I need a contingency plan in place.
Eve snatches the dagger from the rail and slides it between her breastplate and bandolier with a severe scowl upon her face.
“Dammit, Ves, you better find a way to make sure I don’t have to do this,” she mutters.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
While Cal Anoreitself and the lives within it aren’t what I expected, the ritual sanctum is. A wide, windowless, circular room with a high, vaulted ceiling, it resembles the same blood magic dedicated spaces in the Tower of the hells.
Hundreds of floating black candles aflame with red light hang high above, casting the room and everything below in an eerie wash of crimson. The light exposes the lingering traces of blood magic seeping from the walls. It crawls over my skin with a spider’s touch, and I suppress yet another sharp shudder skittering down my spine.
It’s unnerving.
Gods know how many rituals have taken place here.
This space has yet to be cleansed. Until the lingering coat of Nether has been swept away, all rituals and rites performed here are at risk of drawing more attention in the veil. Errant souls flock to surges of magic—innate, Aether, or Nether—knowingthe living will be nearby.
In the hells, the same blood magic ritual wouldn’t leave the space tainted. Hard to taint something already saturated. And unlike the living, demons and undead are impervious to the costs of blood magic rituals. Nether is a magic meant for the dead. When the living use it, they’re punished.
It’s not enough to stop them.
And they pay the price in blood.
Hence the colloquial termblood magic.Despite the costs, Cerwidens and likely a number of hidden Eldoterrans, attempt to wield Nether all the same. Ask for too much, fail to properlyprepare a ritual site, use the wrong materials, or recall the wrong rune, and a life is forfeit.
Usually the caster’s.
The cost of what Cenviri and his Generals are doing isn’t something I can ignore. Lives may be lost today. And I’m sure they know it without me having to tell them.
I have always been intricately entwined with death.
But I never feared it. Until recently.
As Ryc and I approach the center of the room, following Zirzol’s silent lead, Cenviri lifts his eyes from the pages of the black-bound book. It, along with several others, lies open upon the long, obsidian altar before him.
It’s a sacrificial altar.
Much like the one I saw during Celesta’s ascension.
Ahead, Zirzol stops, his eyes lowering to the floor. His toes edge a line painted upon the obsidian in dark, near-invisible red. A casting circle outlined in blood. Malbolge runes stretch across the floor, repeating a short sequence of three phrases.
Shed this flesh. Traverse the veil. As above, so below.
Ryc also takes note, turning his attention downward. His wariness trickles through our bond, and I offer his arm a gentle, reassuring squeeze. All of this must be wildly strange. While Cal Anore has been strange for me as well, it’s likely for far fewer reasons.
Cenviri nods and Zirzol steps over the arching runes, lifting his robes to avoid smearing the slow-to-dry blood.
My grip grows firm on Ryc’s arm, keeping him beside me as I make no motion to follow.
“You’ve not cleansed this space,” I say and Cenviri flashes a warm, yet confused smile. “I can sense the lingering Nether. It needs to be addressed.”
His brows crease for a flash of a moment before he tucks the thought or concern away. A placid, welcoming smile remains.
“Not yet,il-akiv,” he replies as Zirzol stops at the foot of the altar. Cenviri swings around to stand beside his First General. “A ritual of this nature requires more than one caster for adequatecleansing. Once my Generals return, the process will start.”
“How does this work?” Ryc asks with a gesture toward his feet. “Will we be confined to this area once in the veil?”
Cenviri folds his arms across his chest, leaning back against the altar. “You’re not part of my House,il-akiv’ae cris.I can’t tell you what to do. You’re welcome to wander where you’d like. Though, I do strongly advise against it.”
