Page 7 of The Dragon Sacrifice

They were fed to monsters.

No one knew if that were true. None of the women who were selected ever returned. It was a life sentence whatever it was. Seela figured if it had been any of the happy-ending scenarios, one of the girls would’ve written home about it.

Putting her head in her hands, she cried. Not knowing felt almost worse than knowing.

They rode for hours, no one stopping to talk to her or ask if she needed to relieve herself. The wooden seat was harsh on her behind, and the swaying carriage meant she could not get comfortable enough to sleep. She didn’t know how much time passed before the carriage came to a lurching halt.

Seela sat up, the worry that had abated a bit picking right back up where it had left off.

Outside, the horses rattled their halters and men’s voices called out to one another. Seela pressed her eye to the slit between the door and its frame only to surmise it was daylight now, but unable to pick out anything else. Soon, boots were heading her way, the lock was clinking, and the door creaking open.

Squinting into the light, she spied the Bishop of Danbury on the other side of the door. At least he appeared road weary with muddy trousers and tusseled hair.

“Out,” he barked, holding the door open.

She willed her aching body out of the carriage, immediately looking around. They weren’t in the kingdom. However, far off through the trees, she could see the stone wall marking the king’s courtyard. Her eyes traveled up to see the spires of his church and the turrets of his castle peeking above the heavy fortress barricade.

“Are we going to the castle?” she asked.

The bishop glowered at her. “No. And none of your petulant questions. Just move.” He pushed on her shoulder roughly. She lurched forward, wishing leprosy on his man parts. It was then she remembered the knife in her boot. But when she glanced back, he was flanked by two men, swords at their hips, not to mention the cruel knife at his belt.

He seemed to be marching her away from the castle and its walls, into the forest beside the road. Seela was very much used to woodland travel, but this forest was much thornier than her own. The trees were squatty with sharp brambles. Many times, her dress snagged and she had to untangle herself, the bishop scowling the entire time. She realized it irritated him, so every time it happened, she took care and ease to untangle herself. She could hear him fuming behind her.

Seela thought about running, about bolting through the trees. The armed guards had fallen back a little, leaving only the bishop to catch her, but where would she go? She had no idea where they were, nor any no food or water. Better to see what lay ahead than have a dagger between her shoulder blades.

Up a hill, they slogged. They were out of sight of the carriage now, and down a very narrow, overgrown path. How far would they venture into the woods, and what could possibly be waiting for them?

At the bottom of the slope, she spied a rocky cavern set into the hillside, the entrance covered by a large boulder. Seela glanced back at the bishop, and he gestured onward. Her heart began to patter again. What awaited inside?

She stopped a few yards from the boulder, peering at its massive girth. There was no way they could move it, so what purpose could coming here bring? Would they have a picnic? Her stomach growled at the thought of food.

Turning to the bishop, she tried to suss out what they were doing. Instead of directing her any further, he pulled from his belt a staff about the length of his forearm. It was bejeweled on the hilt, the handle tapering to a fine point. Yet, it was too short to be a walking staff and too dull to be a blade. It looked more like a very fancy wand, such as those she’d heard the wizards’ guild meddled with, though she’d never actually seen any in her village manage magic. That kind of power was long dead.

As she watched, he strode past her. Finding a small crevice beside the giant boulder, he lifted the staff above his head, said a few words in a language she did not understand, and drove it downward. It pierced the rock, settling into it like a key fitting into a lock.

Then it began to glow.

“What in the world?” she whispered.

With each pulse of green light from the staff’s jewels, the rock began to roll away. The bishop seemed to be directing it backward, using the staff as a handle.

Creaking and spilling debris from its top, the stone turned until the dark throat of a cavern became apparent. Seela stared in, trying to pick out anything in the pitch darkness.

“What’s inside?” she asked.

“Look closer,” the bishop said, stepping up behind her.

Seela peered in, unable to contain her curiosity. Was that magic he’d used? Was there more inside?

A shove from behind sent her flying forward. She hit the ground hard. Her hands buried into sharp rocks, then the rest of her body followed, tumbling and bouncing off the earth.

The taste of blood spiked into her mouth, sharp and startling. When she was able to sit up, she stared back at the round opening where the bishop stood, a silhouette against the brightness of day.

Then the stone began to roll over the opening.

“No!” Seela scrambled up, her ankle howling in pain. Limping toward the hole, she tried to make it out, but the boulder rolled faster than she would have thought possible. Within seconds, it had sealed shut, taking the light with it.

With her hands pressed against stone, the terror of the situation folded in on her. She was sealed inside a cave. She had no way out. It was black as pitch. Was this why they took maidens? To leave them for dead in the dark?

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