Page 107 of Children of Anguish and Anarchy

Chants ring as they remove us from the warriors to drag us into their torchlit caves. Shriveled hands pull at me from every direction. Their fingers hit my skin like ice. They throw the golden exoskeleton into a roaring blaze. They rip through the braids in my hair. They strip me of every item I wear until I’m left shivering, completely naked in the frigid air.

“For the Father of the Storms…,” an elder croaks. The woman points, and thegaldrasmiðardrag me to a wooden bath filled with blood. I choke as they throw me in, holding my head below the murky surface.

Thegaldrasmiðarshove me down again and again. As they chant, the crimson bath boils. They scrub until my white hair is stained red. They scrub to wash away all that I am.

When they finally lift me up, I gasp for relief. My lungs burn. It hurts to breathe. I can hardly see straight through the haze. My head hangs as they throw my body against a stone slab.

Someone uses a rope to tie me down. The rough cords bind my wrists and ankles, forcing me to stay still. An elder approaches me with a whittled bone. She looms over me, bringing me face-to-face with the animal skull.

“Argh!” I cry out as she brings the bone down. Someone shoves a strip of animal fur into my mouth. More hands press down on my face, forcing me to stay still.

The elder starts at my temple. She’s vicious with every stroke she takes. I seize as she carves rectangular runes into me, the same jagged marks that run through King Baldyr’s fair skin.

At my back, Mae’e screams. Her shrieks could break glass. She calls out to Mama Gaia.

She prays for it all to end.

Help us.

I lift the words to whoever will answer my call. My body twitches against the stone slab. After a while, I can’t cry out at all.

With each new rune, more voices enter my head. The medallion glows red. The golden veins that cover my body thicken, growing in strength.

The elder doesn’t stop until the runes cover the entire left side of my body—from the black crown in my skull to the very bottom of my feet. When she’s done, she releases the whittled bone. I can hardly see beyond the agony, but I follow the bone’s path across the stone floor.

By the time they release me from the slab, I no longer exist. They drop me and I crumple into a heap. The whittled bone waits beyond my fingertips. It’s all I can do to hold it close. I clutch it in my fingers, hiding it in my hair before they lift me up.

Thegaldrasmiðardress me in a tattered silk robe. They fix a mask made of golden bones over my nose. When it’s over, there’s only one item left for each of us: white silk scarves to tie around our throats.

“Do not do this,” Mae’e wheezes in their tongue. The hierophant is a shell of the sacred mystic I know. Her entire body shakes. The blood from the new runes carved into her skin falls to the ground.

“I beg you,” Mae’e gasps. “I pray to you. Save us.”

Everygaldrasmiðrstares, but the elder breaks from the pack. She removes her animal-skull mask, allowing us to see her own carved-up face. A band of black paint covers the bridge of her nose, accentuating her doll-like eyes.

The elder ties the scarf around Mae’e’s neck, staring straight into the hierophant’s diamond gaze.

“Do not pray to be saved.” Her voice creaks. “Pray to be reborn.”

CHAPTER SEVENTY

AMARI

BY THE TIME WEmake it to the shorelines, the dark sands are bare. Skulls lie impaled on black vines. Their blood still leaks into the sand. Jagged glass fragments line the beach, each shaped like a brilliant lightning bolt. Only the dead line the coast.

Zélie and Mae’e are gone.

This can’t be happening.

Panic threatens to shut my body down. Every time I picture Mae’e or Zélie in King Baldyr’s hands, my throat constricts. I still can’t believe the words Mae’e shared. I feel the ghost of her lips against my own, the warm sensation that sent a shiver up my spine.

The way she kissed me… I don’t know if anything has ever felt so right.

Now I don’t know if I’ll ever feel that kiss again.

For all I know, Mae’e could already be dead.

No.I remove my obsidian blade. I knock the treacherous thought from my head. There has to be a way.

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