Page 26 of Cursed Shadows 2

I feel the sigh deflate her.

Quiet, they shadow me inside.

Without waiting to be asked, I perch myself on the end of a treatment bed and let the healer come to me.

Then I become a pincushion.

For the full Warmth and Breeze, I’m subjected to all sorts of tests and tortures. My crevices are inspected with black metal instruments, cold against my flesh; strands of my hair are dipped into potions for the healer to tell me I need to drink more water, less honeywine; and the heat of the palmstone that’s massaged all over my body does something to my bones, like melts and vibrates and soothes them all at once.

Hours later, and I still feel wobbly on my feet. My bones still hum. My skin is still prickled. But nothing is more uncomfortable than the presence of my family around me.

I don’t know who I’m most angry with. I only know I hate them both this phase.

Father, who sells me to the Sacrament and—if I survive—a cruel marriage to Taroh. Pandora, who signed onto the Sacrament without taking care to have her husband eat the seed, protect herself against the one thing that would throw me into war in her place.

It’s a battle that I get the all-clear for.

The healer spares another slight lecture about proper hydration and rest, but that’s all, and I’m free to head to the scribes now.

Father and Pandora escort me through the garrison to the library, and they shadow me through that appointment, too.

The scribes don’t care enough to lecture me. They don’t care much for anything. Their only duty to me right now is to detail the expectations I should have for the first passage.

Like every Sacrament before—at least in the scrolls I’ve read and the stories I’ve heard in my short life—all contenders are to find their dragon eye. Without it, they can’t reach the end of the second passage, they can’t reach the mountaintop safely without falling into the split earth.

Not all contenders are to talk to Mother. The litalves, we all know, compete to fight against the dokkalves, just to stop them from nearing Mother’s slumber. The bloodshed, the battles, it’s all soothing to the nature of our warriors. But it’s not the goal.

I wonder if I would survive the passages if I found a hidden spot and bunkered down. But then, what would protect me from the contenders?

The scribes don’t even bother telling me anything about the second passage. Surely they know as well as all others do—I won’t survive the first.

But I stole a bargain. I paid the price, willingly, for escape.

So I only tune in and out of what I already know of the first passage. All contenders go through this, the rundown. Just asall contenders give the blood sacrifice.

That time has come for me.

With the Sacrament so close now, I must give my blood. So it’s my place as Pandora’s second to come up to the chalice on the desk.

On the other side of the solid stone desk, I look into the shadowy hoods of an iilra and a scribe. Their faces are hidden from me, their hands wrapped in bandage-like gloves, as they each reach for the chalice.

The scribe presses her bandaged fingers to the pearlescent side of the chalice. “Narcissa Elmfield.”

The iilra touches the grainy black side. “Daughter of Brok Elmfield.”

For a fleeting moment, it’s strange to me that the iilra stand here to open the Sacrament with thescribes. Shouldn’t it be the Four Sisters who stand with the iilra? But then, there is no magick needed here beyond the enchanted chalice, this is ceremonial, even if it feels like I’m signing my name again, only this time with pieces of my soul and drops of my blood.

Together, the scribe and iilra speak, “Second to Pandora Elmfield.”

The shadowy hoods nod in perfect synchronicity, an unspoken order.

I lift both my hands and reach out.

Palms turned upwards, I hover them above the empty ink-and-ruby-stained chalice—blood from earlier contenders, dark and light fae, black and red blood.

Behind me, a sharp intake of breath comes from Pandora. I set my jaw and fix my stare on the two daggers that the iilra and scribe raise.

Father swallows. It’s loud and choked enough that I hear it, though he’s some paces behind me.

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