“You believe yourself to be smart, I see. But you carry little value in your own life. Do you believe that is all you deserve? To barely survive, day in and day out? To be at the mercy of thosestronger? To starve and live in filth, with only the vague hope of experiencing another day in squalor?”
“To choose,” I say, but I don’t meet her eye. “I deserve the choice. That is what the Drak’yn will never give me.”
She chuckles. “Such prejudice. Well, let me ask you this, girl. Would you rather be the predator or the prey? Youmustchoose one.”
My chest heaves now as I stare down at my dirt-caked fingers. She is right about one thing; I have very little to live for. My life was not good before they took me.
“And you are wrong. You do have a choice. You can choose to die. You can choose to remain a lowly woman on your knees. Or you could be powerful.”
A flame flares to life behind her.
“I choose to have a soul. In whatever time I have left.”
She does not like this response. Her beautiful face is suddenly shadowed with a grimace. She stands and holds her chin up. I take the opportunity to look around. There are no other refugees here. Only me. In a room about the size the sandy circle had been. The ground is the same color dirt, granular but smooth.
The walls are an orange stone, where flickering firelight reflects back from the several attached torches.
“Do you know who I am?” her sickeningly sweet voice croons.
I shake my head.
“Of course not. Lowly village girls wouldn’t know a queen if they saw one floating on the clouds.”
When I don’t move, she sighs and grips my upper arm. I reluctantly follow her command and rise to my feet. “Where did you take the others?” I rasp.
“The others are still attending the culling. Some are chosen. Some given a role within our community.”
I frown. That part was real? Are they really accepting people to be cooks and whatever other jobs she announced?
“And some are killed,” I say.
“Some are already dead,” she says. “We simply provide mercy.”
Is that what they say to justify spilling blood like it’s a chalice of wine for their entertainment?
“There is much you don’t yet comprehend about our way of life. I understand. It’s very different from what you’re used to. And clearly you were raised with hatred for our kind. It sinks deep when children are told such awful tales.”
The woman climbs a set of steps behind her onto a low stone platform. She dips her hands into a golden well then flicks the water from them.
Her every move is smooth and serene, like a serpent hypnotized.
“You have such potential,” she tells me. “Yet, you reject our magic. You don’t know what you’re turning down.”
I roll my eyes. “I have idea enough.” I’ve seen their beasts. I’ve seen their treatment of the sick. I’ve smelled the decay on their breath and felt the claws of their warriors against my skin.
She spins. The eyes that pin to me now reveal more of her nature. A predator, wooing a meal.
“Nearly every soul dancing above rejoices because they know they will be fed and clothed. They will be safe and comfortable in our midst. In this world of darkness and despair, it always surprises me when we find a doubter. Our kingdom is vast and powerful. We treat our subjects well. And what is the alternative? This?” She waves at my sunken form.
I decide then that arguing with her will make no difference. She thinks I’m insane. I think she is insane.
“Very well, your rejection of our god is accepted—for now. You will not like what happens next, child. But remember thatyou did this to yourself. It needn’t be this difficult.” She snaps her fingers, and a shadow falls over me.
My eyes widen, but I don’t dare look over my shoulder. Warm breath huffs onto my neck, and with it comes that familiar scent of decay.
My vision turns black.
“Your fate is now in the hands of my warriors.”
