My father falls to his knees, hands pressed together while any resemblance of the man I grew up fearing—that this community still fears—is gone.
“Please don’t kill my daughter,” he begs, and Azkiel’s lips warp into a frown. “My other daughter is already going to die in the tournament.”
So much for preparing Arabella to win. She is far more competent than he realizes. My sister’s biggest downfall will be her kindness.
Azkiel circles my father, his shadows morphing around him. “Pathetic.”
The dream magic weaves through my core, suppressing every monstrous desire to lash out and turn this entire town to ash. My father has hazed my abilities, taken away the anger that guides my strength, right when the predator has come to taunt me.
My father’s pleading only deepens my rage. “We beg for your mercy.”
“He doesn’t have any,” I say, and Azkiel snarls, the muscles in his arms bulging as he brings his touch dangerously close to my father’s throat. “Leave,” he shouts. “Or I will lay waste to your entire family.”
My father does not move. He’s really willing to die to protect me.
“You should go,” I say, struggling to push any fight into my words. “Azkiel can’t kill me.”
A sense of victory washes through me as I watch him flinch.
“Cali?” my dad whispers, his lips parting, confusion weaving through his expression.
“Please, leave.” I try to stand from the chair, but I’m forced back down by the sedative effect of dream magic.
“I will not kill her,” Death growls, his fingers blackening..
He would if he could.
My father hesitates between me and Azkiel and then finally leaves with a quick bow to the God, casting one final worried glance back at me.
Once the door shuts, Azkiel walks to me, standing over me in the dark, damp room, a cold draft seeping through the old bricks.
“You told him you’re immune to my power,” he states, each word dripping a venom that matches my own.
“I plan on telling everyone who will fucking hear me, you bastard!” I retort.
His shadows steal the light from the lone candle, and he leans over, the silver in his stare turning into a matte, smoky gray—the kind that comes from the chimneys of infirmaries where they burn the dead. “I should have broken your fucking neck.”
“Now you can’t,” I snark and lift my chin, fighting the trance-like effects. “A person with nothing left to lose is the most dangerous of all.”
His growl rumbles in his chest, thunderous to match the brewing storm outside. “Then you should fear me.”
I scoff a laugh. “If you really have nothing to lose, why are you here? Nobody fights this hard without something to fight for.”
“You know nothing of what you speak.”
“We both know that is simply not true. You desperately want me away from Dahryst and you,’’ I say, leaning forward, any fear I once had of him vanishing as I think about Arabella and Drake fighting to the death on Tenenocti. “I swear, I will find out what that prophecy says and ensure it comes to pass.”
“Our deal was sealed in blood. Do you know what happens if you break it?”
“That all those you love, die,” I whisper as images of my two younger sisters and father flood my mind.. “I guess you had me fooled. You don’t have anyone you love, do you?” I was so focused on saving Drake that I didn’t even think about that possibility. “You chose my friend and my sister.”
“I did not break our deal,” he spits. “I freed the boy. You said nothing of what will happen to him after. I am a man of my word.”
As the dream magic heightens, I struggle to keep my eyes open. It weaves through my mind, calming everything into an ignorant bliss. I murmur one last promise to him. “As am I a woman of mine. And I swear, I will find a way to destroy you.”
He leans closer, our noses almost touching. “Leave before The Harvest, or lose the rest of your family,” he hisses his threat before storming out, leaving me alone with my thoughts.
I struggle against the relentless drowsiness enveloping me, resisting the urge to close my eyes. But eventually, my eyelids surrender, eclipsing the dim light of the room as I succumb to the embrace of slumber.
As I fall into a light sleep, I am transported into a dream of a memory.
We’re back in my house, as children, watching as Cecilia chokes, slowly turning blue. Wide-eyed, Cee, only a toddler then, clutches her tiny hands to her throat. Something from her dinner blocks her airway, and no matter how much my mother shoves her fingers down her throat, it doesn’t dislodge—only pushing it deeper.
I’m thrown back as my mother forces me into a cabinet, the porcelain clinking above my head.
My little sister is going to die. “Do something,” I scream, although they’re trying. My powers haven’t come in yet, and my mother’s healing magic—the most common of Essentria’s magic to be inherited—doesn’t help.
My father joins in, this time holding my sister’s small body from behind, his hands linked over her stomach. With each hard abdominal thrust, I fear her bones will break under the pressure. But no breath enters through her blue-tinged lips. Even her nails have a sapphire hue as time passes on, her bloodshot, teary eyes closing.
My mother’s scream evokes my own, and I crawl against the cabinet, helpless, and ball my legs to my chest.
When I glance over at them again, my father’s hands are over the center of her chest, pushing deep into her ribcage. But it is Arabella, still too young for her powers, that hurries to Cecilia’s side first. They say trauma can activate a person’s magic at a younger age, and as Arabella stares at our dead sister, a bright glow emulates under her fingertips, moving like liquid gold, seeping into Cecilia’s body.
Magic I’ve never seen anyone use before dissipates, and Cecilia’s eyes snap open, her small body encompassed by a perfect yellow aura.
My eyes fling open. The dream plays out in my mind, where events, once hazy, I can now recall with vivid detail.
I blink twice as parts of the room come into view. Arabella sits in front of me, still in her crimson robes, but the berries in her hair have sunken. “How are you?”
