Page 71 of This Cruel Fate

Xolia wanted to know what was inside, but she also wanted the trial to be over and done with. She moved her body along the stone. The harsh ridges of the carvings were dulled by the thick robe she wore.

A thick gasp swelled from the congregation. Panic gripped Xolia. Something was wrong. She couldn’t hold off any longer; she turned her head to where Adonis was hidden away from the rest of the congregation. He wasn’t looking at her. His gaze was beyond her, eyes wide with fear. He made to run toward her, but gloved hands pulled him back.

“Sel.” Irvine’s voice boomed from behind her, paralyzing her to the altar. “It is your blessing we ask for. Your guidance. We know that a variant’s limbs grow back. We can withstand extreme temperatures. Poison and illness cannot take us.”

Xolia twisted her head the other way, trying to see what made Adonis so afraid. In Irvine’s hands was a sword. The blade glowed red bright in the low lights of the church, and it had a wooden handle with a ruby resting in the pommel. Chills ran down Xolia’s spine. A sword was a weapon of a human, no variant needed steel to inflict damage, though this didn’t seem like a normal human weapon.

This isn’t right. She turned back to Adonis, who was now on his knees, still restrained by acolytes. All around the room the flames flickered in and out.

“It is only through separating the brain from the heart, or stopping both, that a variant will meet an untimely demise. And it can only be through the will of Sel that one can survive such an act.” Irvine moved toward her.

Beheading? Why couldn’t Xolia move? She was going to die. She didn’t want to die. No, please—The cold bite of metal stung the back of her neck. Sel, she couldn’t breathe. What the hell was happening?

Slowly, like moving through syrup, she tried to turn her head once again, to see Adonis one last time. But nothing happened. She was weightless.

Blank.

Warm.

Floating.

In the abyss a moth flew around her. Well, not her, there was no corporeal body. Her soul, maybe.

And then there was another moth. Another. Another. Until her awareness was eclipsed by wings and antennae. The fluttering wings crescendoed into a buzzing. A droning. A screaming. And she was on fire. Burning and in agony.

She opened her eyes; blood flooded her vision and the iron bite of it filled her mouth. Choking. She was choking. If only she could move. She stared at the ceiling—Wait. I’m on my back?

She had been on the altar, last she knew. She shored up her energy and courage, she moved her head to the left. There was the altar. Crimson blood dripped from the stone. It steadily poured down to the floor where she lay. Her body felt like it was melting from the inside out. Her hands shook so badly she could hardly make sense of how to move them.

Somehow, they made their way to her neck, which sported a jagged rejoining of flesh. The tendons and veins and bone fused back together, sending jolts of electricity arcing through her body with each atom that snapped back into place. Time ceased to have meaning. I shouldn’t be healing this quickly, not from a wound like this.

A white-robed figure stepped in front of her, the hem drenched in blood. Her blood. Irvine, her mind supplied. The priest was standing in front of her. He lifted his gloves, now red, toward the heavens, though her ears were ringing too loudly to hear whether he was talking. Something touched her shoulders, a heavy, steadying weight that eased some of the terror and grounded her to reality.

Too afraid to move her neck, she put a bloodstained hand on top of the weight. It was another hand. Adonis dropped to her side. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw his mouth moved, but she still couldn’t make sense of anything. He lifted her up, ducking his head under her shoulder.

Once she was off the floor, Xolia realized all the candles and chandeliers that had lit up the chapel were out. It was dark except for the window behind them, light streaming down to illuminate the dais. There was no congregation, no pews, nothing beyond the blood. Someone led her to the edge of the dais, where a raucous cheer overpowered the ringing. They stood there, Xolia barely holding onto consciousness, clinging to Adonis, while the torches were relit, candle-wick finding flame. Everyone stood, enraptured.

She reached up to grab Adonis’s shoulder. He looked down at her. “I want water.” Her voice could barely be considered a voice, it was so cracked and low. She hardly understood herself, and it was she who had formed the words. He must have understood or known that whatever she needed wasn’t around the crowds and priests. Together they walked away from the noise and the religious miracle. An acolyte stopped them and led them through a series of hallways to a plush sitting area. Neither spoke. What was there to say when they both needed to process everything that had just happened?

Barely given the chance to be alone, Xolia winced when Irvine and the woman priest entered the room. The woman held a box, her gloves still unmarred and white. Irvine still wore the stained ones. Almost with a sense of pride. Xolia shuddered. Not even she was so depraved.

“I’m so glad Sel found you worthy,” Irvine said reverently.

She couldn’t tear her eyes away from the third box. What more could they do to her?

“What’s in the box?” Adonis asked, his voice was cutting. Xolia relaxed into him further. Tears stung the corners of her eyes. Dear Sel, why had that happened to her?

“No one will forget what they saw today, but she needs to bear Sel’s mark permanently. This is just the last step.” Irvine grabbed what looked like an ink pot and some sort of gun from the box.

“You’re branding her?” Adonis asked. He still held Xolia, and around her, all of his muscles tensed.

“It’s not a brand,” the woman said. “It’s a gift. We need you to leave, Mr. Persion. I know your other companion is asking for you.”

“Send her in here, then,” Adonis said. “I’m not leaving Xo.”

“You must,” Irvine said.

Xolia raised a hand to touch Adonis’s jaw. She couldn’t speak again, but she would do anything for this nightmare to end, and if that meant Adonis needed to leave, then he needed to leave. She nodded once at him, which was enough. Adonis moved her to the soft couch and glared at the rest of them before slipping out of the room.

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