King Silas says, “Not many have chosen that path. Though you mortals do like your flair for dramatics.” What a hypocrite. “When you make your pledge to me, I promise all the lies you were fed about my kingdom, and the immortal lands of Arcadia, will be mere phantoms to the reality that lies ahead of you. You will be given chances you could only dream of in your small towns and villages. But you must choose this greater destiny for yourselves.”
Druid soldiers step forward, flanking his sides, their masks creating the illusion they are all the same in the torchlight. Their familiars slink in the shadows behind them.
The fireflies that flicker above blink out.
I cannot see beyond the druids, not even to the parapet along the wall.
Then Prince Draven strides over to me, holding a small silver bowl in his hands.
“Choose.” His voice is a grating hiss. The wood plank stretches off the side of the Wall, hauntingly illuminated in the dark. It’s cruel magic, has to be. Tempting us with the freedom of death.
Drink or die.
It’s not much of a choice.
I search the bowl tilted my way. Whatever viscous fluid lays within is tinted crimson. It looks an awful lot like—
“It’s not blood,” Prince Draven whispers.
My heart skips in a dangerous pattern, relief coursing through me, mixed with panic. I reach for the bowl, but he doesn’t release it. He holds it firm, both our hands around it, his fingers surprisingly warm and unsurprisingly strong. Some part of me wants to fling its contents to the grass. Maybe that’s why he holds it so resolutely. I’m forced to bring my face to the rim, lips parting as I take one last free breath.
Prince Draven hisses, “Or maybe it is … maybe I’m just a liar.”
I glare at him, half masked in shadows in the fiery light. The only way to find out what happened to my family is by drinking this. The only way back is forward.
So, I drink.
3Arcana
The druids are said to be the only group of immortals to worship the darkness, their gods reigning from below, their magic most wicked. They are acolytes of chaos and revelry, their tarot cards capable of stripping life like sandpaper wearing varnish off wood.
—Ascension pamphlet signed A.C.
FOR ALL THE PRINCE’S WORDS,I can’t discern what I’m tasting. I nearly pull away as the liquid slides onto my tongue. The taste of copper makes me think the bastard did slip me blood before I realize that’s the metallic bowl. The drink is thick and coats my tongue with something sweet as jelly. It’s a strange flavor, leaving me warm and tingly, the taste addictive, and when I look up into Prince Draven’s eyes there’s a spark of amusement there.
He tugs it from my mouth. It takes me a full minute to realize I’m still licking my lips. I might’ve drunk the entire bowl if they’d let me.
He leans close, voice lowering. “I know you’re thirsty, but try to leave some for everyone.”
Oh, fuck right off. My face heats as Prince Draven passes the same bowl to a guard, who takes it to the next person. He reenters the seamless line of druids, and his father grasps his hand, something gold glinting in his palm.
“I thought she’d have chucked herself off the Wall for certain,” his father says quietly.
I glare openly now as Prince Draven accepts the coin smoothly, his indigo gaze passing over me once more, a spark of pride firing through his eyes.
As if he has any say over my fate.
He cocks his head to the side, that long black hair tilting, as though he just heard my thoughts.
I turn my head and watch the others all accepting the drink willingly.
It has done nothing to me, no side effects aside from the want for more. Kasper hesitates, watching me as if waiting to see if I might keel over. Still, he allows it to be tipped into his mouth. I swear he holds it there as if he might spit it into the face of the druid who offered it. A moment later, his eyes roll back, hypnotized by the flavor. He swallows, panting with want, eyes wholly black. I blink, and the image is gone, his eyes piercing blue and bright again.
Once the bowl has passed through the lips of every soul, it simply disappears.
Now what? I turn back to the king, confused, and he lifts a hand, silver fire traces the fingers he stretches toward us.
There’s a beat, all of us holding our breaths.
