Page 43 of The Sacrifice

The first thing I do is search the Court for Tessie. Her face is not among the Waste-folk, and I tense until Merikh shadows toward his throne and nods to me. Relief lowers my shoulders but not to a great degree. The vampire may be a seething bastard, but his sense of possession for Quintessa is just as powerful, perhaps runs deeper than I’ve ever believed. I give him a subtle nod in return. Hiding in plain sight rarely works. Despite the hundreds of scents permeating the air, the blood of a human born beyond the Veil of Souls is far too distinctive.

I flick my gaze to each corner of the Court, eyeing the flames I conjured not long ago. If Kronos believes the fire burning among the candles and candelabras is anything but normal, we’re done for.

Clenching my jaw, I grip the arm of my throne, hard enough to shed bone powder as Kronos strides across the main floor while the peoples of the Waste kneel before him. Mayce exchanges a glance with me, his expression clear, though he never loses those cunning eyes. Of course, the Fae predicted this. All of us did, but the god-eater arriving on the Solstice is unexpected.

None of us move. We are the only ones within the Waste who will never kneel. Nor may we be forced. He may have exiled us, taken our realms, and cursed us, but we’ve still risen to become Kings of the Waste. Kings of rot and ruin but kings all the same.

Kronos doesn’t require an entourage as he advances toward our thrones, his crafty eyes scrutinizing the surroundings from the decorations of weeping roses to the flames casting shadows upon the walls. Of course, he could lift the Veil and enter with a glorious escort of capayllia-mounted soldiers and attendants. But entering alone is a far greater display of his power. And a reminder to us of our “rightful place”.

Tremors rack my insides for the first time. I feel the heat simmering in my blood and know I need to get out of this Court. Find somewhere dark and cold before my veins combust, and I unleash my dragon fire. It’s primed inside my belly. Like a well of lava festering and bubbling while the rest of me quakes like the precursor rumblings of a volcanic explosion. That is what she has done to me.

Protection runes shimmer upon Kronos’ high-collared tunic. A great black cape trails behind him by at least a couple of feet—half of which is made of the white fur of frost dragons since the devil can’t resist showing off the spoils of his realms. Potion bottles suspended from his belt knock against one another, tingling and clanking. No ordinary bottles. Whenever he journeys to the Waste, Kronos brings along his snacks. His boot steps thunder through the Court upon his approach.

Like Mayce, he is alarmingly, painfully beautiful. Time has done nothing to age him. In fact, he seems more youthful than ever: a result of the power he stole from us. One by one, he removes his fur-lined leather gloves, slaps them across his palm, and offers us a ruthful grin before spreading his arms out to each side.

“Hello, boys! Daddy’s come for a visit,” he proclaims, voice lilting a little higher in a well-devised taunt. Glibness is Kronos’ second language. With us, he prefers the title of “Daddy”, because we are still his whipping boys to this day. “Still wearing the masks, I see. A stroke of genius how I took advantage of your four realms’ grand masked ball and chose that night to strike. As you know, I love to make an entrance.” He smirks, glancing around at the kneeling figures.

“I would offer you a formal greeting, Lord Kronos...” begins Mayce, lifting a hand in a gesture, “...but your arrival is never a welcome one.”

Kronos clicks his teeth in chastisement. “Now, now, is that any way to address your Emperor on the Solstice of all occasions? Especially when I see your Court is far more lavish and festive than usual. Could it be you are celebrating some significant event? Or discovery perhaps?” he probes not so subtly but directs his sharp gaze to mine.

“Or we fed so well on Hollow Night thanks to your generous gift of granting us our beast forms and powers for one night of the year,” offers Mayce, remaining straight-backed and stoic as usual.

“Tut, tut, Mayce,” Kronos responds, raising his hand to sweep back his long, dark hair. It’s not lost on me how he’s embellished the strands with a scarlet hue in another mockery. “Always the clever one and the silver-tongued one to this day. But you know my laws and stipulations, which I transcribed in my own blood and marked upon your backs. Any human girls, not born of the Waste, will be given the choice to come and join me in the fifth realm where they will live in the lap of luxury. My lap more specifically,” he taunts with a grin and slaps his gloves against his other palm.

