Her words stay with me, and I look at the stars, despising how effortlessly my heart raced when she touched me. Especially when she challenged me. She knows nothing of this world, or of the wars and pain it holds. She demands from me, even though she has my magic and isn’t forced into an eternity living in the shadows, without touch or love.
Tonight, she will learn the cost of such recklessness.
FOURTEENCalista
My heart is in my throat as I walk through the decorated front door of my home, knowing it will be one of the last times I see it.
I trace my fingers over the markings on the door frame where I measured Cecilia and Eliana’s height every year since they were five and six, despite my mother’s grumbling about it ruining the décor. A selfish part of me wishes I could take my sisters with me, but I know their lives will be far better here than on the run with me and Drake.
That is if Death keeps his promise. I am nervous I was not careful enough when completing the deal. Adrenaline and panic had me rushing things. Words are everything in a blood oath, and I agreed too quickly, without meticulously considering the details of what I was committing to. Although, now that I think about it, Death made a similar mistake. I am to leave Dahryst, but he said nothing of Tenenocti.
“Cali!” Cecilia exclaims, running down the corridor from the drawing room and I quickly cover the marks on my throat with my cloak.
She leaps into my arms, and I hold her tighter than usual, breathing in the smell of rose petals on her hair.
“Hey, Cee.” My eyelids clamp against the building tears as she rests her head on my shoulder. I brush a hand over her dark-brown braid, then place her back on the ground.
She looks up at me with the same, wide violet eyes as Ari. “Mama’s upset you’re not ready. Really, I think she was worried you weren’t coming.” She leans in, then whispers, “I heard her arguing with Father.”
I squeeze her shoulders gently and force a smile. “I wouldn’t let you all go alone.”
Her lips spread into a smile. “I knew you’d come. Arabella’s upstairs. I can distract Mama while you get ready, so she doesn’t bother you.”
I chortle, then shake my head. “You’ve always been my favorite.”
She rolls her eyes, placing her hands on her hips. “You say that to all of us.”
“Well, you’re all my favorites.”
She turns her head to the corridor, then glances up the stairs. “You should go before they see you.” Her smile fades into a frown. “I don’t want you to be in trouble.”
I place my finger over my lips, then creep up the stairs, watching from my ascending height as she runs back to the drawing room. Gods, I’m going to miss her. My stomach knots, forcing the panic over leaving down. I can’t think about that now.
I hurry into my room and pull on the red silk robes hanging on the back of my wardrobe. Bile rises in my throat as I realize how close I’d come to dying tonight. I always knew Azkiel was a monster after learning he was the creator of The Harvest. Now I’ve been proven right, not that it makes a difference. No one will listen to me, and even if the elders and townspeople believed me, what can they do about it?
I roll my aching shoulders back until I feel a pop, and relief loosens my muscles. However, Azkiel’s touch still lingers, the iciness etched into my skin. I inch closer to the mirror and my eyes gravitate toward my neck. My fingers graze under the fabric of the robes, over where the crimson marks imprinted around my throat are hidden by the silk, a testament to my encounter with Death. I have no idea how the fuck I survived him, or what was that prophecy he talked about. I can only imagine it was made by the goddess Nyxara, but I doubt he’d have listened to me.
“You’re here,” Ari exclaims from behind me, and I turn as she crosses the threshold into my room.
Inhaling sharply, I hold her at arm’s length, furrowing my brows as tears glisten from the golden specks in her violet irises. “Red doesn’t suit you,” I say, despising her in the color branded for sacrifices.
She laughs, a tear trickling down her cheek. “I don’t know why I’m nervous. Did you see Drake? Is he alive?”
“Yes, he is.” I sigh, staring at Ari, knowing after the Choosing I won’t see her again.
“Do you think they’ll execute Drake?” Ari asks, her eyes widening and shoulders dropping.
“No,” I assure her, then plaster a smile on my lips. “Don’t think about this tonight.”
“We will find a way to help him,” she promises, and I just nod. “Let us get you ready.”
After several minutes of her grabbing various items and working on my hair and face, I turn to face the window.
My heart skips a beat when I stare back at my reflection through the black veil obscuring half my face, revealing only my blood-red lips. My long hair is now pulled back into a half-crown, adorned with red berries and daggered leaves.
My gaze shifts towards Arabella’s smiling reflection on the night-blue backdrop of the clear glass, and I turn to her, unable to bear another moment of gazing at myself wearing this outfit. Otherwise, I will pluck every berry from my strands until the crown falls along with the rest, then tear the dress into shreds until I deem myself suitable for such a vile ceremony.
My chest grows heavier as I glance at the pastes she made. The color perfectly matches our robes. “You’re so talented, Ari,” I say, and her eyes widen as my tone softens. “Please do something with it. Don’t let Mother convince you into believing you’re meant for nothing more than to be a wife to some man.”
“Why does this feel like a goodbye?” she asks, her voice cracking.
“It’s not,” I reply hastily.
She arches her brow, then fumbles with her fingers. “What else happened tonight?”
“Nothing,” I reply.
I straighten my posture, remembering why I’m doing this. Drake will be free, and together we will escape this forsaken place. “Let’s get this over and done with.”
We walk down the wooden stairs, Arabella careful not to mark her robes. As I glide my fingers over the polished banister, I pause mid-step, hearing my father’s voice wisp from the adjoining room.
“You have to face him,” Arabella whispers, and my stomach churns. I’d rather not, but she’s right. If this is going to be the last time I see him, then I should say goodbye in my own way. Maybe I’ll hug him. It’ll be a first, but I prefer him to our mother.
Even if he stands for everything wrong with our society.
Mother opens the door to the great chamber, her expression twisting when she sees me. “We’ve been looking for you.”
I push past her, then walk inside the opulent room adorned with velvet curtains and portraits of our family, painting an image of a closeness we didn’t share in reality. Father rises from his green armchair, a glass filled with dark, purple liquid in his hand. “Daughters,” he states, nodding as his scrutinizing gaze examines our robes. “Calista.”
