All they care about is satiating their debauched needs.
I lean back in my chair—one of the few not carved from the very rock we’re sitting within and instead an ornate throne made of gorgeous mahogany and velvet cushioning.
“Death’s Teeth presents a fine pair for our Incarnate-to-be’s choosing, to whose lineage we owe our existence. Won’t you take your pick and lead?”
One of my eyes pops open. “Quelle est la signification de ceci?”
My question is for the Director, who I know can translate it.
She says nothing.
Leaning forward, my other eye opens, and I fix my stare on the Director’s back as it separates me from the newcomers. She stands between me and the offerings, as if purposely blocking my view.
“Deux? Comment deux d’entre eux ont-ils réussi le processus de vérification?”
“Silence, s’il vous plaît,” the Director commands.
I clench my jaw tight. “Réponds-moi ou je marche pour toujours.”
“Non.” Clearing her throat, the Director turns slightly, still obscuring the pair from my sight. “If Incarnate will not choose, then the decision falls on the shoulders of the offerings themselves.”
A few of the members at my feet caress harder, cooing under their breath as if I need soothing. Like I’m some wild beast about to break through invisible restraints and slaughter them all.
“Which of you then offers yourself?” the Director continues, adjusting her gold mask. The snakes slithering up the sides resemble devil horns tonight, which I find fitting. “To be Incarnate’s closest companion, his trusted partner, the Maiden of Death through whom a new era can be ushered in, mos maiorum.”
No one says a word. Even the members watching up on the stone balconies are silent.
Something feels off about this. Each semester and new season, they have these extravagant ceremonies that lead to a day of brutality, but nothing much ever comes of it because they don’t have an actual Incarnate filling the position.
Normally they’re satisfied with my presence alone, and the one offering goes ignored.
I’ve never seen two at once before.
Incarnate represents their god, the Maiden is his backbone, and the sacrifice is the connective tissue bridging the gap between this world and the next.
My stomach sinks as a realization hits me. That’s why they’re offering two candidates.
The discarded offering will become the sacrifice.
“If no one wants to pick, I shall do so for you.” The Director’s hand whips out, and a scream peals from one of the offering’s throats, echoing through the cavern.
With my chest twisted in knots, I push to my feet and edge past the Director at the same moment as someone shouts, “Wait, wait! I’ll do it! I’ll go!”
I freeze, ice flooding my veins.
That voice…
The Director turns, glaring down at one of the masked figures kneeling on the stage. They’re both in heavy, shapeless gold cloaks, their identities obscured, but a sliver of the speaker’s neck is visible, and it’s all I need to see for confirmation.
Black fabric.
Snake charm.
The Director appears unimpressed, her eyes narrowing slightly. “Speaking out of turn is a violation of our rules. My mind’s been made up. Take these two to the?—”
Without thinking, without considering the consequences of this action or the fact that it goes against everything I’ve spent the last eight years resisting, I step forward.
The offending masked figure’s head turns in my direction, but we’re too far apart for her to see my eyes. Still, a current of something unidentifiable ripples in the air between us, like a thread of fate raging against separation.
