A sudden scratch of coarse fiber grazed my skin. My gaze flicked down—but I was too late. The Veiler had already looped the rope once, twice, his movements quick and practiced. The strands bit into my wrists.
I jerked back, but his body pinned me in place. Each pull tightened the cord until my fingers tingled. The knot was cinched with a last tug, and the tail-end coiled in his hand like a leash.
“There now, no running away.”
Nearing footsteps sounded, and in the corner of my eye, a woman with hair the color of flame approached. She wore what all Veilers did: a black tunic, pants, and mask with narrow slits for the eyes. Her ginger hair hung in one messy braid that fell over her left shoulder. Even in the dim torchlight, her eyes were an unmistakable spring green.
She shook her head as she glanced over my body, not once, but twice. I shifted uncomfortably under her brazen appraisal. She put her hands on her hips and shook her head at my captor.
“You know the rules. We don’t take martyrs.”
“I know, but—”
“I can see why you want to keep her,” the woman teased.
“Renata,” my captor scolded.
They spoke as if I were some object they were debating keeping.
“What difference does it make if you take me instead?” I asked, tired of being talked around. “Is it important that your victim be unwilling?”
The woman unsheathed a medium dagger strapped at her thigh and pressed the tip to my chest.
“So quick to speak when you have not been spoken to.” She trailed the blade up to my jaw like a dangerous caress. “Not that I, or anyone I ride with, owes you an explanation for our actions. The work we do is of royal and divine merit.” She paused briefly, as if weighing her next words carefully. “We pray to Our Lady of the Stars. She shows us who ischosen.”
“Lies,” I hissed.
“Careful,” warned my captor.
“You are all murderers who hide behind masks because you’re too cowardly to face the truth!”
The woman leaned in closer.
“And what is thetruth?” She asked with a glint in her eyes.
I met her gaze unflinchingly.
“The prophecy you believe in—the one you burn, pillage, and slaughter for—doesn’t exist. It’s all a delusion, and you follow it blindly.”
“Hmm,” she hummed. “You think you know the scripture better than I do?”
I scoffed, “I know I do.”
She tilted her head to the side and assessed me once more with a renewed sense of interest. Stepping back, she drew her blade. Then, she snatched my hand and examined the palm. When I tried to rip my hand away, she slashed it open.
I cried out in pain as blood quickly pooled. My knees buckled and threatened to give out. All I could do was clench my fist tight and try to keep the wound as sealed as possible while watching crimson seep between my fingers.
My captor stiffened. “Was that necessary?”
“Look at the Ground,” she demanded.
I ignored the pain radiating through my arm and joined their gaze downward. It was dark, and I could barely see the shadowy stone. I blinked, nearly stumbling when I finally saw it. I stared for several moments before accepting it wasn’t a hallucination.
The blood that dripped from my hand was being absorbed into the Ground. Not just being absorbed, but disappearing without a trace. It wasn’t possible, yet I couldn’t deny the sight of it.
“She is blessed,” whispered my captor in astonishment.
“Take her,” said the woman.
