Page 156 of At the Mercy of Midnight
“This is myhome, Amelia,” Demetrius said, again with an air of utter impatience, like he couldn’t be bothered with them anymore. “The Gemino tribe are my people, and those blades…belong tome.”
She opened her mouth, but arms grabbed at her from behind, from the side. Her hand was forced downwards painfully, the grip punishing. A strangled cry escaped her throat in the whirlwind, her gaze forced low, the blade pried from her fingers. Someone hissed with pain as metal rang against metal, and then from the corner of her eyes, she saw Silas being forced to his knees.
She tried to find her magic, to pull enough into her to throw them away, but there was a block, something in the way. The Rift, it didn’t want her to access it.
A hand held her head to the gritty ground, pressing painfully into her cheek.
A voice beside her ear. “Stop fighting. It was amusing, now I’m annoyed.”
Someone took her under the arms, lifting her back to her feet. She was forcibly turned back to the steps, and then shoved forwards, hard enough that she lost her footing. She tripped, landing awkwardly onto the first step.
“You motherfu—”
Amelia turned to find Silas shake the hands away from him, lunging towards the figure that had thrown her, raged etched into his features. But he never made it. Three others surged for Silas, taking him forcefully and holding him back. One of them took a fistful of his hair, wrenching his head back and holding his own blade to his throat.
“Stop it,” Amelia choked, panic clawing at her.
Demetrius brushed at the front of his shirt with a sigh. His eyes fell to her, uncaring of her sprawled position on the step. He didn’t even speak, just pointed up, towards the dais where they had first found the blades. The pedestal stood, cracked apart from the earthquake, waiting.
Amelia looked back to Silas, held firm by three others, the shiny blade pressed into the skin of his throat.
Shakily, she got to her feet and slowly turned. She climbed the steps, heart thrumming madly in her chest. At the third step, she looked over her shoulder. Silas had been let go, and was following her with a stormy expression, a trickle of blood sliding down the column of his throat. Anger surged through her at the sight of it.
He met her eyes, and she watched as he tried to give her a small smile, but his face betrayed the fear in his own eyes.
They reached the top, Amelia on one side of the torn pedestal, Silas on the other.
Demetrius, flanked by a dozen followers, stood around them in a circle. He looked between them, and then stopped on Silas, a satisfied smile creeping onto his face. He pulled some loose papers from a pocket, shaking them briefly before holding them out.
They both stared at the offering but made no move to take it.
“The ritual,” Demetrius said coolly. “You will each do your part, and then this will all be over.”
Amelia glanced at Silas. Her blood was boiling with a mixture of anger and fear. She was still trying to find a way out of this, and she could tell that Silas was thinking the same.
She watched him swallow and not move to take the paper. “We don’t need that,” he said in a monotone voice, eyes looking back to Amelia. “We already know it well enough.”
“Hm,” Demetrius said with a quiet smile. “Of course. You are both so studious, it’s been a wonder to observe. Fine then.” He placed the papers away again. “Do begin. But any funny business—” He gave Silas a meaningful look. “—I kill her.”
They stared at each other, frozen.
Her pulse pounded, stomach turning with the desire to be sick.
He looked so uncertain, standing on the other side of the pedestal.
Finally, she swallowed her fear and tore her gaze from Silas to look at Demetrius. “No,” she said quietly.
Demetrius blinked. “No?”
“We won’t do it your way,” she said, feeling steadfast even as her voice shook. “We came here to fix the mistakes, not repeat them.”
Demetrius’ face hardened. “You will, or you die.”
Her chin raised. “We die, and you don’t get what you want. Balance. Restoring your beloved Veilthorne from the Rift’s grip.”
“So stubborn,” he murmured, before clicking his fingers at one of his followers. They moved forwards and handed over one of the blades, Amelia’s dark blade. Demetrius took it and gave it a reverent look. He glanced back up, met her eyes. “Keep resisting, Amelia, and I will kill you. Please understand me.”
Amelia narrowed her eyes in confusion. “You…you need us.”
