Gina smirked. “Xanthos and their Yarrows.”
Sol did her best to keep composed as the armored man hovered their hands over the chalice.
“Gaven here is my personal guard. He is going to do what’s called a Lineage Trace.” The King held up his right hand, a thin red band shining on his ring finger.
“This here”—he wiggled his finger, signaling to the ring—“is a Wielder ring. It contains a small blade we use to draw blood when offerings are needed.”
The armored man—Gaven—picked up his free hand, where he also wore a Wielder ring. The slice was quick. Sol didn’t even feel the sting until after her blood began to drip rhythmically into the chalice.Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
She averted her eyes.
After a few painfully long seconds, Gaven pulled a square cloth from the side of his armor and wrapped her hand before releasing it.
She cradled it to her chest and took a healthy step back. She felt the nerves resume, their relentless tug a dull ache in her chest as Gaven swirled her blood in the chalice. If she didn’t pass this test, would she be allowed to return home? Would all this just become a nightmare as she resumed her life? And if she did pass… It’s in your hands now… Sol wanted the day to be over.
“This silver chalice is an original Yarrow artifact.” King Semmena leaned back in his chair, his expression bored, as if he was explaining trivial things to a bothersome child.
“In theory, if Yarrow blood comes into contact with it.”—he looked at his daughter—“true Yarrow blood, the one belonging to a marked one, then the gods will take the offering.”
“And if it’s not the blood they want, it simply remains there,” the older man next to the King finished, startling Sol with his sudden speech. She had forgotten he was there.
They all watched the cup in silence. Only the soft hum of the torches filled the space.
“Well, seems like you’re not—” As soon as the words spilled from Samara’s red-stained lips, the chalice shook.
Gaven took a step back from the table, and everyone else seemed to blanch while the King’s jaw twitched. Smoke swirled from inside the chalice, twirling up and away. The haze turned ruby red as tiny particles and droplets of blood circled into the atmosphere until it all vanished.
The torches extinguished. One by one, they went out, then the chandelier above them rattled. The air itself seemed to chill, to hang, and to still.
Nina gasped softly, and even the brown-robed elder gestured a silent prayer. “Sol.” Sol flinched.
“Soool.”
Again she flinched, the sound of her name surrounding her entirely. She looked at the King and his Court, their pallid faces fixed on the chalice.
“Soool.”
She looked back at Nina and the others. They had their eyes fixed on her.
A hand on her shoulder made her nearly jump out of her skin, but Cas leaned near and said, “The gods will call you. Now that they know who you are, they’re going to prompt your Awakening. They’re going to ask for your name.”
“Sol, Sol, Sol of the Yarrow clan, tell us your complete name.” A multitude of tones and voices pierced her skull. They were old and young, male and female, and the most awful sound she had ever heard. She clutched her temples.
“Tell us your name, your full name, beloved.”
She shook her head, and Cas lightly squeezed her shoulder.
“Samara, fix that.” Sol barely heard King Semmena through the chorus in her mind. The woman groaned but gracefully walked to her.
As Samara closed the distance between them, she shut her lilac eyes and hovered her ivory hand over Sol’s forehead. She chanted in a tongue Sol didn’t understand, whispering sounds over and over until the voices halted.
Sol willed her breaths to even out, her heart to remain in her chest. After a few seconds of swollen silence, she relaxed.
“The gods are quite stingy,” the King said. “Once you give them a taste, they only want more.”
