The other brides have vanished behind me, their boats scattered across the fog like stars across a clouded sky.
Alone, I float in silence, the kind that stretches too long and too wide. Even my breath feels like an interruption.
The paddle rests in my hands, slick with dew and rose oil. I dip it in, but the water resists. It clings to the wood, almost sticky. The mist coils tighter around the boat like a second skin. I pause,the blade hovering above the lake’s surface. The torches flicker, but there is no wind. The moon above me stutters as if blinking.
It’s too quiet.
No birds. Not even ripples. My own heartbeat itself feels muted. The silence presses against me, suffocating and watchful. The kind of silence that comesbefore.
And then something shifts.
I feel it before I see it. The temperature drops. The torches gutter. I instinctively freeze, holding my breath.
There.A shadow.
It stretches across the water first, its wings blotting out the moon in one fell swoop. The surface ripples violently, as if the lake itself were recoiling from it. My heart pounds, and my nerve falters.
Then the first scream tears through the dark.
The jagged sound pierces the mist like an assassin’s blade, followed by a flash of red—too bright, too fast, and far too cruel to be natural.
I twist in the canoe, realizing the other boats have disappeared around me. Then a ruthless burst of wind hits, slamming into the side of my boat and nearly capsizing it. I throw myself low, fingers digging into the wooden rim. Another scream—closer now. A thunderous roar shakes the air itself, ancient and hungry. It tears through the mist and vibrates my very bones.
I whip my head to the sky but find nothing.
The wind returns with a vengeance, churning the water below my suddenly fragile boat, my only lifeline in a place between worlds.
Then everything tilts, and I’m pulled—no, pushed—under.
The lake becomes a mouth, wide and merciless. I sink fast, the dress dragging me down like a net. My lungs seize. I fight, kicking, clawing at the dark.
Something scrapes my leg.
I wrench the knife from my bodice and slash wildly at whatever the blade can find. The dress. The weight. The memory. The fear.
It finds its target, and I hear a shriek. Whatever weight was submerging me releases me.
I surface with a gasp and thrash toward the broken edge of the boat. My fingers latch on, trembling, and I haul myself halfway in, only to be submerged yet again.
The beast’s roar cleaves the mist, vibrating my bones and completely shattering the boat.
I’m dragged underwater again. Panic surging in my chest, I twist and swim blindly forward, my lungs screaming in protest. My shoulder slams into something sharp—stone or bone, I can’t tell.
Finally, I break the surface with a scream, but the noise is strangled in my throat as hot pain sears across my palm—right where the Oracle cut me. I cry out, cradling my hand. It glows, blood-red and pulsing.
Blistering.Burning.
I dunk it into the lake, desperate for relief, but instead of soothing the burn, the water only hisses.Boils.The mark starts to blister, veins of red threading from the wound like lightning under my skin.
Then the sky ignites.
A column of flame splits the heavens, lighting the lake in blinding red and gold. As if from a distance, I hear myself scream as I move to shield my eyes. An instant later, the heat hits.
I remember the first time I was burned. The sickening smell. The way my skin bubbled. The silence that followed.
And the fear. The helpless, crawling fear.
Another roar rends the sky like a war horn.
