Page 57 of The Blood Rites

Marissa sticks close to me as we slip into the room, trailing a hand along the high backs of the chairs. Callen is already here, sitting beside Morwen and the rest of the Water Offerings. Marissa lets go of me only to position herself in the space on Callen’s other side, leaving me to sit opposite beside Lyssandra.

The Waterborn alone sit untouched by the tension gripping the room. Lyssandra’s face remains smooth and unreadable beneath the shimmer of her pale hair. Theon sits across the way, delicately twirling a dinner knife between his fingers. Morwen sits silent and watching, her deep blue eyes only occasionally glancing in Callen’s direction.

To my left, the Airborn boys seat themselves, greeting us with polite smiles. Alaris wears his smile like armour, and Fen’s attention flits around like a firefly trapped in a jar.

The last boy, Sorin, is new to me—tall and so thin I can see the severe edge of his collarbones through his tunic. His fingers move restlessly, occasionally skittering up and down his arms.

We eat in silence for a few peaceful minutes. The only sounds are the scrape of utensils and the grumbling of someone’s stomach. The food is delicious, tastier than it has any right to be. Warm enough that I almost forget where we are. I watch Lyssandra lift her spoon from the corner of my eye. The soup ripples with the movement, but her mouth never quite reaches it. Sorin, on the other hand, eats with an almost greedy intensity, like he’s never been fed before and may never have the chance to eat again.

He glances up from his bowl suddenly, eyes flicking to me.

“You must be Luceris,” he says, his voice a soft rasp. “I’m Sorin. I saw you in the Dome yesterday, fighting that Shadowborn. I don’t think he expected you to fight back like that.”

Bread catches painfully in my throat and Marissa bursts out laughing, spitting her soup back into her bowl.

“Did you hear the crack?” she asks, delighted. “Kael looked like he was going to kill him for a second, but he let him go.”

“I’ve never seen a Shadowborn back down from a fight,” Sorin says quietly.

Alaris cuts in, his eyes narrowed. “The Shadow Dominion hasn’t won the Blood Rites in generations, but they always survive until the end. Good for them, bad for us.”

“The Shadow Offerings are dangerous,” Fen says, glancing at Alaris before looking back to his plate, cheeks colouring ever so slightly. “They’re not like the others. The Shadow Crown wouldn’t risk a Prince unless they expected him to survive.”

“What makes you so sure he was sent?” I ask.

“That might be worse.” Sorin says.

Alaris rolls his eyes but doesn’t disagree. “My family said that the Shadowborn would take you out in the dark before fighting you head on. The Fireborn are the real problem—they enjoy it.”

The thought makes my stomach tighten.

“At least the Shadowborn will make it quick.”

Lyssandra's mouth twists. “It’s all barbarism in the end,” she says, her voice even and calm. “They’re here to kill, no matter how you phrase it. Let’s not pretend otherwise.”

A lull settles over us, but I feel compelled to speak. “Will you not, then? Kill, I mean?”

Lyssandra sighs, deep and resigned. “Our faith forbids it.”

I want to ask her more, but a familiar, distant voice interrupts from my right. Theon’s eyes are glazed and cloudy, like before. His fingers splay across the table, pressing down with such force that his fingertips have gone a pale white.

“The watcher under the waves stirs,” he says, the words spilling out quickly, as though in a trance. “It waits. Watching. The bridge will break before it bends.”

His eyes flick to me.

“The darkness hungers for the light, but only the water of the deep can drown the divine.”

Silence spreads outwards from him, slow and unnatural.

Theon blinks rapidly, shaking out his hands as the blood returns to the tips.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, “I was gone for a second there, wasn’t I?”

I nod slowly while everyone else pretends not to have noticed, but the silence feels heavier than before.

It is Marissa who breaks it, nudging me with her foot under the table as her eyes dart across the room.

“Look,” she whispers, nodding towards a far table.