I grimace, then stand over the stone bowl, slowly lifting the dagger. Death haunts my every thought as I slide the blade across my skin, and my blood drips, merging with the rest.
“Calista Bellevue,” I spit, then throw the dagger down, shooting the elders a glare.
I place my hand on my sister’s shoulder as she steps up behind me, then cuts her finger with the dagger.
“Arabella Bellevue,” she states. Her blood pools onto the stone while the other elders nod in approval. She brings her hand to her lips, sealing the wound and steps back.
“Arabella,” my mother scolds when she reaches us, seemingly out of nowhere. I guess families of the elders are allowed in here. My other two sisters, Cecilia and Eliana, aged nine and ten, gaze at the basin, their eyes brimming.
Cecilia is the first to speak. “What happens to the sacrifices after The Harvest?”
My mother grabs her by the shoulders, moving her away from the basin. “They go to the gods,” she whispers, but her eyes are trained on the other family elders, offering placid smiles as they glance our way.
My little sister pouts, her big eyes focused on the bloodied basin. “They die, Cee,” I say, and my mother’s glare snaps to me.
“They don’t need to hear that,” she hisses, covering my sister’s ears.
“Why not?” I ask as Cecilia shrugs herself out of my mother’s grip. “They should know, considering they will be forced to supposedly volunteer themselves at the next Harvest.”
Eliana gasps. “I don’t want to die.”
“You won’t.” I lift my stare to meet my Mother’s. “I will never let anyone hurt you.”
My mother’s lips tighten into a frown. “No one is dying.”
Cecilia’s eyes brim with tears, and she looks at me, then to Ari. “But you’re both volunteering. What if you’re picked?”
My mother hushes them. “That won’t happen.”
“It’s true. She’d never let us enter the tournament,” I say, with a smirk as I lower my knees to meet Cee’s height. “Because if I win, then Mother would be forced to bow to me.”
I wink at my little sister, and she giggles.
“Calista,” Mother warns.
“Calm down,” I say. “Before you give yourself another headache.”
Eliana interjects this time, while playing with her long braid. “Maybe we can choose an elder without the Harvest?”
“What an intriguing thought, Eliana.”
She grins while our mother rolls her eyes. I smile in return, but my stomach dips when I realize no matter what I say, their voices won’t make a difference. Not now, nor in ten years when it is their turn. Children have an innocuous ability to shine a light on hidden truths. Yet, their voices, no matter how honest, are cast aside.
I sigh, then turn to look at my baby sisters, crossed between wanting them to know the truth, but also realizing how hard that will make life for them.
My mother turns her attention to me. “You, outside.”
Heaving a deep sigh, I follow her out of the church. Her nose wrinkles as she gestures for me to hurry with a harsh flip of her hand.
As soon as we step out into the chilly, early evening air, she grabs my arm a little too tightly. “Smile,” she hisses into my ear, “as though you’re not the heathen you are. Your sisters will go with your father. You and I are going alone.”
She definitely knows. I force a smile. “Oh, how wonderful.”
“I should lock you away for what you have done,” she hisses in my ear. Her grip tightens, but she plasters a smile on her lips and waves at the other esteemed members of our society as we walk home, hurrying around the horse and carriages for those who have come from the other side of town.
Men pour into the Grumpy Gurger Tavern, grabbing metal tins overflowing with ale. My eyes narrow on one of the warlock’s arms, covered in the likeness of Azkiel.
News of his return buzzes through the crowds, the excitement palpable. I follow my mother down the rain-slicked narrow streets winding through small houses with slate roofs. The sound of horses clopping against the cobblestone hammers in my ears as a carriage glides past us.
Candlelight flickers from behind the netted curtains of one house, allowing me to spot the symbol of Asentrai—the moon, sun and stars—hanging from a string on their door. Probably hoping the gods will bless them.
As we continue moving, our house comes into view, its front walls adorned by clay symbols, showing that our home is the leading house in Essentria’s coven because of our father’s position. Our coven has one elder, Death’s coven has two, but some, like Astraea’s, have none. It depends on the winner of each Harvest and what coven they originated from.
While we all live as one community, our given powers separate us. Even in the academy, we were taught separately from the other covens, each of us knowing we will hold different roles once our magic showed itself around age sixteen, or earlier, if a tragedy or trauma occurred, forcing our powers to show themselves sooner.
In Essentria’s coven, most became healers and those with nature enhancement magic take care of the forests and magical plants all over Dahryst. Those in Cyna’s coven often became enforcers of the law, guards and chief judges sentencing those for their crimes. But all of us answer to the elders, who supposedly answer to the gods.
We reach the door, and the moment we are in the foyer, my mother’s grip tightens, her fingertips sure to leave behind slight bruises. “When will you learn, Calista?”
“They’ll be fine,” I say, sighing. “You still have plenty of time to indoctrinate them.”
“You little brat,” she spits. “I am not just talking about them. You snuck back out last night.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say calmly, then shove my mother’s hand away.
She walks out of the foyer, and I begrudgingly follow. With a glance around to check for any lingering staff, she lowers her voice to a whisper. “Everist knows it was you and Drake.”
I purse my lips. “Funny, I don’t recall my name being mentioned in Father’s speech.”
