The Offering
Page 7
Deep within me Sabara’s voice whispered up from the chasm of darkness where she preferred to dwell. Don’t trust them, she warned. Be cautious, Charlaina.
I wasn’t sure how much more cautious I could be, but the box beneath my fingertips beckoned me, and a roomful of people waited to see what was inside.
Taking the box from his grasp, I held my breath as I lifted the lid.
From inside, crisp purple flowers tumbled free, spilling onto the toes of my boots. Their fruity scent was so overpowering that I was startled by it.
I glanced questioningly at the messenger, but his face remained impassive.
When I looked into the box full of brittle blossoms once more, I noticed there was something hidden there, just beneath the layer of withered blooms. Something that made my throat squeeze and my stomach lurch, despite the fact that I couldn’t quite see past the layers of crumpled petals.
Zafir had noticed it too, and he snatched the box from my hands without asking my permission. He dropped to his knees as he reached inside, thrusting the flowers aside, until I heard his breath catch. I didn’t wait for him to give me the go-ahead. I peered over his shoulder to see what it was that he was looking at.
I wished I hadn’t.
I gasped and stumbled, falling backward and blinking too hard. I wished I’d never seen what I had, because I couldn’t take it back. I couldn’t undo what my eyes had just witnessed. I wasn’t sure whether it was tears or fury that clouded my vision. My throat felt like it was closing, and all I could see, even when I closed my eyes, was what was in the box. All I could imagine— maybe forever all I would ever imagine—was that hand . . . the severed hand that Queen Elena had sent to me.
It wasn’t until Max was there, pulling me back to my feet, that I recalled I wasn’t alone. And then I looked up into his face and remembered something else. It wasn’t just me who would be damaged by the dismembered limb.
If Max saw it . . . then he’d know who it belonged to. . . .
It was the scars that had given it away. Even as decayed as the hand was, I had glimpsed the intricate lacework of pale scars tracing the withered skin that outlined the knuckles. Scars I would’ve recognized anywhere.
Scars belonging to Xander.
I clung to Max, searching his eyes and trying to make my lips move. I struggled to find a way to tell him that his brother was likely dead at the hands of the queen he’d gone to make peace with, when I heard the sound—the bellow, like the piercing yowl of a wounded animal—at my back.
I knew it was Eden even before I found my next breath—her outrage and pain filtered through every part of me.
She’d seen it too. Xander’s hand.
Her sword had been drawn, and before anyone could stop her or even had the chance to blink, she impaled the first messenger. The body hadn’t even crumpled to the ground when she withdrew her weapon and repositioned herself, her blade readying to stab once more, a scream erupting from her as if it were being ripped from her gullet.
Zafir reacted first, and thrust himself in front of the wideeyed, unarmed messenger who stood to be skewered next. The look in Eden’s eyes didn’t register recognition of the other royal guard. The only thing in her expression was misery. And ferocious determination.
But Zafir was determined too, and unlike me, he hadn’t thrown his weapon down in the field. He drew his sword too—a sword named Danii—just in the nick of time, his blade clashing against Eden’s and throwing hers off course less than a moment before it would’ve met the soft belly of the cowering messenger. The remaining two couriers had scattered, fleeing somewhere into the palace while their companion had been under siege by the heartbroken guard. I thought I should shout for someone to go after them, but I heard footsteps in their wake, and I was too focused on Eden to summon the order.
I thought she would stab, or swing, again—she was too far past reason to stop herself. Behind both Eden and Zafir, I saw Brook, who was also armed but not with a blade. Her gun was readied and aimed at Eden’s head. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if Eden attacked Zafir, and inside my chest my heart pounded wildly. I tried to give Brook a silent signal to wait, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her attention was trained solely on Eden now.
Time seemed to slow as I watched Zafir, standing stoically, patiently, in front of Eden. He never moved, and I wondered if he even breathed.
Ultimately something must have registered with her: the earsplitting crash of their swords or the reverberation she’d surely felt moving up her arm. Or perhaps seeing her own comrade staring her down as he stood in front of her. And instead of striking him, she wilted to the ground. No longer a sentinel of the palace but a broken woman. A woman who may have just lost the man she loved.
Dropping her sword at last, she fell forward, her palms splayed as she clawed at the polished floor, her wail resonating, deep and hollow and pain-filled.
I ached for her, as I imagined we all did.
I ached for her and for Xander.
And for what this message from Queen Elena meant for our nation.
qQQ It took nearly half an hour—and an entire squadron of palace soldiers—to drag Eden away from the great hall. And away from the box containing Xander’s hand. Yet it took only Angelina’s presence to soothe Eden’s mournful cries and settle her into an uneasy sort of peace. The fitful kind that comes with fevers or nightmares, but a peace nonetheless.
Angelina hadn’t lost her capacity to heal, and there was no reason for her not to use it. Our abilities were no longer dangerous secrets that had to be hidden.
