Anxiety slices my stomach, but I sit up anyway, gritting my teeth. Sitting idly by isn’t an option.
Sutton doesn’t want me to participate, but the alternative is unacceptable.
Inhaling, I look up at the masked figure. Swallow over the acid burning my throat. Lift my chin.
“I don’t reject the Maiden. I’m going to do it.Letme do it.”
The figure’s smile is palpable as she speaks. “Fledglings, please assist the Maiden-hopeful in her preparations.”
Two or three masks appear around me, instantly grabbing at my clothes and tearing them from my body.
“Hey, wait!” I grunt, trying to keep them off as they scrape and burn, their touch leaving an inextinguishable fire in their wake.
They don’t listen, and within seconds, I’m stripped bare. My underwear is torn off, leaving me totally exposed. A tremor racksmy body as I place my hands over myself, discomfort lining every nerve ending, making it hard for me to move.
Being naked in front of dozens of strangers—strangers you can’t even see—is more horrifying than I’d have expected.
It’s different when you’re in control. When you’re the one shedding the clothes, deciding on how much others get to see. Having that choice torn away is dehumanizing.
They leave only my choker, and I push my finger into the snake charm, trying to soak up some sort of motivation from it.
Serpents are resilient, sneaky, and misunderstood.
I shiver as I stand there, wondering if this is what they did to Sutton. To Bellamy. How long did they suffer knowingly? How long before the drugs or whatever they fed the pair took over and blocked out most of the actions?
A fresh wave of nausea ripples through my stomach. I try to focus on my breathing, doing my best not to hyperventilate despite the panic swelling in my chest like a tsunami wave.
“Bring in the beasts,” Pythia orders, and for a second, I’m terrified they’re going to make me fight some sort of wild animal.
Instead, two large, equally naked men are brought out, chained together at the ankles. They’re wearing full-face golden masks, structured differently from the others I’ve seen so far—theirs have no holes anywhere. The masks are solid, constructed with the likeness of a human face but otherwise unaltered.
Funerary masks. I’ve seen them in the anthologies about ancient Greece and Egypt in my parents’ home library, though never in person. They’re not meant to be worn but to memorialize the faces of the deceased.
Unease trickles down my spine, like tiny spiders crawling over each vertebra.
Maybe that’s exactly what they’re doing.
I shuffle back, bumping into the rope barrier surrounding the stage. They can’t make me fight men that large—especially at the same time.
Right?
“Cold feet?” Pythia asks, though she’s no longer visible. She hides within the shadows, watching me with a note of amusement lacing her words. “Don’t worry. It will be over before you know it.”
“Whatwill?”
“Since you’re of cursed birth, we cannot trust that you’ll be faithful to Incarnate, so it’s only fair the rest of our members are allowed to taste you before you’re bound to him forever.”
The crowd gets a little louder, chattering excitedly. Hungry for blood.
Sweat pours down my face. I look over the two men: They’re at least half a foot taller than me and probably over a hundred pounds heavier. Scars and cuts mar their naked forms, indicating a history of these situations.
They want to force me to have sex with them in some display of loyalty?
I vaguely recall Sutton’s comment about there being some sex-related things involved in the Maiden induction, but I hadn’t expected something so violent.
My gaze flickers to Percy, who’s watching me with wide, glassy eyes. He gives a small shake of his head, as if trying to discourage me, even as he remains bound and gagged.
I nod slightly at him, hoping it feels reassuring.
