Page 57 of Godbound
“Two weeks ago, a man took something from me,” I say louder.
A ripple moves through the crowd. Some lean in. Others recoil. Ryker blinks, his head tilts slightly. “But the Crimson Tether curse doesn’t care if I was willing or not,” I raise my voice even louder, letting conviction shape every word.
“One day, I was to be a queen. The next, I was destined for Rust Hollow, cast aside like so many women before me. Desperate, I threw myself off a temple balcony, spilled my blood, and pledged my life to a forgotten goddess. Not out of loyalty, but out of fear—fearof what awaited me. I thought, if I won these Challenges, my sins would be forgiven, the curse lifted. I thought there was still a chance…” My voice cracks, and for a moment, I can’t bear to look at Ryker so my eyes skip over the crowd.
“But now, standing before you, I realize that it’s not about me. It’s about all of us.” I take a breath, my voice rising again. “Every one of you knows a friend, a daughter, a mother, a sister whose life was taken by a curse she never chose. A curse forced on her, as mine was forced on me. If I become Archpriestess, I promise you this: no friend, no daughter, no mother, no sister will ever again be made to suffer for a sin that was never theirs. No life will be ruined by a man’s wandering touch. No woman will be left to rot in Rust Hollow, forgotten, starving, waiting to die.”
A sharp murmur rises through the crowd. Most faces twist with revulsion, scandal flickering across painted mouths and narrowed eyes.
A woman clutches her shawl tighter, lips parted in silent offense. A man turns to whisper. A cluster of courtiers shake their heads, expressions pinched with disgust.
“They did choose it!” a woman screeches. “So now they’re paying for it!”
“As you should have!” another voice snaps.
I don’t bother searching for the speakers. Instead, I keep scanning the crowd, desperate for a single face still willing to listen. Deep down, I knew most would be skeptical, hateful even, but I’d hoped for a few. Someone who, if not supportive, would at least be open enough to hear me.
I find no one. And hope bleeds out of me in slow, steady drops.
But then I see her. A young girl near the edge of the crowd, hands clasped tightly to her chest, watching me with quiet focus.
Maybe she lost a sister to Rust Hollow. Or a friend. Or maybe she’s just young enough that her heart hasn’t yet been steeped in her parents’ hatred.
So I keep speaking. To her. Because sometimes, even a single listening heart can become the crack where change begins to seep through.
My gaze lifts, drifting past the crowd to the memory of the poleoutside Rust Hollow, that one reserved for the low-born cursed women. It’s not visible behind rows of buildings but etched into everyone’s memory all the same. My fingers continue shaking from the force of the truth pushing out of me.
“For those who were wronged, I will tear down that godforsaken pole with my own hands! I promise you that.”
I stand there like a focal point of anticipation and dread, aware of every confused whisper, every shuffle from the crowd that might mean some form of approval.
My magic pulses again just beneath the surface, eager for release, but I clamp down on it, forcing it into submission.
Today, I must show restraint. I must show them all that I am more than the wild, uncontrollable force they fear.
A strange, wrong stillness takes hold. The weight of the crowd’s gaze feels heavier, their voices dulling to a low murmur, as if the entire world is holding its breath. The ground beneath my feet isn’t firm anymore.
It feels softer, looser, like sand shifting beneath a rising tide.
A slow, amused chuckle cuts through the uneasy hush. “Listen to her,” a voice drawls, rich with mockery. “Making promises she can’t keep. Talking about saving the wretches of Rust Hollow like she isn’t one of them. Like she isn’t already drowning in the filth she swore to rise above.”
My stomach knots at the sound. I don’t need to turn to know who it belongs to.
The Red Hunter.
Before I can move, before I can even process the way the earth beneath me subtly gives, he steps forward.
“Tell me, sinner,” Zyrel says, his voice dripping with amusement, cruel and casual all at once, “when they look at you, do they see a savior? Or do they see the same thing I do?”
The ground trembles harder now, the rippling beneath my boots turning fluid, and my pulse slams against my ribs.
“And what’s that?” I force out, my throat dry.
His grin is a blade. “A girl already sinking.”
The ground gives way. Stone granulates beneath my feet, crumbling into shifting sand.
A sharp gasp catches in my throat as I stumble, my balance yanked from beneath me. I feel myself plummet into the earth, my scream swallowed by the sudden rush of grainy sand.
