Page 141 of Slaying the Vampire Conqueror

I forced those things to the front of my mind, forced them to drown out everything else. I was an Arachessen. I was a daughter of the Lady of Fate. I was an acolyte of Acaeja. That was all I ever had been. All I ever would be. All I ever wanted to be.

The Sightmother led me across the narrow, silver-railed pathway to the altar, her lush, cerulean-blue skirts rustling with each movement. Her steps had grown a little shaky, her hands clutching the silver rail. I was sure that if her eyes had been visible, her pupils would have been massive. The cocktail of herbs and drugs in her wine, designed to open the passage between her and the world of the gods, worked quickly.

By the time she made it to the altar, she was barely standing up straight. I had to offer her my arm so she could make it up the steps.

The Sightmother sagged over the altar, her palms pressed to the stone, head bowed, catching her breath.

“I can already sense it,” she said. “The path to the gods.”

Even her voice sounded distant.

“All of my strength will be needed to call the attention of Acaeja,” she went on. “To keep the way open. It will be up to you to make the offering.”

With a shaky hand, she reached into her silk robes. Then she withdrew a dagger, the fine blade gleaming silver in the moonlight.

Thedagger.Mydagger.

“You’ll know when,” she said. “You’ll feel it. Give her his head first. And then the blood of the others.” She laughed a little, a weak exhale. “The head of a vampire touched by Nyaxia. What an offering. We’ll have earned quite a favor tonight, Sylina.”

“Yes,” I agreed. My hand closed around the hilt of the blade, so cold it almost made me flinch. My voice sounded like it belonged to a stranger.

Atrius’s stare, steady and hard despite his near-unconsciousness, pierced my back inch-by-inch, his attention dripping down my spine like blood.

Anticipation hung thick in the air.

At last, the Sightmother lifted her head. Straightened her back. Every muscle moved with such uncanny grace, an unnerving shiftfrom her drug-hindered movements seconds ago. She lifted her chin, face tilted to the sky, palms open at her sides, as if to offer as much of herself to the heavens as possible.

“It’s time,” she murmured. “Light the fire. Let’s begin.”

CHAPTER FORTY-SIX

If there was any doubt that magic was thick in the night here, the way the blaze went up—like it was ready to consume the entire world—put it to rest. I had to leap away from the fire pit, my hands shielding my face, the moment I dropped the match. My Threadwalking ritual fires were laughable compared to this. This was a spire of light that pierced all the way through the sky, like the flames were trying to reach for the gods themselves.

And the gods, in turn, reached back.

A powerful crack of magic split the sky, the earth. There was no sound, no movement, and yet we all reacted to it like the force of an earthquake. The hairs on my arms stood upright. Every inhale burned, like the air itself had turned into something not meant for human lungs.

The Sightmother’s head snapped backwards, her face lifted to the night, light pouring from her palms, her mouth, the eyes beneath her blindfold. That light pooled in the sky like cream poured into black tea, swirling slowly, cracks of lightning collecting in its center.

To open a passage to the gods required incredibly powerful magic. Only a handful of people in the world were capable of it. A part of me expected the process to be long, drawn out, like one of our many archaic rituals.

Now, that seemed naive of me.

Of course calling upon a god wasn’t a pretty, ceremonial act. It was a sledgehammer against a door. A ram against a gate. It was a scream so loud that no creature, mortal or god, could ignore it.

And the gods, indeed, took notice.

Maybe it was the way the light shifted, the sky turning mottled purple against the blaze of the Sightmother’s spell. Maybe it was the way sound dulled and heightened at once, my ears ringing. Maybe it was the way all the threads reoriented, as if disrupted by a much greater force, leaving me swaying. My physical body felt very far away, and my hair lifted around me, as if I was floating underwater.

Shadows, distant silhouettes, collected within the growing pool of light above us.

And just as I could sense the presences of the mortals around us, I could sensethemtoo—the gods. A presence more powerful than I had ever experienced. It made me want to collapse in supplication, like my soul itself had been stripped from within my skin.

The Sightmother couldn’t move. She couldn’t so much as speak. But through her focus, she managed to shout through the threads,{Now!}

I had fallen to my knees, though I didn’t remember doing so. I forced myself upright—difficult, on such violently shaking limbs.

I turned to Atrius.

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