Keep a clear head, Alette.
I force my breathing to slow. I remind myself I’ve survived worse. My memory goes to my father in the days before his death. How he’d developed a cough that seemed to shake his whole chest. How a cold clamminess had washed over his skin one moment, and then he’d be burning up the next. I cared for him for days while he got slowly weaker and sicker until I’d had to make my way to town for the first time alone for medicine. I’dridden through the day and night, not stopping until I reached my destination. I’d done everything in my power to save his life. Everything.
And yet, he’d died. My only human companion. The only parent I had left.
Sobbing alone, I’d dug his grave in the rain, pouring out my heart. Screaming into the storm. Knowing no one would ever hear me. That no one would ever understand.
Then, my grandparents had come and with them came the bite of leather that I didn’t expect against my unprepared flesh. I'd never been whipped before, didn't even know to be afraid when my grandfather lifted his heavy leather strap the first time. I knew so little of cruelty and pain before then. With my father, I trusted everyone. With my father, I felt loved and safe.
Then he died.
And I haven’t felt safe since.
But I survived. And I’ll survive this too. Only if I stay calm.
Twilight falls over the land, painting the sky in dusky purples and oranges, then in gray, as I strain against the chains, this time more carefully, testing them for any weaknesses. The fae lands shimmer in front of me, their border a hazy line between the realms, a delicate veil that separates my world from theirs.
Something stirs at the edge of my awareness.
I can feel the change before I see it. The air thickens, the wind ceases for a moment. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up. I suck in a sharp breath as the figure materializes from the border of the fae lands.
A woman.
She’s tall, draped in a blood-stained dress. Her teeth are sharp and jagged, inhuman and dangerous-looking. She floats just above the ground, her movements so graceful they’re unnatural, and her skin glows in the dim light. She’s both mesmerizing and terrifying.
I know who she is. What she is.
My heart skips a beat. Her hair is long and silver-white, flowing around her as if it’s alive, and her face is pale. Her eyes glow with a sharp, otherworldly light that seems to pierce through me. Everything about her isn’t of this world. Isn’t human. She’s a ghost. No, a fae deity.
Varua.How could I not recognize her? Not only is there her statue at the temple in town, but there’ve been a million pieces of art created in her image.
My breath catches in my throat. This goddess is a force of nature, a being of power and destruction, like all gods and goddesses. Beings like her don’t show themselves to mortals unless they have a reason. And that reason is never good.
I’m in trouble. More trouble than I even thought.
She approaches me, her gaze never wavering from mine. I feel a sudden pull in my chest, an invisible force that focuses my attention on her, as if my soul is being magnetized by her presence. My skin feels hot, too hot, and I feel sweat bead my forehead.
Is this what it’s like for a mortal to be near a god?
Varua stops right in front of me, her cold eyes scanning my face. For a moment, we just stare at each other, the silence between us oppressive.
“You’re my sacrifice,” she says, her voice like the whisper of the wind.
“I’d rather not be,” I tell her, my words only shaking a little.
She cocks her head. “Are you sure?”
“I’m certain. All I want is to go back to town, get my supplies, and go home.”
A dangerous smile flashes across her face. “That’s not what you want, you just don’t know it yet.”
Then, without a word, she reaches out.
I flinch as her fingers brush against my forehead, icy cold. My breath catches in my throat, but I can’t pull away. I’m tied in place. A shudder runs down my spine as I feel her magic flooding through me, filling every inch of my being.
There’s a pull. A force. And then it begins.
Images flood my mind. My mother’s face, smiling and laughing. One of my last clear memories of her before… before the blood. Before her violent death. The fae’s magic probes inside me, pulling out the memories of that day, and I scream, trying to fight the fae in front of me, but more images replace the ones of my mother. My father, his loving face, his hands rough as he taught me how to survive. The memories of those long nights after my mother died, when it was just me and him, trying to make our way in the world.
