Page 29 of Enslaved

“Depends on who you ask.” The Prince’s teeth flash in a grimace. “Most would say she’s a demon, but there are some—including the crones themselves—who worship her still. They call her the Goddess of Blood and Bargains.”

“I’ve never heard of her.”

“Of course not. All written record of Bhorriel was destroyed ages ago. Around that same time, her worshippers were hunted down and . . . let’s just say they met bloody ends befitting the goddess they served. No one mourned them. But the crones survived as such creatures so often do. Slipping through cracks between worlds, hiding like rats in the walls. So they continue to practice their ancient arts. Anyone needing an impossible bargain or dark curse—anyone willing to pay the price, that is—goes to the crones for aid. The bloodgem necklace you now seek is their handiwork.”

I frown. “I thought the bloodgem was Vokarum’s doing.”

“His doing, yes. Not his magic. He does not possess the power to construct such a spell, merely the will to activate it. He must have made a terrible bargain with the crones to receive the gem itself, which he then filled with the blood of his dead wives.”

“Do all bargains with the crones involve blood?

“Yes.”

“Have . . .” I’m not sure I want the answer to my next question. “Haveyouever bargained with them?”

He hesitates, draws a long breath. Then: “Once.”

“Did you regret it?”

A bitter smile. “Not at first.”

He’s hiding something from me. I can’t begin to guess what. Some guilt, some shame. Some secret.

But it’s not my business to pry his secrets from his lips. “Is there any other way we might reach the siren queen’s palace?” I ask, trying not to hope.

The Prince shakes his head. “It will take powerful magic indeed to drown and not die. Death-defying magic. Such magic cannot be bought or sold without an exchange of blood. You will end up giving more than you wish. It might not seem too bad at first . . . but that’s what comes of bartering with the crones.”

I turn away from him, look out across the ocean view once more. The waves undulate darkly beneath the glittering stars, but my mind’s eye rests upon a different view. A not-too-distant memory: the image of Danny grappling in a pit. My gentle, nurturing, kindhearted friend, forced to such brutality by the will of his cruel mistress. And when I close my eyes, another image takes his place: Oscar. My brother. Wasted and wan. Alone, abandoned. Forgotten by all who once called him friend.

How can I not fight for them? No one else will.

“I understand,” I say so quietly I doubt the Prince can hear me.

He is silent for a moment. Then, his voice heavy with resignation, he says, “If you make this bargain, you will regret it.”

“When you made your own blood bargain . . . do you believe you made the wrong choice?”

“No.” His answer is quick, almost harsh. “I made the only choice.”

I nod slowly. “This is the only choice for me. I must do this. And I must bear whatever cost may come.” I lift my gaze to his face, seeing all the protests he even now fights to restrain. Setting my chin, I speak with resolve: “Take me to the crones, Prince.”

The Between Gate isn’t far. It stands on a promontory above the beach, an arch leading seemingly from nowhere to nowhere. But it has the potential to leadanywhere. Or at least anywhere marked on the dial.

Back in Aurelis, guardians stand at each of the many gates surrounding the palace, ready to turn the massive stone dials for travelers. Here, the Prince must turn it himself. I watch with interest as he slowly rolls the heavy stone, curious to know which of the marks around its circumference will indicate the portal to our destination. I recognize the mark for Aurelis itself—a sun climbing up from behind two hills, representing the Court of Dawn. Lunulyr is marked by a moon, Solaris by a blazing sun. Even Ulakrana has a mark of three concentric lines, like ripping waves.

But the mark the Prince turns to now is not so distinct. In fact it looks as though someone took a chisel and merely pounded the stone, leaving a jagged crack. “What is that?” I ask as the dial settles into place with that mark at its peak.

“It denotes thegorre-satra,”the Prince replies. “Also known as the Desolation of Gorre. It is a realm of Wild Magic, too close to thequinsatrafor safety. Pure magic seeps through unchecked, permeating the land, the flora, the fauna. Nothing sane dwells there—only monsters. And the crones, of course.”

The air under the arch shimmers, the veils between realities thinning in preparation for our crossing. My stomach knots. It’s never a pleasant experience, traveling across worlds in the blink of an eye. It’s hard enough when I know where I’m going. This is much worse.

The Prince’s face is grim as he dusts off his palms and faces the arch. “I’ll go first,” he says without a glance toward me. “I don’t know what to expect on the far side. It’s been a while since I set foot in Gorre. Never thought I would again.” He stops, his jaw working. He wants to say something more, but ultimately thinks better of it and finishes only with, “Don’t dawdle. And when you’re through, be prepared to move.”

I nod, though he’s not looking at me. The next moment, he steps through the arch, looking for all the world as though he’s about to stride off the edge of the cliff and plummet into the waves below. Instead, he flickers out of this reality and is gone.

Drawing a long breath, I wait for a count of five. Then follow.

Instantly, I regret it. That horrible sensation of delicate knives cutting away the upper layers of my skin—of my existence—comes over me. My soul cries out in protest. It’s worse than ever, for this time I must travel further, deeper, requiring more layers to be sliced away. I would scream, only I have no mouth with which to scream.

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