“It’s a commitment to become an acolyte. Alifelongcommitment.”
The tone in Vale’s voice sends prickles running down my limbs over the now-hidden fey lines, and I smooth a hand over my forearm, a wrinkle forming on my brow.
“Not a problem,” Basten responds easily.
“Wait,” I say with a hitch in my voice, as the hidden lines resting just below my skin burn colder. “What do you mean, Father?”
Vale saunters to my dressing table. His fingers close around a small, sharp pair of embroidery scissors.
I suck in a breath, stepping in front of Basten and stretching out my arms. A crackle creeps over the room’s windows, where frost crystals have suddenly spread like a defensive barricade.
“Ease your fears, Daughter.” Vale turns on us with the tiny, decorated brass scissors dwarfed by his massive palm.
Really, it’s only a seamstress’s tool—hardly the Serpent Knife. Still, in Vale’s hand, even a maid’s implement feels like it could be an executioner’s axe.
“When I say lifelong,” he says slowly, “I do not mean twenty or forty or sixty more years. Acolytes’ average lifespans, once they commit, is counted inmonths. None have lasted a full year. Our fae needs are too great; and once we get a taste for blood, it only gets harder to stop.”
I shake my head fiercely. “I wouldn’t do that. I’d stop before I took his life.”
“You say that now,” Vale explains in stark, matter-of-fact words. “When you are still deeply connected to your humanity. The longer you’re fae, the less you will care about preserving his life.”
“But you swore a fae bargain that Basten would be safe.”
“While he resides in Volkany, yes. His safe from me. Not fromyou.”
My stomach hollows out.
To my surprise, Vale hands the scissors to me. “To become your acolyte, Lord Basten must freely drink ofyourblood.”
My lips part in soft uncertainty as I spin to face Basten, our bodies only inches apart, searching his velvet-brown eyes. “I would never hurt you, but if it’s too risky…”
His answer to my silent question is to cup my face, grazing his rough thumb over my cheek. He murmurs, “You and me, little violet. How many times have we defied the odds? We can with this, too.”
A thread pulls taut in my stomach, and my fingers curl over the scissors. “No—I’ll find another acolyte.”
But as soon as I speak the words, I know they’re false. In good conscious, I can’t lay a death sentence on any strangers who worship at my alter. Besides, every fiber in my body loves and wants to protect Basten. Maybe, with a stranger, I’d go too far—but with Basten, I’ll always be able to control myself.
The cold under my skin burns harder, and I can almost remember something. The shadows of people on their knees, backs bent in prayer. Primitive robes fastened around their waists with twine. Chants pour out in a long-lost language.
I’ve done this before—Basten isn’t my first acolyte.
“Gods, Sabine. What are you waiting for? There’s nothing to debate.” Before I can stop him, Basten steals the scissors from me, takes my hand in his forcefully, and jabs the needle-fine point in my index finger.
I flinch more with surprise than pain.
A tiny drop of red blood wells, but right behind it rises a bead of pure silver. Stronger, pushing out the old remnants of my human blood.
My heart hammers so damn hard I can practically feel the bedposts shake with it. I flinch with the urge to pull my hand free—but then relent.
What choice do we have? Better it be Basten, and our own choice, than whatever tricks the fae may think of next.
Slowly, I nod.
Basten lowers his mouth to my finger, taking the full length in his mouth. He sucks gently in a way that stirs something deep and hot in my belly. Pleasure flows from the sensation ofBasten’s lips on me. It makes me acutely aware of the fact that my father is three paces away, staring at my blazing red cheeks.
This act shouldn’t be sexual, but gods, it’s close.
Basten sits up, dragging his tongue over his bottom lip to lap up any silver remnants, and for a second, the room is so quiet I can hear all three of our breaths. I wait, unsure what I should be experiencing. But Basten and I are already bound by something stronger than blood—by choice.
