Page 23 of Night of Death and Flowers

Calista

The elders dismiss everyone from the church, except those who will volunteer in the Offering.

I look around at all those supposedly volunteering to be chosen. Some, I recognize from Ennismore, others were brought in from other cities and towns across Dahryst by their families.

While it is supposed to be an honor to compete in the Harvest, I can’t believe anyone wants to volunteer. Either their families make them, or they have no choice. It’s a poorly kept secret that poorer families are indirectly threatened to have their resources taken away if they do not make their children of age put their names forth.

It is expected that we put our names in. Father wants to lead by example, although none of the others here are aware of how corrupt everything is.

Everist stands behind the basin, holding a long scroll. “Step up and announce your names as you cut your hand over the basin. Now, form a line.”

I glare at the basin. The Offering is sealed with blood magic—a contract holding those who volunteered accountable. If the witch or warlock is chosen for The Harvest and refuses to go, then all those they love will die.

What wonderful leaders we have!

The silence is deafening. Not even a whisper carries through the church as I shuffle forward with the other so-called volunteers, crowding the stone basin as the elders watch.

“I’m nervous,” Arabella whispers from behind me.

“Don’t be,” I say, but when her breaths settle evenly, I grab her hand. “This is just for show.”

She nods, and I turn to face the front. Blood is drawn from each of the chosen, their hisses and gulps filling the church after they speak their names. Most of them don’t stand a chance if they’re sent to Tenenocti.

A muscular boy steps forward, his dark brown eyes glaze over those around him. When his stare meets mine, my lips form a hard line. I remind myself that none of this is real, and that he isn’t someone I will need to fight.

He must be from one of the visiting families, because I haven’t seen him before. “Alaric Varwic,” he announces as he slices his hand over the stone basin, etched with the sigils of the gods.

My sister’s whisper catches in my ear. “At the very least, we’ll get to meet a god.”

“I can hardly wait,” I reply dryly, and place a hand over my stomach, willing the nausea away.

A girl I recognize from church sermons, Elenore, trembles in front of me as she stands over the stone basin, wincing at the sight of the blood. Shakily, she grabs the dagger by the silver handle carved into a knot, with sacred symbols on the blade, and lets out a small whimper.

“Here,” I say, placing my hand over hers. “It will only hurt for a second,” I promise, and she glances over her shoulder, her round brown eyes swimming with tears. “Remember, this doesn’t mean you will be chosen,” I add.

When she turns back, I grit my teeth, shooting a glare at my father. She can’t be older than eighteen. Fucking monsters, decorating us in symbols, while preparing to send us to the slaughter. Most of the people here are still children.

Carefully, Elenore hovers the blade above her left hand, over the palm.

“No,” I say and point at a finger that will hurt less.

She closes her eyes and softly whispers, “Thank you,” then digs into her skin, hissing as the blood pools.

“Elenore Amenbore,” she states shakily, then replaces the dagger before leaving to join the rest of her family from Astraea’s coven.

My sister smiles. “That was sweet.”

“It was necessary,” I correct her. “She was holding up the line.”

She rolls her eyes, then stands next to me. “Sure. Deep down, I know you care.”

I grimace, then stand over the stone bowl, slowly lifting the dagger. Death haunts my every thought as I slide the blade across my skin, and my blood drips, merging with the rest.

“Calista Bellevue,” I spit, then throw the dagger down, shooting the elders a glare.

I place my hand on my sister’s shoulder as she steps up behind me, then cuts her finger with the dagger.

“Arabella Bellevue,” she states. Her blood pools onto the stone while the other elders nod in approval. She brings her hand to her lips, sealing the wound and steps back.

---