“Sit up,” Prophet orders. “You need strength for the ceremony tonight.”
I moan softly, then roll my eyes as far back in my head as I can force them.
He sighs, dragging the heavy, uneven chair closer to the bed and lowering himself into it. “I failed the flock last time. I see that now. I should never have allowed Jefe to dictate the timing of your sacrifice. But tonight…the Glorious One will be pleased. My wives have picked all the oleander flowers in the greenhouses. The holy wine will be twice as strong. I will slit your throat, letting your blood bathe the sacred ground beneath the altar until not a single drop remains in your body.”
He’s almost apologetic. I’d laugh if I didn’t need him to believe I’m too close to death to move.
I squeeze my eyes shut. If I can’t get Abe here, if I can’t delay, AJ won’t have time. He’ll die. Along with Connor. Jasper. Hardison. And Parker…Parker’s still in the box. By the time anyone else comes, I’ll be dead, and she’ll…she’ll be gone too.
Another weak moan, and I tighten my throat so it sounds like I can barely breathe.
Prophet scoops up a spoonful of eggs and holds it close to my lips. I don’t have to fake the gag. The scent—mixed with the oleander I can’t get away from—sends bile rushing up my throat.
I turn onto my side and vomit.
The chair legs scrape over the floor. “Nova?”
I let my head hang half off the bed. The position sends a drum beat slamming against the inside of my skull.
“Si…si… Poh-sun.” The words are only half formed at best. But with a shaking hand, I try—unsuccessfully—to push some of the flowers away.
Prophet grabs my shoulders and shoves me onto my back. His eyes narrow on me. “Poison? Is that what you’re trying to say?”
I nod and clutch my stomach harder.
He barks out a laugh. “Not poison. Purification. You are still resisting me, Nova. You know that is not allowed.”
I roll my eyes back a second time. “Huur…ts.” The word escapes on a sob.
Prophet’s grip tightens on my shoulders, his face inches from mine, his tone so sanctimonious, I want to vomit all over again. “You will not defy me, Nova. You will eat, or I will force the food down your throat.”
My vision blurs. The stench of the flowers is everywhere. Prophet pries my jaw open and shoves some of the eggs into my mouth. “Eat!” he shouts.
His sharp command, the bruising grip on my jaw, and three years of conditioning conspire against me. I swallow automatically, but the taste—God, the taste—sends the food right back up onto his hand.
“Brother Malone!” Prophet shakes the eggs from his fingers in disgust. “Send for my father. Now! If she dies before the ceremony, the Glorious One will not be pleased!”
The door slams shut, rattling the bare wooden walls. Prophet paces in front of the bed. I feel each heavy step deep in my chest. I want to cower, to pull the blanket over my head to hide from his angry gaze, but I have to make him believe I’m too weak to move.
His eyes track every ragged breath. Every tremor in my limbs. “If you think this weakness will spare you, Nova, you are mistaken.”
If I have my way, Prophet, this weakness will spare me, but end you.
For endless minutes, the only sounds in the room are his boots striking the floorboards and my wheezing.
Until Brother Malone’s steps rush back down the hall, and the door slams open.
“Father Abe,” Prophet snaps.
The man who steps over the threshold is a stranger and not at the same time. My only memories of him are of his voice. And how gentle he was with me. How he’d call me Grace if he knew no one would overhear.
But he looks so much like Prophet, I can’t meet his gaze.
He shuffles closer, his fingers trailing over the flowers, pausing on the wilt showing at their edges. His nostrils flare. “She’s weak,” he says. “If you expect her to make it to the ceremony, all these flowers must go. Now.”
Prophet stomps closer. “The blossoms will purify her.”
“They’ll kill her in under an hour if you leave them here. Son, I believe every word you’ve ever written. You know I do. The Glorious One requires his Nova to be breathing when her blood is spilled.”
