Page 35 of Devour
She waves at him. “Yes, yes, but for custom’s sake.”
He curls a lip but says no more.
The red-haired priestess shouts to the men. At the sound of her voice, they halt their stomping. “Ivar of the Island of Venine, son of the Rifelin, has claimed this girl as his. Do you accept his claim?”
My soul shrinks, knowing this horrible man will do anything he wants to me in the guise of punishment and I have no way of fighting back.
I cling to Astella’s words.We will still make it.
It’s hard to believe.
“Very well. Take your pri?—"
I flinch as a male voice calls from the edge of the cavern. I twist to look before his words settle in my mind. Mist shifts to reveal another warrior, same as all the rest, standing on the far end of the waterfall basin.
“I do not accept his claim. She is mine.”
15
Haze
Ifelt her before I heard the whispers of Ivar’s return.
I wash my hands with methodical ease, surprised at my own calm.
Today, I will likely die.
The screaming inside is incessant. I will fail her again.
There is no logic or reason. Only a powerful emotion that overcomes all other senses. There is no solution to this predicament, only a sliver of a chance at something other than death.
So, why would I entertain the thought? Why would I risk everything for a girl who doesn’t even know me?
I am afflicted. I am sick. And it is too late to save me.
I follow the screaming boy in my mind, feet moving down the winding path to reach the priestess. I never willingly approach the priestesses or their sanctum. I don’t desire their blessings, or worse, their praise.
So, I am unsurprised when her eyebrows rise at my arrival. Carefully, I align my mask so that I am the utter picture of a heartless warrior. Powerful. Purposeful. Undefeatable.
Ivar is stronger than me. He has more magic from the shadow-well. More blood to fuel him. More training, more confidence. He deprives himself of nothing.
I am shorter by nearly three inches. My magic is shallow and unrefined. My frame is thinner than most other warriors.
He grins when I step forward to claim the only thing that has ever mattered to me in this life.
She might be the real reason I am broken. The reason this life can never satisfy me.
She is my curse.
So, if I die fighting for her, that is the only blessing I’ll ever need.
“My delicate Haze,” the priestess croons. “This is a first.”
The girl cowers at her feet, eyes wide and bloodshot. I give no indication of my emotional state. Or that I intend to kill or be killed, all for a woman I shouldn’t know, let alone care for so deeply.
They will think I desire her body. Or perhaps that I have finally found my thirst for power and pride enough to fight for the right to lead.
Priestess Blythe’s eyes shine, and I know what she is thinking.
