He leans in just enough that I can feel his breath ghost over my cheek, grounding me, undoing me. And as our hands lock even tighter together, I know with a clarity that tastes like surrender, whatever happens next, whatever darkness we’re plunging ourselves into, we will walk into it together. Bound, willingly, ruinously, and utterly each other’s.
Because whatever this last trial is.
No matter what I have to do.
I will pass it.
Prove myself.
For us.
For our future.
For our lives.
Only, when Milus begins to speak, I see her.
My blood runs cold, my legs like jelly, and for a second, I think I might faint. I hear nothing that Milus says, my ears suddenly deaf, a humming echoing through them that sounds exactly like her voice.
Tucked just behind Milus, bound and on her knees, is a woman I used to know.
Her big dark eyes stare up into mine; my gaze pulled towards hers like a magnetic forcefield.
I remember her differently.
Younger, fresher, brighter.
Her usually shiny brown hair is pulled back in a low greasy ponytail; a beige coloured sack type of rag is the only thing covering her slim body. Her nails are bitten, the skin around the edges torn, and tired blue rings sink beneath her eyes.
I’m not sure what I’m supposed to think. Seeing her again. Such a barrage of emotion tumbling around inside my belly, I think I might be sick.
But there’s one thing that drowns them all out.
Panic.
That’s what attacks my nervous system.
The shaking starts first, a rattle so violent my teeth chatter. My eyes bulge, and I tighten my jaw so hard trying to stop my very obvious reaction that my teeth squeak.
“Penelope,” it’shisvoice that breaks through, but it’s Billy’s warmth that pulls me back, the very subtle squeeze of my hand.
“Yes, Father Black,” I respond to Milus, my voice surprisingly strong.
His attention settles over me, heavy, suffocating, expectant, and he waits for my eyes to come to his. The blue orbs gleam with something too old to be human, too certain to be doubted, and for the first time since I arrived here, I feel what I have been told may really be true.
Milus is no man.
He is god.
“You are to supply our offering this night.” His voice is loud, the congregation in silence, his words a booming echo in the large, filled space. “You stand at the threshold of your final trial,” he says, directing his words towards me, but keeping his smooth, polished voice loud enough to still be heard by all. “You have bled. You have obeyed. You have surrendered your name, your heartbeat, your soul to The Obsidian. Yet, one thing still remains.”
It feels as though the entire gathering of robed figures moves in, drawing closer, sucking all the air from the room, stealing it from my lungs, and leaving a fiery hot acid in its wake.
Milus takes the steps down to meet us on our level, moving in so close to me that I can feel his words like a kiss upon my cheek. “Now you must relinquish your past.” He looks out unto the crowd, his mouth curving into a slow forming smile, something charming and devious and inevitable. “You will provide your new family with an offering,” he says, turning back to me. “Your offering. A gift born of your own hands.Chosen,” he emphasises that last word, his chin dipping, eyes rolling upwards to keep me in his field of vision. “By your own will. The heart of a loved one, placed upon the altar for your god to feast.”
My stomach drops. And it’s as though every breath I take strangles me. Eyes blurry, vision swirling, I’m swaying, caught somewhere between this life and the next, not really here, but not anywhere else either.
Clara’s big brown eyes are already on mine when I look up towards her again, silent tears tracking down her gaunt cheeks, a gag tied too tightly for her to speak. She was the only one who took care of me. Out of all the many homes I was placed in, tormented in, abused in. Hers was different. Safe. Warm. There was always food in the fridge I was allowed to eat, clean clothes folded and dry for me to wear. A smile on her face when I came in from school, a real one, meant just for me.
