Saga wanted to rip herself out of the chair and run from the room. But their eyes were upon her, and the High Gothi was rolling up her sleeve and scowling.
“Ah,” he said, loud enough for the entire room to hear. “Her vein has healed!” He yanked Saga’s arm up, exposing her inner elbow to the crowd with unnecessary enthusiasm. A collective gasp filled the room as they peered at the freshly healed scars. “Proof of her halfhearted faith! Look what is wrought from frugality—ill health. What you give to Ursir, he will repay tenfold!”
The blood rushed in Saga’s ears.
“I see now. This is far worse than I’d thought,” said the High Gothi. “I fear I must change my prescription. A Grand Offering is in order.”
Saga tried with all her might not to think of what that meant. It did not matter how she felt about the matter. She must be good, pliable Saga, who did what she was told. But inside, she kicked and screamed. Much like the animals, her blood would betaken, not given.
As an acolyte approached, Saga retreated into the folds of her mind.
She was not here.
No. Saga was running through the gardens, her younger sister squealing behind her. Birds chittered from the hedges, the scent of fresh foliage thick inthe air. Eisa was behind her, turning round and round and round and falling over…
“There,” said the Gothi, as pain sliced into the crook of her arm.
She closed her eyes, and then she was lying on her stomach in the library, surrounded by tall shelves stretching toward the rafters. A fire crackled low in the fireplace, a cat lounging in Queen Svalla’s lap.
“Another cup,” murmured the Gothi.
Her eyelids fluttered, a glint of gold catching her eye—the gilded bowl, filling with a slow drizzle of her life force.
“Another cup.”
Wrath and judgment scraped across her skin. They watched her, waiting for her to shatter. Didn’t they know she was already broken? They’d taken her family, her castle, her kingdom, and now they’d taken her blood. What was there left to take? Surely they’d find it and take that, too.
Eisa. An ember buried deep within flared. Eisa needed her.But as the fourth—fifth?—cup of blood drained from Saga, her fight bled with it.
“She is pale,” murmured the acolyte.
“Another cup,” barked the High Gothi.
…it is what she has earned,flowed someone’s thoughts.
…she must pay in blood like her family, added another.
…she deserves every bit of punishment she’s earned…
The words throbbed in her skull, alerting Saga that her mental barriers had fallen, the thoughts of the crowd flowing freely to her. She could handle one, perhaps two people at a time with her Sense, but any more than that grew overwhelming.
More thoughts assaulted her. Saga knew she had to pull her barrier back into place—needed to keep her Sense at bay. Grabbing at the frayed edges, she wove together a shoddy barricade. It would have to do; she could manage nothing else.
The room swelled and rippled as her head lolled to the side.
“That will do.”
Her elbow was bandaged, while the Gothi spoke to the crowd.
But Saga was spinning, turning, whirling, crashing. They watched her, all of them, as she stood. Stumbled.
Red flashed in her vision—the beard of Thorir the Giant as he scooped her up and carried her down the dais. The crowd was murmuring, braziers crackling, her heart thump, thump, thumping, too hard, too fast. And then, Saga was placed back in her chair.
“You did well,” whispered Yrsa.
Saga blinked, biting back on the urge to laugh. Did well. Bled well. Submitted like a good little captive.
But as her vision swirled, she saw herself and Yrsa as girls—playing in the gardens and riding ponies through the royal forest. For a time, they’d almost been like sisters. But now, there was only distance.
