Sitting me on the bed, he stands, his full height still a shock to me. He’s huge. No one in the mortal realm could ever fight someone—no,something—like him and win.
He pulls a small table across the floor and positions it in front of me. A plate of food with a tall goblet of wine. The plate is huge, the goblet something that I’ll have to use two hands to lift. Everything here is made for giants like Vander.
“Eat.” He pushes the table closer.
The scent of roast meat hits my nose, and my stomach rumbles. An aching pain twists in my gut, saliva pooling in my mouth. I’m starving. But when I look down at the plate, I hesitate. In all the stories we mortals ever heard, eating food from Oblivion is always dangerous. It could be cursed or poisoned, or worse, it could bind you to a contract. Some sort of unholy alliance with the fae folk or the demons. There’s simply no way to know whatyou’re getting into. My stomach growls again, my hands shaking as I clutch them together in my lap.
He crosses his arms over his wide chest, his brows drawing together. “Humans have to eat. The entire keep can hear your stomach crying out for food. What is wrong? Do you not enjoy this type of meal?”
I wouldn’t know. We rarely got meat in the village. Only on high feast days. If we were lucky, we’d get scraps from the castle, but that was never guaranteed. Root vegetables and thin stews—that’s what I’m used to.
“Will it hurt me?” I ask him.
“What?” If he looked confused before, now he’s completely flustered.
“I mean, if I eat this, will it … Will it make me do something? Will it poison me? What’s in it?”
He stares at me for long enough with those probing green eyes that I have to look down.
A sigh that verges on a growl ripples through the air, and then his rough voice. “Eat. Or don’t. I’ll be back before nightfall.” He turns on his heel and strides out, irritation in each step. The door closes with a hardthunk.
I take a deep breath and try to steady myself as I watch the door, half afraid it’ll swing open again.
It doesn’t. He left. That’s a good thing. But he said he’d be back at nightfall. I glance at the bed I’m sitting on. It’s huge. Big enough for him. He said this wasourroom. Does he intend to force me once the sun sets? He’s a creature of Oblivion, cruel and foreign. I have no idea what he’s capable of. And worse than that,he clearly serves the DragonKin, linked to them so closely that he bears the dragon’s marks.
I drag in a deep breath, the scent of the rich food overwhelming my senses. I eye the plate. It’s at least two different types of meat. Nothing else. No vegetables. I grab the fork. It’s heavy, shining like silver and far different than the wooden utensils I’m accustomed to. Tentatively, I poke around the plate, sending small tendrils of steam up from the juicy meat. My mouth is watering again. But gods, how do I know if it’s safe?
My stomach cramps, my head spinning a little. I realize it doesn’t matter if it’s poisoned. I’m starving and terrified and this may very well be my last meal. With the shaking fork, I spear a piece of the browned meat. It’s tender, coming apart easily as I lift it to my mouth. It smells better than anything I’ve even come close to eating.
“What if it’s mortal flesh?” my mind whispers. My fingers falter, and I drop the fork. I can’t trust it.
Though it makes my stomach wrench even more painfully, I push away from the table and crawl away from the plate. With what strength I have left, I drag the deep green blanket off the bed and onto the floor. Pressing myself into the back corner of the room, I wrap the blanket around me and clench my eyes shut. The stone wall at my back gives me a slight sense of comfort. No one can sneak up on me.
But that doesn’t matter. Not when I can’t keep my eyes open. No matter how hard I try, no matter how afraid I am of the giant creature—Vander—returning, I can’t stay awake.
I jolt awake from a dream where the wolven was ripping me apart as the fire creatures sharpened their knives to serve me to Vander who watched it all with slitted reptilian eyes.
I swipe at my sweaty forehead and sit up. My back aches, my mouth so dry I can barely swallow. How long have I been here? I glance at the windows, the light faint. A cold shudder rushes down my spine. It’s nightfall.
With terror rising in my throat like acid I stare at the door. Vander will return soon. I have no dream of escaping. Not when wolven and no telling what else is waiting out there for me.
Forcing myself to my feet, I drop the blanket and step over it, stumbling to the windows where the sun is rapidly fading, its rays barely illuminating the tips of the jagged mountains where it rose earlier this morning.
I grip the sash, blood pounding in my ears. The stone is cold in my grip, my palms clammy. What did Vander say, something about death being the only thing outside this window? I glance back at the bed and swallow hard. When I was chosen to be sacrificed, I knew it would mean my end. Being violated wasn’t part of it. It never even occurred to me. But now, everything’s different. Now, I’m not only to be sacrificed, I’m to be defiled.
Turning back to the window, I watch the last bits of sun disappear from the cold peaks in the distance.
I haven’t had any choices in my life. Not really. Not after my father was marked a traitor and I earned the derision of Lord Rayid’s son. And especially not once my name was drawn from the Eternal Chalice. I run my hand up the window until I find the latch. It gives a slight squeak as I open it, the window glidingoutward and letting in a frigid gust of wind. No, I haven’t had choices, none that were my own, anyway.
But this is something Icanchoose. Gripping the edges of the window, I pull myself up, my muscles shaking as I perch myself on the edge. The wind whips past, screaming along the faces of the stone that extend out on all sides. My eyes water at the frigid onslaught. At least, that’s the reason I want them to water. Not because I’m weak and scared.
I sit on the windowsill, my legs dangling against the stone. I inhale deeply, breathing in Oblivion. Closing my eyes, I say goodbye to my mother. I pray to the gods that she doesn’t suffer because of me, that she doesn’t mourn me, that she is able to continue despite my absence, despite my death. The window bumps against my back, as if urging me on, the wind and the glass co-conspirators.
I scoot farther out, my hands braced on the sides of the windowsill. “I’m sorry, Mother.” A sob almost chokes me. I breathe the cold air in again and again. “Please forgive me.” I sit and breathe through my grief, letting the tears fall.
My hands slip from the stone, and I lean forward.
“Father, catch me,” I whisper, the sound falling away on the wind as I follow.
