Page 77 of A Broken Throne of Bronze

“Who are you?” I ask again.

The figure’s blank face morphs into a masculine one. Pale and angular, with high cheekbones.

I know that face.

Viridian.

Only, the amber of his eyes has been drained, leaving them colorless. Shadows swirl over his face.

“I am Death,” Viridian says. But it’s not his voice—no, this voice is darker, but not evil. Colder, but not cruel. “And I have come with a warning.”

Death?

I shake my head. “This can’t be. This is—this can’t be.”

“Beware, lost golden daughter,” Viridian—no, Death—says. “Old and ancient magic surrounds you. It is cunning and it is vengeful. When the time comes, you must choose.”

“Choose?” I echo. My head swirls.

“Choose life, without love, in a cursed land.” Death pauses. “Or choose death in the name of love, and sacred sacrifice.”

Choose between life and death?

Cursed land?

Sacred sacrifice?

“What does that mean?” I ask.

But Death is silent.

“What does that mean?” My words become more frantic. “Am I going to die?”

Death steps back into the shadows.

“Wait!” I cry, running after him. “Wait!”

But he’s already gone.

“Cryssa!” Someone calls my name. They sound like they’re far from here.

I whirl around, but there’s no one there. My breathing quickens, catching in my throat.

I squeeze my eyes shut.

Then I wake up.

“Cryssa,” Viridian says gently, with both his hands on my shoulders. “Wake up, Cryssa.”

I turn my face to look at him. His brows are stitched together, jaw tight with worry. Then his warm, amber eyes find mine, and all the tension bleeds from his face.

He cups my face, brushing his thumb back and forth against my chin. “You’re all right. You’re safe.”

With his other hand, he wipes my eyes.

Have I been crying?

My impaired nostrils would suggest that I have.

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