Page 48 of Of Blood & Stone

“…and is there any clean water here?” the prince continued, “Hang on, what are you doing?”

Sylzenya unclipped her green cloak, motioning for a guard. He promptly took it from her grasp and draped it over his forearm. The crowd murmured, conversation increasing as she revealed her Kreena robe, the same one she wore the day of her failed rite.

The proof of power.

“I’m sorry to interrupt whatever the fuck this is, but what are you doing?”

Sylzenya waved her hand at the prince. “Patience, Prince of Vutror. We’ll get to your soft royal bed soon enough.”

He cursed under his breath as she stepped forward and spread her arms, the crowd falling utterly silent.

Chapter 12

Wine Ritual

Elnok had been right.

This womanwashis personal hell.

Spinning his gold ring, Elnok glared at her back. The last thing he needed was a detour involving this Kreena putting on a second bullshit act. But here he stood, surrounded by wide-eyed drunkards listening to this woman’s “holy” speech about a goddess who died centuries ago. A deity who supposedly “protected their people” from the continent’s famine and sickness.

How gracious of their goddess to save Esteans and no one else.

Sylzenya shouted to the crowd, “In Aretta’s final stand with her brother, Distrathrus, the god of chaos, she knew she had no choice but to sacrifice herself, for their godhood was intertwined. The only way to rid him from this earth was to rid herself of it as well. Through this display of death, we’re taught that pain and sacrifice are the only ways to sustain life.”

“Praise be to Aretta!”

“And so, behold the robes of every Kreena and acolyte alike.” She motioned to the dried blood on her robe.

Elnok’s stomach soured. A deep cut spanned her back, fresh blood dripping from it and adding to the browned stains. It looked as if someone had taken a dagger and sliced her open with horrifying accuracy and intention.

And yet, these people cheered louder.

Sylzenya continued, “Our blood demonstrates how it is through our pain and sacrifice that Estea can survive another day. And wewillcontinue to survive.”

As the crowd cheered louder, Elnok curled his rope around his hand, wringing it tight, a bloom of pain riding along his veins.

Survive?

These people didn’t know the word. Estea was a kingdom flowing with red wine and filled with green trees.

Abundance. Resources. Life.

A fire had been stoking in his gut, fanning into a brighter flame with each word this woman professed—with each praise these people lifted into the air. They talked as if they were on the precipice of death, yet it was clear none of them had known a day of hunger in their life.

“I’ll be joining my fellow Kreenas soon,” she continued, “My body will be freed from this orodyte serum once the cure has run its course, and I promise you I will do everything within my power to keep this famine on the other side of Lhaal Forest until it’s my time to join Aretta in her soil.”

The crowd’s noise grew deafening.

Elnok rolled his eyes.

“This week we host the Prince of Vutror, Elnok Rogdul; let us show him the sacrifice of our people so he might join us in our celebration.”

The crowd jumbled together, moving sporadically until they created a path through the square. In the center of the plazastood a white marble statue. Squinting his eyes, Elnok’s soured stomach churned.

“Prince Elnok,” Sylzenya said as she turned to him, any hesitancy he’d seen in her now gone, “This is Aretta’s fountain, where the villagers partake of the fountain’s wine to promote prosperity. It’s my job to ensure you a rich exposure of Estea, so I invite you to participate.”

Elnok smiled. “I’m not one to celebrate.”

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