How often have they watched this exact scene play out? It is no wonder the games were easily accepted here if this is their idea of a normal punishment.
Julian’s cold hands landed on my shoulders, squeezing me tightly as Harold’s screams continued. As they echoed across the river, as if they skipped directly into my ears, into my mind.
“Will he burn first? Or will the boat sink? That is for the gods to decide. But let this be a reminder. The Cherished are our souls sent from above. They are our future. And they are to be protected above all else,” the High Priestess advised, her shimmering eyes alight in warning.
A warning to us.
Harold’s screams devolved into broken sobs as they grew more distant, the boat making its way to the sea.
But it was no less horrifying.
I wanted it to sink, to be done with it. For him to drown and his suffering to end. Or maybe I just didn’t want to hear it any longer. To be reminded of the cruelties playing out before my eyes, that this must be common based on the crowd’s reactions.
Or rather lack thereof.
If I were the Raven I was before I walked into the games, I doubt I would have been able to keep my composure, but a lot had changed since then.
I had seen worse.
“The boat never sinks. Let’s go.” This time I accepted Griffin’s tug as he guided us away, allowing him to march us the rest of the distance to the carriage. I even permitted him to lift me up the step into the vehicle and settle me into his lap inside on one of the two benches. Julian took up the one across from us, his weary gaze scrutinizing my reaction, concern buried in his furrowed brow.
The space was much warmer in the vehicle, the walls stitched with cushioned velvet fabric, a window on each side. I could just make out the boat through it, still on fire, still afloat.
“It’s worse,” I whispered as I came to the conclusion.
This country. All of them.
They are awful.
Griffin’s hold tightened on me, his arms flexing as the carriage jerked us forward. Julian leaned back on his bench, his glossy ebon eyes unfocused for a few beats until he caught me watching him.
“The Sacred Trinity—Grypheem, Luscinia, and the Isles of Sacerdos—enacted the Masquerade first.” Julian dropped onto me. “From what I gathered, it was almost fifteen years ago, but I couldn’t determine why or what changed.”
Griffin expelled hot air from his lungs, it blew onto my face and made me realize how cold I was. How my nose was practically ice.
But the news caused fire to burn within my gut.
“The Redemption Games, or the Masquerade as you call it, were started on the same principle of Violencia.” Griffin leaned back into the cushion behind him. “Two hundred years ago, thousands of criminals from all across the Sacred Trinity were sent to an empty island. Priests, citizens of Luscinia and Grypheem, all charged with the same crime. They were told the sole survivor could return, their record wiped clean and a place in nobility. But nobody ever came back. Instead, Violencia was formed by those same prisoners sent there.
“Years passed and our leaders grew impatient, they wanted to understand what was happening.” Griffin took my hand, covering it with his, swallowing mine in its entirety. “But then their scouts didn’t return either. Eventually, a man from Luscinia returned, but he didn’t come alone. He was married, with a natural-born child. He requested a dual audience with the Kings of Luscinia and Grypheem, expressing how he wanted to stay in Violencia, but when the citizens there had found out he was an outsider, they had nearly killed him.” Griffin scoffed as we continued bouncing along.
Julian leaned forward, his hand taking my free one, his rough thumb tracing up and down. “All the bad parts of Violencia come from outsiders.”
Griffin offered him a sharp-toothed grin. “The man said all of the wrong things. How Violencia was better than our countries, developed quicker, and worse than that, the fertility issues our lands were beginning to have weren’t affecting Violencia. Essentially, he told the kings that criminals had gotten away scot-free and had been delivered to the promised land.”
“What happened to him?” I asked, allowing Julian’s touch to sooth me through this weight of painful information.
Griffin barked a humorless laugh. “They wouldn’t have told the truth. But supposedly he died fromnaturalcauses, and his Sacred Cherished wife was sent to the Isles of Sacerdos to live out her days. As once a woman is claimed and wed, she cannot be again.”
The rattling of the vehicle vibrated from him, all the way to me, causing my teeth to clack and my heart to shake. It did nothing to negate the hopelessness that expanded inside of me.
At the understanding that this wasn’t some magical utopia.
“And his child?” I wasn’t sure I wanted the answer.
Griffin grabbed hold of my chin, forcing me to stare into his eyes as he scrutinized me. “A son. He was shipped back to Violencia or so they say. No one is safe here. Not children. Not women. And especially not our fucking cherished. It is a title wrapped in thorns and shackles. You cannot run from us again, do you understand me?”
Staring up at Griffin, I allowed his words to percolate through me, to understand what they meant. “I will not—”
