Page 72 of Cursed Shadows 1

I blink.

That’s all I do as I watch her lick her lips before she draws in a too-long breath, then loosens it like an unwinding ribbon threaded with anxieties.

“And I cannot compete…” Pandora’s eyes flood as she smiles something tight, something pained.

I don’t quite hear her. I don’t quite understand.

A frown pinches my brow and my head tilts to the side. It’s like I’ve forgotten what language is, and I know I should hear her words, but I just… don’t.

“I am with child,” she adds, breathless.

Whatever that means, I don’t know. I simply frown at her.

With child.

Pandora… with child.

For some reason, the black-papered walls start to shift around me.

I lift my dazed look to the wall behind father, and I watch as it starts to peel away, like it’scrumbling. Even the furnishings… they shred before my eyes, as though they were only ever made from shadows and dust—then they fade away into nothing.

There is no sound to this destruction. It’s as silent as the grave in the office.

I think that’s where I am…

The Sacrament, the Sacrament, the Sacrament.

Memories of my hand clutching the quill, sliding its ink-dipped tip over thick parchment… my name signed as a second.

“We have exhausted every option.” I hear father’s desperate voice echo through the nothingness I’m floating in.

I don’t see him here in this empty space. Ihearhim, the panic in his voice.

“For the past week, we have had every scribe on the challenge. There is no way out of it. Not without another child in the family to take the oath. You must…” His tone softens. “You must compete, my dear daffodil.”

Distantly, I’m aware of Braxis speaking in his drawl, “It should be obvious that this concerns the arrangement between my son and your daughter. Only if she survives the Sacrament will I continue on her contract, and pay the tocher in full. But this does not account for any major injuries, head wounds that distort the mind, or of course loss of limbs—”

A sudden punch through my entire body throws me forward. I’m dazed, just blinking, as I fold over in the chair, my head between my legs—and a horrid retch crawls up my throat.

With it, the office suddenly blinks back into existence around me—and it’s a shattering experience. A second heave jolts me, and this time sick hits the ground between my boots.

No.

I’m crying… I only realise that now, with the black of my boots distorted into something clouded.

No.

Hands are on my back, rubbing in soothing circles.

I’m wide-eyed, hunched over, and the dizziness won’t subside.

No.

I push forward, and my legs wobble with the weight.

I stagger into the desk, seeing the office around me, seeing hands grab at me, and familiar faces in front of mine as I’m manoeuvred and handled, but… it’s so strange, like I’ve been knocked on the head with a stone, and I’ll never think right again.

“No…” I’m speaking that word, muttering it over and over between harsh breaths.

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