Page 33 of Love to Defy You
“The lyre is Apollo’s instrument,” the leader continues. “A symbol of celestial harmony. The world needs us to control it to maintain order and balance. The circle around it symbolizes the sun and the power it wields over everything. And the arrow piercing through the sun and lyre represents our dual role as both protector and punisher of the earth. This is the symbol of the Order of Apollo. We use this mark to identify our brothers.”
The ammonia in the fertilizer is making me light-headed, and in the darkness, it’s hard to find my bearings. I press my palmsagainst the floor of the casket to ground myself, but the worms wriggle against me.
Nausea builds up in the back of my throat, threatening to burst forth at any moment.
I cannot get sick in here. The moment I show any weakness, these bastards will seize upon it and pounce.
Just when I think I can’t take any more, and not a moment sooner, the lid flies open on its hinges. Dim torchlight somehow burns as bright as sunlight, and I bring my hand up to shield my eyes, blinking furiously. A hooded figure stands over me, offering a gloved hand to help me to my feet. The first act of decency I’ve ever received in this chamber.
After a moment of hesitation, I place my hand in his and let him pull me to my feet. I brush the worms and dirt off my clothes, then look up at the hooded figure. The wolfish, gray eyes peering through the mask belong to Mikhail.
I glare daggers at him before stepping out of the coffin. The air is damp and musky, but it’s pure oxygen compared to the ammonia nitrate I just inhaled, and I take a deep breath to fill my lungs with it. The lightheadedness starts to dissipate as the nausea eases.
Is that the task? After Mikhail built it up, I thought we would endure much worse, so this is rather anticlimactic. We weren’t even in there for ten minutes.
“Candidates.” Everyone looks to the leader standing in front of us, who spreads his arms wide as he speaks. “Congratulations on completing the Trial of Mortality. Tonight, you are reborn as demigods. All except for one of you.”
Henri and I make brief eye contact, and his features are scrunched together in confusion. I glance down the rest of the row, but the other candidates seem to have completed the task as well—including the Korean twins and the redhead who was naked at the previous trial.
So, who failed?
The circle breaks open, and two hooded figures step forward, dragging a half-naked man by the arms across the cobblestone. Their hostage has a bag over his head, and he’s kicking his legs to find purchase without success. The hooded figures pull him to the center of the circle and release him, making him land on his ass and causing him to yelp. The hooded figures rip the bag off his head before rejoining the circle.
“What the hell?” the hostage shouts.
“You didn’t heed the call.” The leader steps forward until he towers over the guy on the floor.
The hostage rubs his elbow. “Like I told them already, I don’t want anything to do with this.”
“You received our invitation, which means you received our warning, yes?”
I think back to the invitation, and the gold-foiled words printed on black paper:Failure to appear will result in the ultimate sacrifice.
“This is stupid,” the hostage says. “Just do whatever you’re going to do and let me go.”
The leader reaches into his cloak and produces a dagger, which glints silver in the flickering torchlight. Given this farce they call a ritual or a trial or whatever, I expect him to drag the blade across the defector’s palm, make him bleed a little, and pronounce the sacrifice complete.
But that is not what happens.
With masterful agility, the hooded figure slices the dagger forward in a swift arc. The room takes a collective breath and holds it as one, and for a moment, time is suspended.
Then the hostage topples sideways to the floor.
It doesn’t register immediately—not until the hooded figure rolls the body over with his boot so that it’s facing us.
Blood spurts from a gash across his neck, arching into the air before splattering on the cobblestone. Shouts erupt on either side of me as the candidates stumble back, some even tripping on their coffins. I take a step back but bump into a hard wall behind me.
Mikhail’s voice whispers at my ear, “Stay calm.”
My skin prickles as my limbs go numb, and the room starts to tilt around me. Mikhail places a hand on my shoulder to steady me as I stare at the body on the floor. As he gurgles and chokes on his own blood, his wide, terrified eyes meet mine. He reaches out toward me with a weak, trembling hand, mouthing,Help me.
In seconds, the light fades from his eyes, and he goes still.
“This is what happens when you fail.” The leader of the group holds his dagger in the air, and crimson blood drips from the blade. “You had your chance to walk away if you failed the Trial of Strength, but that was your one and only chance. Instead, you rose to the challenge and proved yourselves worthy.” The figure wipes the blade on his coat to clean it off. “Your destiny was chosen by the gods who walked before you. You cannot turn back now.”
Holy shit. Mikhail was right after all.
A murder just happened in front of dozens of witnesses, and not one of the hooded figures reacted.
