An eerie quiet eats up the space as Sitri stalks forward and shuffles down the steps. He halts in front of the unconscious man’s limp form.
“Wait.” Morin’s cold voice cuts through as she turns her steely gaze on me. “Syra of Eden,” she addresses. “Your counterpart has offered to exact retribution for the attempt on your life. For you, he would take the life of a man. If you had the opportunity to show your commitment, that despite the Scion’s and the people of Samore’s mistrust of you, you welcome us fully, respect our traditions and gladly enliven yourself with our customs. If you had the opportunity to do that, you would take it, wouldn’t you?”
“I—“ I look at Sitri. His face remains solemn. He voices no answers in my head. No commands this way or that. I want to object and yet…
I promised to do as asked.“Yes.”
Morin’s mouth stretches into an unsettling slow grin. “Then I proposeBlood of the Gods.”
A chorus of gasps, murmurs and Magi repeating that foreign phrase echo through the chamber.
Aym promptly rises. “You said he would participate in the Rite,” he roars. “How will he do that if he is bound?”
“Let the Gods decide if it will bind.”
“Morin,” Sitri says. There’s none of the firm authority in his voice that I’m accustomed to instead it almost sounds like a plea. “Anthropophagic magic has been outlawed for centuries.”
Morin projects her voice across the space. “We refuse to use the magic the Gods used when they still walk here and wonder why they’ve abandoned us. What better way for Syra of Eden to assuage fears and distrust than by taking the Blood of the Gods herself just as Leda did.”
Her gaze falls around the room and the hushed voices rippling around the table start to grow more approving.
“Sitri.” She lifts a hand toward the guards holding the unconscious man. “Proceed.”
For a long moment, Sitri stands there, silent and unmoving. I scan the crowd, hunting for the only person that’s showed me anything resembling kindness, Sitri’s aunt Delyah. I find her face among the outskirts, pale and horrified. My trepidation increases tenfold.
Sitri’s steps are stilted when he finally moves forward. The sound of boots scuffing the floor echo throughout the otherwise silent space. I shift in my seat, anticipation brimming. I’m probably the only person here who doesn’t know what’s going to happen next.
He positions himself in front of the man that nearly lodged a knife in my chest.
“He needs to be awake,” Morin’s voice rings out.
“Morin…” Sitri heaves.
“It’s customary. Rouse him,” she demands to her guards.
One of the guards holding him waves a hand, casting a mist of water over the unconscious man. He gasps, eyes blinking rapidly as he fights against the guards holding him. Sitri steps forward.
“What’re you—“ he breaks off into another muffled grunt as his mouth is sealed shut once more. His grunts turn to frantic screams as Sitri lifts a hand, slides it into a whipping motion, and the man’s ribcage is split wide, revealing the bloody organs underneath. For a moment, the man is fully cognizant of what’s just happened, staring down at his mutilated body.
I stifle a gasp, heart trembling as blood puddles to the floor. Sitri reaches in and tugs something out. The man’s head falls slack to his chest.
Sitri turns slowly, his face pale as he makes his way back up the steps. A flick of his unbloodied hand conjures an empty plate on the table before me. I search his face for some kind of insight as to what’s happening. He won’t look at me. He slides a bloodied hand over the plate and drops something onto it.
I stare down at the bloody piece of meat, recognizing it only from an illustration, though it barely resembles the depiction I’m familiar with. A blobby and veiny mass of red. Large capillaries protrude from the top as blood forms a puddle around it.
It’s a heart.
I’m vaguely aware ofSitri taking his seat beside me. When I glance up every eye in the room is centered on me, expecting, waiting for something. For what—I don’t know. My blood flashes cold.
It’s Morin’s voice that pierces the silence. “Syra, now permanently tied to line Cernnunos.” Her voice is void of emotion. From this distance her eyes appears as black as the void of the night sky. “The prince has offered you the heart of your enemy. It must be consumed. In doing so you bind him only to you. In doing so you take the blood of our Gods and accept the life we have offered you here. It would be a great offense to us if you are not successful.”
I recount her words but I can’t seem to discern their meaning. She can’t really expect me to--I look at Sitri, hoping to—surely he doesn’t expect me to, no, we agreedhewould protect me. He’ll find a way out of this. But his head is bowed, and when I turn my head, his eyes shutter closed.Defeat.
I peer around the room. So many bodies. Dressed in their fineries, they look like regular people. But they’re not regular people. They’re witches. Bellies full and faces flushing with wine in their blood. They watch, they wait for the source of their entertainment. The guards must’ve drug the bleeding culprit away because he’s gone, no trail of blood left behind. My heart beats erratically. The daemon begins thrashing.
Fight.
Flight.
