Page 2 of Jailer to the Death God
I should probably eat something.
I think if I tried, I would vomit.
“The ritual.” My voice grates over my vocal cords. I probably need water, too. “Rose, that was a foolish outburst on my part. A ridiculous idea.”
But it wasn’t, and she and I both know it.
I meant what I said last night, when I stalked the room and screamed at the ceiling, when I threatened the gods themselves, swore I would tear them down if they did not stop this hemorrhage of life. I vowed to drag the Death God, Arawn himself, out of his pit and demand that he show mercy.
I meant every word.
My grandfather used to swear he saw a god once—a tall man with unnaturally long limbs and copper skin that burned with living flame. But that was in a land far from here—a volcanic kingdom called Bolcan. This is Cerato, a small continent in the center of a trackless expanse of ocean, with no trading partners nearby, and no gods on our shores.
Unless…
There is one place I know of. A place where my grandfather took me at age ten. A gaping hole in the earth, lined with writhing black vines. A pit sunk into the center of the world. One of the entrances to Arawn’s realm of Unlife, Grandfather said.
I felt it back then—the crawling tingle of dreadful magic. The cold, raw, gaping maw of something unnatural, hollow and hungry for my warm blood and my fragile soul.
“You know where the entrance to his realm is.” Rose extends the book farther, her eyes begging me to accept it. “We can’t save her, Vale. But maybe we can save others. I’ll help you do this.”
“It’s insane,” I whisper.
“Your parents and your brother tried everything else. Maybe it’s time for a little insanity.”
With a lingering look at the swollen, mottled thing that used to be Leilani, I take the ancient book from Rose’s hand.
And I open it to the page she has marked with a black ribbon.
“Have you read this ritual? What it requires?” I look up at Rose, my heart pounding with slow dread.
“I have.” She won’t meet my eyes.
“Three lives, Rose. Three souls. We have to sacrifice people to summon him.”
“No, that’s—” She steps nearer and winces, pointing at the scritch-scratch letters and symbols. “Three lives is for power, fortune, and protection. To summon and bind him, you need thrice that many.”
“Ninesouls,” I rasp. “Rose, I can’t—”
“We have to try.” Her eyes pool with tears. “My little sisters fell ill today, Vale. And my mother’s caring for them—she’ll be next. Please.”
“Oh gods.” I walk slowly away from Rose because if I hug her right now, I won’t be able to be strong for her, for Leilani, for anyone.
I’ll break.
And Ican’tbreak. Because if I break, there will be no one left to hold this kingdom together.
The heavy silk of my black gown whispers across the rug. Damn this dress. I wouldn’t be wearing it now, but I have to meet with my council in an hour, and they expect their Queen to maintain some modicum of formality and control.
I bite my inner cheek, hard. I’ve been biting the inside of my mouth a lot lately. Also gritting my teeth until they hurt, and driving my nails into my palms until they almost bleed. Any small pain to center me, ground me, keep me outwardly calm.
“Maybe there’s another healer somewhere,” I say desperately. “I could find someone to treat your siblings…”
“You know there are no healers left. None who will own up to their magic, anyway. Healing someone from the plague is practically a death sentence for all but the most powerful healers.”
I keep walking, cradling the ancient book. My knees bump into the purple velvet of the window seat, and I stare out the arched window, through triangular panes frosted with ice.
Winter. The worst possible time to be trapped in the throes of a plague like this. Our small continent is situated in the northern reaches of the ocean, so our summers are mild and our winters long and dark. Not that any amount of sunshine could cure people of this dire disease, but it certainly wouldn’t hurt.
