The crowd quiets as Lord Rutherford steps forward, the man who rules over the lands around us. Though, he’s a lord in name only. He never cares for his people. Never checks on us. He just sits in his castle on the hill living the gluttonous life that only the wealthy can afford to live.
But now, standing in front of the stage, he calls out to me. “Name.” His voice is cold, commanding.
I stand tall, my hands clenched into fists at my sides, the reigns slicing into one of my palms. “My name doesn’t matter. I’m not participating in anything involving the fae,” I say firmly, even though my mind urges me to shrink back. To do as I'm told. “And neither should any of us.”
The instant the words leave my mouth, I don’t know where they come from. My legs tremble, and my mind begs me to retreat into the safety of its dark corners, but I force myself to focus on the situation in front of me. This is one thing I seem to be good at, speaking up at the worst possible moments. Like I did with Mr. Clay.
“We don’t want to make the fae angry,” Lord Rutherford tells me dryly, like it’s obvious.
I look at the girls on the stage again, my stomach turning. I imagine one of them getting delivered to the fae like a chicken to the butcher.This can’t happen. I have to stop it.
My voice shakes as I continue, “What have the fae done for us? I’ve read all the same stories that all of you have read. In every story, they cross into our lands for sacrifices, for fun, to play with us, to torture us… and we just let them. But there’smore of us than them. If we just don’t give them a sacrifice, they’ll move on… knowing they can’t take on a whole town of humans.”
A guard levels me with a look. “None of us are about to play with the fae’s goodwill over a handful of girls.”
I look at the townsfolk. “Is that how you feel?”
Their eyes avert, not meeting mine, and something twists in my stomach. I would fight for these people. I woulddiefor these people. But not like this. Not when they won’t even speak up to protect me and the other girls.
I’m afraid, so terribly afraid, but I know I can't just let this happen. My father would roll over in his grave if I did such a thing. A flash of his face, so like mine, pops into my mind. Dark blue eyes, dark hair, gentleness in his expression. He’s there, like a ghost that haunts me, whispering that I need to survive this too, whatever it takes.
Lord Rutherford sneers, raising his voice to the crowd. “Does anyone know her name?”
No one speaks. No one answers. Tension fills the air, thick and suffocating.
I try to keep my breath steady, but it’s hard when every nerve in my body is screaming at me to run, to hide. A thousand moments branded by fear with my father flash through my mind. A bear, us too close to her cubs, the roar deafening. The snake bite on my ankle that turned black. The searing pain. The fear we’d have to sever my foot. An unexpected current that dragged me down the river until I caught hold of a rock and managed to pull myself out. And then the memories shift again. I see my grandparents, a different kind of challenge I must survive.
Death is all around me. Battling for survival is all I know. But this is a different kind of danger, one I don’t know how to handle.
“Name?” the lord repeats again, giving me a look.
“No one will ever know if we don’t do this sacrifice,” I say, choosing my words with care. “Just send the altar along to the next town. That’s all you have to do. Or… or… burn the damn thing!”
Lord Rutherford glances around the square with a frustrated sigh, his eyes falling on the nearest girl on the stage. Without warning, he pulls out a dagger and presses it to her throat. The girl gasps in fear. He doesn’t even flinch as he smiles.
“What’s her name?” he demands.
The girl trembles, then whispers, “Alette Mercer.”
Instantly, his dagger slides back into his sheath, leaving behind a trail of blood, which brings a wave of guilt rushing over me. The lord writes my name down on a scrap of paper and places it in a bowl along with several other scraps of paper, holding it high for everyone to see. “Now. That’s everyone. We can get started.”
He mixes the bowl above his head, pulls out a scrap and smiles down at it, then looks up, his gaze locking with mine.
My heart sinks.Whether or not it says my name, he’s going to say my name.
“Alette Mercer,” he says, with so much satisfaction it practically drips off of him.
I close my eyes, trying to hold onto some shred of control.This can’t be happening. None of this feels real. The fae, the sacrifice, the altar…My stomach churns as the reality of what’s happening sinks in.I can’t be given to the fae.More memories flash through my mind of blood, of loss, of suffering. I’d vowed to never put myself in a position for the fae to hurt me again, and I would stick to that vow.
Lord Rutherford’s voice cuts through the air again. “Alette, come here....”
I can’t do this. I can’t let them take me.
Eyeing the exits, I see all have guards with swords withdrawn. If I try to ride out of here, Goose will most definitely be hurt. The idea makes a pit form in my stomach. Goose is my best friend. I can’t allow her to be hurt for me.
“Take care of Goose for me,” I whisper to Marta.
She nods and takes her reins.If I make it out of this, I’ll come back for her. If I don’t, Marta will cherish her. She’ll be safe either way.
