I don’t know how long I remained conscious, but every time I resurfaced from the black depths of oblivion, someone was there to reapply the needle to my veins and the torture began again, the horrors of my mind becoming reality. Over and over, it never ended. I died a thousand times without the reprieve of ever dying. Golems crushed my body beneath their feet. Fires consumed me, turning my skin to ash. Cain, the empress’s snake, constricted around me before eating me alive.
By the time the spiders appeared—huge, black, scaly creatures—I had nothing left to give. I couldn’t scream or pull away or even cry anymore. I just lay there and let them crawl over me, every tiny leg like a thousand needles brushing my skin as they wrapped me in their webs and I died, yet again.
29
Preparation
Maniclaughterfilledmyears, my stomach churning before my world exploded into pain.
I jerked awake, breathing hard as I entered a world of white, flailing to be free of my confines. My hand smacked into something soft that protested with a squeal.
“Calm down, Your Majesty, and I’ll have you right in just a moment.”
What? That wasn’t the voice of a demon, but a girl. Reality slowly returning, I shook the last of the nightmare from me, and the sheet I was trapped in moved aside. I was no longer chained to my bed, and no horrors filled my vision as I found myself lying on the floor.
Slowly sitting up, my aching and weak muscles protested, and I almost slumped back down before a hand caught me. I whimpered at the agony of the tight hold, but didn’t protest as they helped me the rest of the way up into a sitting position. My chamber bustled with tittering maids, and white-robbed women rushing around like Armageddon was upon us. Their excited voices filled every corner of the room, making my head throb. Several pairs of concerned blue eyes, all framed in varying shades of blonde hair, stared down at me from my position on the floor next to the bed.
“That must’ve been some dream, miss,” the maid to my right piped up, folding the sheet she’d just freed me from. Her blue smock stood in stark contrast to the white robes several other occupants in the room wore. If only she knew the truth of her words. I was still waiting for something to jump out at me and tear me to pieces again.
“Here, dear, let’s get you up.” The woman who’d helped me sit up offered a hand and a smile, which I took and shakily rose to my feet before collapsing back onto the edge of the bed.
“Who are all of you?” I asked, my voice raspy and barely audible.
The woman beside me ducked her head in a bow. “We are your mother’s sisters from her time at the Sanctum, and have come to honor both of your sacrifices by preparing her daughter to take her place.”
Oh.
“Let’s get you in the bath, Your Majesty.” One of the blue-robed girls darted forward from the throng, bowing low. “You’ll want to look your best for your birthday.”
I cringed, but didn’t correct her as two more women swept forward to help me up. Forcing one foot to move at a time, I followed her to the bath. It wasn’t my birthday, but my death day.
“Please hold still, Your Majesty,” the woman to my left intoned, concentrating on the dye brush in her hand.
“Sorry,” I murmured, straightening in the chair I’d been sitting in for hours. “How much long—”
“Princess, this is the day of your Ascension. You must be perfect.”
That wasn’t really an answer, but I should have expected it. From the moment I’d so gracelessly fallen out of bed, I’d been scrubbed, powdered, perfumed, plucked and primped until most of the day was spent and I felt like my skin was on fire again. I’d wanted to fight back, to refuse, but I had little strength left after the torture my mother had put me through.
Exhaling, my eyes strayed to the bejeweled oblong mirror I sat in front of. My breath hitched, and I swallowed the lump forming in my throat. A golden strip of silk cinched around my chest, hemmed in silver, with two matching pieces of silk flowing from low on my waist to the floor, and held up by a simple metal link at each hip. My clothes matched the runed gold bands encircling my wrists. Though chains no longer bound me to the bed, these were chains of their own, and my wrists ached where they touched my skin, keeping my dark divinity at bay.
I continued scanning my figure in the mirror, tracing my eyes over the fine patterns of black dye that decorated my pale skin-like lace. Intricate shapes of suns, clouds, lightening, raindrops and snowflakes twisted down the right side of my body, trailing from my fingertips, up my arms, back down my exposed side, and from my bare hip to my ankle before flaring out over the arch of my foot and ending at my gold painted toenails. My left side mirrored my right, except shapes of the moon in all its stages and different constellations made up the designs. More ink covered my face, weaving over my forehead to disappear in the voluminous pile of loose silver hair that cascaded over my shoulders. Dark swirls encircled my blue eyes, the only thing left I could claim as me. Like they were doing their best to erase me. Not that they needed to. What little remained of me would be gone soon enough.
“I still don’t get why we’re doing this,” I rasped, trying my best not to jerk away as the brush tickled along my exposed thigh. “This is a bonding ritual.” A ritual which was no longer taking place today. Thankfully, Ryker was somewhere far away with the rest of his life stretching before him.
“The empress' orders were to continue with tradition.”
My shoulders slumped. Of course they were. Had to perfect and beautify the body that would soon be hers and show off every bit of me she possibly could.
“Tradition is good to keep,” a gentle voice spoke as a woman appeared behind me, offering a faint smile and brushing golden curls from her face. My eyes widened as she relieved one of the women currently painting my skin.
“You’re Tarra’s mother,” I whispered, recognizing the wavy hair, pale eyes and the same gentle smile. My heart ached.
“Yes, I’m Risa.” Her eyes pinched in pain. “Tara’s mother and Fontaine’s granddaughter.”
I stared at her for a moment. Tarra had always called her Granny Fontaine, but I’d thought that was an endearing nickname. I’d never guessed they were related. Then again, I’d selfishly never asked. “I’m so sorry for your losses,” I murmured. I went to bow my head, but received a hiss from another woman before I could move a muscle.
The women picked up their light chatter once more, but I tuned it out, honing in on Risa. She took her place by my side, and I struggled not to shy away from the gentle, precise, brush strokes she used as a small tremble passed over her lips. “My grandmother always wanted me to apprentice under her, but I was too stubborn and unwilling to take the time needed to learn the arts surrounding healing. Tarra wasn’t like me though. She loved every second she spent with Fontaine… Tarra would have been a great healer someday, had she been allowed to remain on her chosen path.” Her eyes glistened.