Page 52 of Night of Death and Flowers

Keeping my head low and my hood up, I walk toward one boat where one of the veiled women awaits, then stand at the edge of the waters, the waves lapping at my feet.

My heart skips a beat when I spot Arabella next to Drake, tightening her cloak around her body, attempting to hide her shaking. She lifts her veil, tears shining on her cheeks as she looks at the boat, shaking her head. “I can’t,” she says, her voice breaking in parts.

Drake throws back the hood of his cloak, then unveils. “It’s okay,” he promises, but she gulps, then steps back.

Her body wrenches with a sob, her waves poking out under her hood. The beautiful flowers interwoven in the strands are withered, and the symbols painted on her hands in an intricate gold, are smudged. She rubs her eyes, wiping away her tears. I get closer, hiding myself behind three men discussing the tournament, and discern Ari and Drake’s conversation, focusing only on their voices.

“I can’t do it. I don’t want to kill anyone. Nor do I want to die.”

I swallow thickly, looking around for our parents, who are several feet away from Ari and Drake. My father stands just a few paces from my mother. Next to them, Everist stands, his sharp stare fixated on Arabella.

Drake snarls at the elders as the elder attempts to move through the crowds. The crowd disperses around them, and Everist takes one step forward. “Don’t,” he warns as they get closer. “She’ll get on the boat.”

They pause, mid-step, then hover nearby. My fingers tremble with the need to touch each of them, to let my powers seep through their bodies until they are nothing but ash.

The rest of the chosen embrace their families one last time until the watchful eyes of the elders force them to separate.

One of the veiled girls crosses her arms, then glares at Drake and my sister. “She’s ruining this for all of us!”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Isolda,” Drake warns. He glances at the elders, his nostrils flaring as he leads Arabella to the boat. She climbs inside with his help, her eyes widening at the surrounding sea waters we have been told to stay away from ever since I can remember.

“Where’s Cali?” Ari asks as Drake gets into his own boat.

“She’ll come,” he promises, casting his gaze around.

I close my eyes, unable to listen to them for another moment.

Isolda climbs into the boat in front of me. The crowd roars as the dongs sound from the ancient bell, one for each of the chosen. Half the group glances around frantically, as the elders walk to the shore.

I shift from Everist’s view, who stands behind Isolda’s boat. I notice my father is behind Arabella, tears in his eyes as he holds her hands in his, shaking his head at a question I cannot hear.

On the second dong, they push the boats out to sea, and one of the chosen grips the sides, shaking his head and removing his veil. “I don’t want to go,” he shouts in a chorus of cheering, his panicked pleas lost in the crowd. “Please, Mother!”

A man, woman, and two children turn their backs on the boy in the boat. I assume they are the boy’s family, from the parents’ tears. The boy who called out looks over the side of his boat, but recoils deeper into his seat upon spotting a ghostly hand breaking the surface of the waters.

There is no escaping now. To abandon the tournament means braving the dead in the sea, and if he survives, then he’d have to face the wrath of the elders and Azkiel, as well as breaking the tournament’s blood oath, resulting in the death of his family.

My mind fogs as I remove my hood, racing into the waters, my mouth drying as I push myself forward.

“Stop her!”

Yells sound behind me as people grasp the air behind me, all too afraid to touch the dark waters.

The energy shifts the instant I enter Azkiel’s domain, the only place where magic can be siphoned. Holding my satchel to my chest, I reach out for the guiding light of Isolda’s torch as the inky waves swallow my torso.

The icy waters prick against my feet, and seaweed slides around my ankles as I delve deeper, until I’m kicking my legs, treading water. I have only seconds before the dead find me and drag me to their depths. I swim a few feet to Isolda’s boat, grabbing its side just as I spot ghostly fingers breaking the sea’s surface.

The boat tips sideways as I swiftly push myself up and climb aboard, water sloshing inside. With the boat still rocking and my heart beating wildly, I sit myself up and draw in a deep breath, trembling from head to toe.

My father screams my name into the night, but I refuse to meet his frightened gaze. Instead, I turn to Isolda. Even though I know it’s too late to turn back now, that doesn’t stop the tears from stinging my eyes.

I hesitate as she stares at me. “What in the Darklands are you doing?” She shouts as gray-blue arms rise from the waves, followed by the heads of the moving corpses.

My heart pounds as I glance over the edge.

“Get off my boat, you lunatic,” she screams, pushing me to the side. I grimace and fall against the wood.

Glancing into the water, I gasp as the dead draw closer, their white, sunken eyes as terrifying as the stretched skin over their mouths. I always believed it was only souls in these waters, but they still have physical, decaying forms.

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