Page 172 of Anathema

“Because we are a loathsome society. And technically, it also represents the dawn of mankind. The goddess gave birth to the sun and moon. The Solassions and Lunasier.” She placed a similar glittery black and silver mask with wings over her face, also covering her eyes. The only part of our faces showing were our lips and jaw. “The women wear the cicada masks, the men wear the stag masks.”

“I still think it’s a vile story.”

“Agreed. But I can assure you, the festivities will be marvelous. And tomorrow, I will cleave you to the woods, as promised.”

“So, what exactly happens at this Becoming Ceremony?” I ran my finger over the delicate flounced sleeves of my dress, so long, they nearly touched the floor.

“The king chooses a formidable group of men and women to fight for her virginity, essentially. The one who lives gets to claim her for the night. The fighting already took place, and unfortunately, as I mentioned, a Solassion won, so we’re just attending the reception.”

“Like a wedding?”

“Well, no. There is no marriage between the two.”

As revolting as I considered the ritual, I had no place to comment, having come from a world that burned men and women for who they chose to love.

Rykaia lifted a purple vial from her dresser and held it up. “This is to mask your scent,” she said, and poured it over me. Like before, it fell as a white vapor around my body. “I promise no pig shit this time, but it’s strong enough to mask your aura, as well. So long as you don’t murder anyone, you’ll be fine.”

“Strong enough to fool your brother?”

A sheepish grin stretched her lips. “We’d best keep our distance from him. He’s exceptionally good at seeing through my tricks, but only because he’s lived with me for centuries. And he happens to be a trained killer, of course.”

The humor withered inside of me. “Has he taken a lot of lives?”

“Do you want the truth?” In the mirror’s reflection, she dabbed a berry coloring onto her lips. “I don’t even know. He says nothing to me.”

How cold that must’ve felt.

When the girl from my village had gotten trampled in front of me, it’d taken years for me to process it, to reconcile the thoughts in my head, and I hadn’t even deliberately gone out of my way to take a life. Zevander must’ve suffered constant torment.

Unless he didn’t. I couldn’t fathom the kind of man who thought nothing at all about his kills.

At a knock at the door, both of us turned toward it.

“Rykaia? Is Maevyth with you?” Dolion’s voice bled through the wood. “I’d like to speak with her for a moment.”

“Sorry! I’ve not seen her!” Rykaia called out, before turning to cut loose a quiet snort.

“I’ve searched the entire castle, and I haven’t been able to find her.”

“Ah, perhaps she’s napping? Or bathing, as some of us do without wanting to be disturbed.”

Dolion cleared his throat. “Of course, my apologies. If you see her, please let her know I’m looking for her.”

At the sound of his retreating footsteps, I slapped her on the arm. “You’re terrible. I feel bad lying to him that way.”

“You didn’t lie. I did. And are you forgetting he lied to you first?”

I’d filled her in on Dolion’s plan to take me to Calyxar, while we were getting dressed.

“And his lie was far more terrible than that.”

True. Dolion hadn’t only lied, he’d left me feeling hopeless as a result.

“C’mon. It’s time to put all this misery behind us and have some fun.” Just as she had the day before, Rykaia drew a line on the wall to create a glowing seam.

“No fyredrakes this time,” I said as she pushed her arm through.

“We can only pray. What shit that would be trying to run in this monstrous dress. They’d have me by the ass before I knew what hit me.”

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