Page 92 of A War of Crowns

Please… Talia called to the Lady as she reached her arms toward the impenetrable shadows, like a child begging her mother for a bit of attention.

Finally, a bit of attention.

Never had the Lady spoken to her. But here the Lady was now. Holding her.Speaking to her.

Tears welled in Talia’s eyes yet again as the gravity of the moment pressed upon her.Please…give me my dream and I’ll serve you and you alone…forever…and always…

The Lady’s response was immediate; the darkness’s hold on her tightened, promptly snuffing out what breath had seeped back into Talia’s lungs.

But that time, she didn’t suffocate for long.

Forever and always. Those words reverberated all around her, sounding with all the finality of a tolling bell.

Had she said the right thing? Had she passed?

Talia had her answer when she felt a soft pressure against her lips. A wind as hot as the sands of Dry Reach and just as unforgiving poured into her.

She couldn’t resist that heat. Nor did she want to.

It was a welcome reprieve from the chill, and each subsequent breath scorched her lungs, bringing with it something truly delicious she had never properly tasted before.

Power.

I gift to you the last of the dragonfire that once scorched all of Avirel, that dark and oily voice hummed directly into her mind and into her soul.

Talia’s body hummed with it, alive and hungry for more.

Dragonfire? The last of the dragons had all died out thousands of years ago.

But with great power comes great pain, she soon learned, as pure agony lanced itself through her eyes next. Arching her back against the Lady’s hold, Talia screamed. Her voice echoed into the furthest reaches of the Underworld, until she had screamed herself voiceless and went limp within her goddess’s embrace.

But even then, the pain lingered on—a thrumming reminder of the bargain that had been struck.

I gift to you my mark. May you carry it into the mortal realm with pride.

The mark? Her eyes? They were gold?

She felt silly in that moment as her heart fluttered at the thought. She had always envied those of the Sisterhood for their eyes. She had always hoped she might one day be just as beautiful.

From the darkness unfurled a low chuckle of all things, and heat bloomed in her cheeks.

Was the Lady laughing at her?

And lastly, I gift you with the ability to claim souls for yourself and for me. May you choose your servants well, Sister Talia.

A sudden pressure formed against her fingers, and she raised her hand to inspect this latest gift. Even within the darkness, she could see it plainly, though dark shadows themselves writhed down the length of it—a soulblade.

A soulblade of her very own.

It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen, forged from some dark metal and honed into a wickedly sharp point. A dagger born from the Underworld itself. A dagger sporting a clear jewel in its hilt.

The jewel lay empty, empty and still, but she had seen Skatia’s own soulblade on more than one occasion. She knew how pretty it would shine once she had collected her own souls and made her own Witchsworn.

Forever and always, the Lady’s voice came to her again, in solemn reminder of the vow forged between them. Servant and goddess.

And then the strength of the darkness’s grip on her melted away.

She didn’t even have time to scream before she fell.

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