A low growl vibrates in my chest, and I sense my blood heating more. Especially when Kronos raises one of his potion bottles, twists the knob to uncork it, and inhales the smoky essence drifting from it. Just before he tips it back, a high scream pierces the air, coming from the bottle—faint but enough for me to know it’s a full soul, not a half. Regardless of how the mask conceals my expression, I curl my upper lip in a sneer. Soul snacks, the god-eater dubs them. When he struck down the gods and stole our kingdoms, it was rumored that he ate ten thousand souls to take the fullness of power.

Kronos will carry half-souls simply to offer them to us. While we might refuse, Mayce is not only our charismatic spokesperson but also a cunning pickpocket. When the half-souls we consume gift us with a small sample of our powers, as well as a hallucinogenic high, who can blame us?

“As you well know, Kronos, the last human who made it through your Veil of Souls was a blade-binder who made the unfortunate mistake of attacking us on Hollow Night,” indicates Mayce as Kronos enjoys his soul sample.

“And you sent the one before as one of your games,” adds Kyan, who tenses, the muscles of his face almost pushing his mask off. A knot of remorse forms within my belly for my brother when I consider Erya who deceived Kyan most, vowing her love and oath of fealty. To this day, Kyan despises Kronos most for Erya since they wedded on Midsummer’s Night. And she tried to slit his throat in their own bridal bed. That knot of remorse grows into a brood of angry vipers as I remember the night we all barreled into the bridal suite to find Kyan clinging to his dead bride and their bed soaked in blood.

After, I vowed to protect my brothers first and foremost.

Closing his eyes, Kronos heaves a deep sigh of pleasure after consuming the soul. My insides tighten and blaze, the inferno working its way into my esophagus. Unlike Kronos, we don’t destroy them. And never full souls. Half-souls require a host. Many of the servants of the castle are due to the half-souls we’ve managed to release, which is why they remain and serve us while the rest of the Waste fears and bows. I can’t imagine how many races throughout the Five Realms have become slaves to Kronos once he’s finished eating half their souls. Most of them willing—too young to remember the ancient times.

Sensing my temper getting the better of me, Mayce turns to Kronos and suggests, “Why don’t we find more suitable surroundings to discuss these matters?”

Kronos glances around at the countless unclothed Waste-folk thanks to the interruption of their coitus interactions. “Indeed,” he agrees and smiles at the three of us. “After all, it is the Solstice, and I brought gifts...” he croons, retrieving a number of smaller, colorful bottles from the other side of his belt. They clink together like a queen’s jewels suspended on ropes of chains.

Fear strains my nerves even as we all rise because every time I swallow the rising flames, more threaten to burn a hole right through my fucking throat. Kronos dismisses the Court to continue their revelry while we make our way to the side staircase, descending into the darkness of the lower levels. Deeper and lower than usual tonight. The darkness and cold, sharp air do little to stem the tide of red-hot fire ignited within me. The more I swallow the burning lumps of embers like live coals, the more I fear Kronos will suspect. It’s even more validation that our little Tessie is no spy. No blade-binder, warrior, nor spy could ignite any of our powers.

Once we enter the catacombs where the scent of the dead will shield any other odors, I inhale deeply through my nose. The scent of rotted bones hangs in the air. But not even the ghostly energy creeping over my senses is enough to prevent the conflagration from gathering back into my throat. For the first time in our history, I fear I will accept Kronos’ gift and go so far as to drink with him. Anything to protect my sweet pet. I can only hope it will be enough.

32

"If at first you don't succeed..."

QUINTESSA

“This is without a doubt the most foolish decision you have ever made,” Qora scolds me as I steal away down the staircase, enveloped in her shades. Her voice is more perturbed than usual.

“Oh, come now, I’ve made many other foolish decisions,” I tease her softly, careful to speak in lowered tones but remaining within earshot of the Kings’ boots thudding on the stone floor.

“Name one.”

I chew on my inner cheek, considering her challenge. A sudden memory sparks in my brain, and I remind her, “Remember the one time Pater took me to the eastern Borderlands by train, so I could heal the Governor’s concubine?” Qora says nothing, already knowing where I’m going with this, but I smile, picking up on how her amber eyes brighten. “And before we left, I let the Governor’s son fuck me on that balcony with my body hanging over the railing.” Nothing below but hundreds of feet of pure air followed by the sea surf thundering against the jagged rocks. It gave me a bit of an adrenaline surge in my veins but nothing more. Unlike here in the Waste where my time with the Kings has sharpened my senses and intensified my nerve endings.

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