I wasn’t sure how much more cautious I could be, but the box beneath my fingertips beckoned me, and a roomful of people waited to see what was inside.
Taking the box from his grasp, I held my breath as I lifted the lid.
From inside, crisp purple flowers tumbled free, spilling onto the toes of my boots. Their fruity scent was so overpowering that I was startled by it.
I glanced questioningly at the messenger, but his face remained impassive.
When I looked into the box full of brittle blossoms once more, I noticed there was something hidden there, just beneath the layer of withered blooms. Something that made my throat squeeze and my stomach lurch, despite the fact that I couldn’t quite see past the layers of crumpled petals.
Zafir had noticed it too, and he snatched the box from my hands without asking my permission. He dropped to his knees as he reached inside, thrusting the flowers aside, until I heard his breath catch. I didn’t wait for him to give me the go-ahead. I peered over his shoulder to see what it was that he was looking at.
I wished I hadn’t.
I gasped and stumbled, falling backward and blinking too hard. I wished I’d never seen what I had, because I couldn’t take it back. I couldn’t undo what my eyes had just witnessed. I wasn’t sure whether it was tears or fury that clouded my vision. My throat felt like it was closing, and all I could see, even when I closed my eyes, was what was in the box. All I could imagine— maybe forever all I would ever imagine—was that hand . . . the severed hand that Queen Elena had sent to me.
It wasn’t until Max was there, pulling me back to my feet, that I recalled I wasn’t alone. And then I looked up into his face and remembered something else. It wasn’t just me who would be damaged by the dismembered limb.
If Max saw it . . . then he’d know who it belonged to. . . .
It was the scars that had given it away. Even as decayed as the hand was, I had glimpsed the intricate lacework of pale scars tracing the withered skin that outlined the knuckles. Scars I would’ve recognized anywhere.
Scars belonging to Xander.
I clung to Max, searching his eyes and trying to make my lips move. I struggled to find a way to tell him that his brother was likely dead at the hands of the queen he’d gone to make peace with, when I heard the sound—the bellow, like the piercing yowl of a wounded animal—at my back.
I knew it was Eden even before I found my next breath—her outrage and pain filtered through every part of me.
She’d seen it too. Xander’s hand.
Her sword had been drawn, and before anyone could stop her or even had the chance to blink, she impaled the first messenger. The body hadn’t even crumpled to the ground when she withdrew her weapon and repositioned herself, her blade readying to stab once more, a scream erupting from her as if it were being ripped from her gullet.
Zafir reacted first, and thrust himself in front of the wideeyed, unarmed messenger who stood to be skewered next. The look in Eden’s eyes didn’t register recognition of the other royal guard. The only thing in her expression was misery. And ferocious determination.
But Zafir was determined too, and unlike me, he hadn’t thrown his weapon down in the field. He drew his sword too—a sword named Danii—just in the nick of time, his blade clashing against Eden’s and throwing hers off course less than a moment before it would’ve met the soft belly of the cowering messenger. The remaining two couriers had scattered, fleeing somewhere into the palace while their companion had been under siege by the heartbroken guard. I thought I should shout for someone to go after them, but I heard footsteps in their wake, and I was too focused on Eden to summon the order.
I thought she would stab, or swing, again—she was too far past reason to stop herself. Behind both Eden and Zafir, I saw Brook, who was also armed but not with a blade. Her gun was readied and aimed at Eden’s head. I knew she wouldn’t hesitate to shoot if Eden attacked Zafir, and inside my chest my heart pounded wildly. I tried to give Brook a silent signal to wait, but she wasn’t looking at me. Her attention was trained solely on Eden now.
Time seemed to slow as I watched Zafir, standing stoically, patiently, in front of Eden. He never moved, and I wondered if he even breathed.
Ultimately something must have registered with her: the earsplitting crash of their swords or the reverberation she’d surely felt moving up her arm. Or perhaps seeing her own comrade staring her down as he stood in front of her. And instead of striking him, she wilted to the ground. No longer a sentinel of the palace but a broken woman. A woman who may have just lost the man she loved.
Dropping her sword at last, she fell forward, her palms splayed as she clawed at the polished floor, her wail resonating, deep and hollow and pain-filled.
I ached for her, as I imagined we all did.
I ached for her and for Xander.
And for what this message from Queen Elena meant for our nation.
qQQ It took nearly half an hour—and an entire squadron of palace soldiers—to drag Eden away from the great hall. And away from the box containing Xander’s hand. Yet it took only Angelina’s presence to soothe Eden’s mournful cries and settle her into an uneasy sort of peace. The fitful kind that comes with fevers or nightmares, but a peace nonetheless.
Angelina hadn’t lost her capacity to heal, and there was no reason for her not to use it. Our abilities were no longer dangerous secrets that had to be hidden.
