Page 9 of The Blood Rites

The other two Offerings stand on either side of me. I don’t know them. Of course I don’t. My life has been barracks, dorms, and back again, with as little attention drawn as possible.

But I recognise the girl to my left. She is the one who looked too young.

Her face has gone almost colourless beneath the red slash of paint. Copper hair frames glassy eyes that are fixed on nothing. She keeps trying to breathe but fails at it, each inhale catching too high in her chest. Then she bends forward and retches.

An attendant rushes in with a bucket while a Guardian grips her arms to hold her upright. The sound she makes is small at first, then not small at all. It is raw and animal-like. She bites down on it too late.

I look away. Not because I don’t care, but because if I keep watching her fall apart, something inside me might follow.

I’m rooted to the spot, limbs trembling like fragile branches in the wind as all the colours around me blur into a syrupy smear.

The boy to my right doesn’t move. He is broad-shouldered with scarred hands. A particularly nasty scar snakes up his forearm, pale and raised. The blue stripe painted across his chest looks ugly against the white tunic. His jaw is clenched so tightly that it looks painful as he stares out at the crowd, as though he hates every face in it.

I envy him for that.

The Blessed begin to leave the platform, their task complete, robes shifting in the glare as they weave through the onlookers. Most of the Guardians follow. Only three remain behind, one for each of us.

Personal guards and a personal reminder to behave.

I take the cup of water an attendant offers me because refusing would draw attention. The surface trembles before it reaches my mouth. For a moment, my reflection breaks apart inside it: red paint and hollow eyes.

I drink, and it tastes warm.

Sera Vayne’s voice rolls over the plaza again, thick with borrowed power. “Citizens of the Light Dominion,” she calls. “Your Offerings have been selected.”

The crowd quiets at once, and my spine goes rigid. “These three souls will surrender themselves to the Mother Shard, that our Dominion may thrive another year in her embrace.”

Surrender. As if any of us stepped forward willingly.

As if the girl isn’t still shaking hard enough that the Guardian keeps one hand near her elbow.

“Luceris Navin,” Sera says.

My name spreads across the plaza.

“First Chosen.”

The applause comes like a wave.

I thought silence would be worse. I was mistaken.

Thousands of hands strike together. Thousands of mouths cheer. All these people celebrating my death.

I keep my face still.

“Marissa Ivern,” Sera continues. “Second Chosen.”

Marissa makes a sound beside me, almost swallowed by the roar of the crowd.

“And Callen Mirek. Third Chosen.”

Callen doesn’t bow. Doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t give them anything.

The applause swells until the stone beneath my feet seems to vibrate with it. Sera lifts one hand, and the plaza obeys. Silence falls so quickly it feels unnatural.

The Guardians turn us towards the dais, where we stand like ants beneath the vacant-eyed Crown and his High Blessed. I don’t know if he sees us. I don’t know if there is enough of him left to see anything.

Sera turns towards him.