that Guardian from snapping his Chosen One’s neck. I would run right through all the vampires holding us hostage and free every Chosen One who’s still alive in this palace.
Tell me more, I plead Lucan before more tears can prick the corners of my eyes. More sweet, sentimental childhood stories.
I prefer the adjectives gruff and grizzly. There’s nothing sweet or sentimental about me.
You’re the sweetest Monster I’ve ever met, I argue.
He growls in response, one that feels so real that I almost yelp and shift in my seat.
The Third Guardian’s voice slithers over my shoulder. “Is something the matter?”
“No,” I gulp, reality slamming back into me as I shovel in another bite of something much too flavorful. I wish I could glare at Lucan, but the best I can do is clench my thighs together.
I’m sorry, he says immediately. Sweet, sentimental stories coming right up.
And he follows through, giving me tidbits of his life that he never has before until I’ve completely gorged myself, so consumed by his voice that I’m able to block out all the other scraping, sucking, chewing noise.
At last, even the Chosen One to my left pushes his plate back, but he doesn’t give a satisfied sigh. Instead, his hands clench over the table, as if preparing to have to fight off the Guardian behind him at any moment. I tense up, too, waiting for something, anything, to happen.
The First Guardian claps his hands, a sound like stone clacking twice against stone.
“Now that you are fed and nurtured, Chosen Ones, it is time for you to perform your duty to Xantera. In exchange for our protection from the horrors beyond the Wall, you will provide us the sustenance we need with honor and dignity. If you will please sit up on the table.”
My stomach clenches, sickeningly full from the meal they just forced us to eat. The command couldn’t be any clearer, though.
Get up on the table because now we’re the food.
It’s just as humiliating as it is frightening when I stand up and turn around to face the Third Guardian’s fanged grin, his lips pulled tight as he assesses me.
Before he can ask, I spit out, “I can lift myself.”
Scooting all the dishes away to clear a spot, I plant my palms on the surface of the hard table behind me and hoist myself up.
All around me, I can hear the other Chosen Ones struggling to do the same, some clambering up on chairs to do so, others lifted forcedly by their Guardians.
One of them on the other end of the table is crying, her sniffles radiating through me in waves of fury.
My mother had to do this.
Diggory’s daughter had to do this.
Every Chosen One before me had to do this—face a reminder of the feast we’re not allowed to have back in the city and then become that feast for others.
The Third Guardian sits in the chair I just vacated and slides it forward an inch toward my knees.
He tilts his head at me, his pupils tracing my neck and then my arms, his nostrils flaring.
His golden hair falls just below his wide shoulders.
He’s built so much differently than the men I typically lay eyes on.
That plane of a chest, his shoulders carved from stone—it’s like a trap for women everywhere.
No one would be able to deny how striking he is, how eerily beautiful he looks, like a snare ready to snap its prey when they’re lured in.
His own knees widen.
He can’t possibly expect me to sit in his lap and straddle him… can he?
A smirk forms across his vampire lips before he licks them. “Any part of your body will do, Saskia—whichever part you prefer. No need to take off your cloak… unless you want to, of course.”