“No,” said Hazan, his voice grave. “It’s not black magic. It’s simply barbaric.”
It frightened her to see him so defenseless, yet even in this nightmarish scene Cyrus looked otherworldly. His powerful, muscular body was bathed in firelight, the golden glow of his skin a shocking contrast to the spiral of gloom that restrained him. She felt almost as if she shouldn’t look at Cyrus, exposed as he was, though neither could she look away; he was breathtaking even in agony, his broad chest straining against his binds as he suffered.
And it was clear that he suffered.
Pain was printed upon his face, though he bore it well, his eyes squeezed shut as he grit his teeth against assaults from an unseen force. Occasionally he gasped, making short, choked sounds of anguish, and just then he went so rigid with torment it killed her even to bear witness.
“Hazan,” Alizeh said desperately. “What’s happening?”
Hazan looked weary.
He glanced at her before returning his eyes to Cyrus, resignation in his voice when he said, “I suppose you must first understand that only a truly desperate person can perform a blood oath, for the chains that bind a debtor can only be woven from the darkness within them. The more desperate the debtor, the darker the coil.” He exhaled, heavily. “Your Majesty, you must prepare yourself. This will be brutal for him when it’s over. If he survives the first night, each day will get easier. If he does not –”
Cyrus cried out, his head jerking back violently.
Alizeh gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth as she saw the tide of color rushing to the surface of his skin.Cyrus’s body was soon glistening with blood, the sheen of scarlet thickening as it knit together, weaving what looked almost like a gruesome garment around his naked figure. He made another choked, guttural sound as blood dripped steadily from where he hung, a slick pool forming on the floorboards beneath his feet. Soon, he was draped in a liquid cloak of his own blood, and then, without warning, the cloak dropped to the ground.
Alizeh stared in mute terror at the article, which had hardened into something real and substantial. Cyrus was still suspended in the air, the black ribbon still bound around his body; and though the strain of anguish was gone from his face, he was ashen and trembling, limp from exertion.
“Your Majesty,” said Hazan quietly.
She turned to him, not wanting to hear what he said next, for she already suspected what she was meant to do. “No,” she breathed.
Hazan nodded to the ground. “When you put on this cloak, you will absorb his blood into your body. This piece of him will belong to you until his debt is repaid.”
Alizeh stared at the grotesque garment, bile rising in her throat. The cloak had solidified into something that looked almost like leather, the gleam of it turning her stomach. “Must I wear it now?”
“No,” said Hazan. “Not yet.” He looked up then, his voice imbued with a surprising compassion when he said, “Cyrus, are you able to speak?”
Cyrus did not open his eyes, though he made an effort to swallow, then nodded his head. Alizeh looked from Hazan to Cyrus,her heart hammering in her chest. The realities of this disturbing night were becoming too monstrous, and she was suddenly stricken with fear.
When Cyrus finally spoke, his voice was ravaged.
Freely I bind my body,
these chains of my own design.
I offer my blood as bond,
until I repay this debt of mine.
“Now,” said Hazan softly, “he will speak aloud his promises.”
Cyrus looked nearly wrecked, his chest straining as he struggled to draw breath. “I offer you my kingdom,” he said, the rasp of his voice unrecognizable, “in exchange for your hand in marriage. And I vow never to touch you unless you should desire that I do. Once I’m discharged of my debt to the devil, I offer you my life. You are free to kill me then at your discretion, for I will die willingly at your hand.”
Hazan exhaled shakily beside her, looking uncharacteristically distressed. Out of the corner of her eye, Alizeh glimpsed Kamran and Huda, too, who’d been so silent she’d nearly forgotten they were still in the room. Everyone looked rattled and grim, though none were as disturbed as she. Once more, Cyrus spoke:
Should you choose to accept my oath,
my blood is yours to claim.
Wear my pledge upon your back,
then speak aloud my name.
Alizeh was breathing hard now, her eyes wild as she turned to Hazan, who offered her a nod of confirmation. With trembling hands, she reached for the cloak, which was warm and slippery under her hands. A powerful wave of revulsion nearly unbalanced her then, and she worried she might actually be sick.
“Your Majesty,” said Hazan. “Are you all right?”
