She didn’t choose me.
No. She’drefusedme.
Her words crashed through my skull, louder than the ringing silence, louder than the gasps and muffled sounds of fear that were filling the room.She will be the ruin of us all.
What did that mean? What had I done?
The girls beside me were edging away as if I was carrying the Dread.
I ignored them, reaching for the High Priestess, my fingers scraping at the empty air, desperate to bridge the distance she’d created. “Please,” I managed, the word cracking in the silence. The High Priestess didn’t turn. I took a stumbling step after her. “You don’t understand,” I said, my voice breaking on the edges of the plea. “Look at me.”
She kept moving, her head held high, as though she hadn’t heard. I lunged forward, but hands caught my arms before I could reach her.
A snarl tore from my throat as I turned, ready to fight whoever dared hold me back—only to find the servants clutching my arms. Their faces were bloodless, eyes blown wide with something closer to horror than duty. Their hold was steady, but their fingers quivered against my skin, like they also feared I carried some lingering curse. I kept struggling until one of them leaned in and hissed, “Enough. Go quietly, or they’ll take it out on your village.”
The words struck like cold water, stealing the fight from my limbs. I froze, every thought collapsing into that single, awful truth. I wouldn’t,couldn’t, bring more suffering to Amyklai. Not when I’d already failed them.
My shoulders dropped, the strength bleeding out of me until even breathing felt like a burden. The weight of it all settled heavy in my chest, turning to ash in a single breath. I let them guide me toward the door, numb and unresisting, my body moving where theirs led while my heart beat on uselessly.
Everything I had carried, years of training, of being told this was my destiny, my duty … it had been ripped out from under me. Whatever had lived inside me, the hope, the drive, the belief that I was meant for more, that I could save Amyklai … it had gone silent.
Not shattered. Not even broken.
Just … gone. Like it had never been mine to begin with.
I hadn’t been chosen.
I had failed.
And whatever I had been before that moment … I wasn’t anymore.
Chapter11
My steps felt too loud, too clumsy against the floor. The gauze of my veil fluttered at my shoulders, catching on the breeze stirred by our passing. But I felt nothing. Not the eyes following me. Not the ache in my chest.
The servants didn’t speak until we reached the archway leading out of the chamber and the door had been closed behind us. One of them glanced at me, then quickly away again. “You’ll join the other guests in the Great Hall.”
The Great Hall.
I had pictured that moment a thousand times—entering Menelaus’s famed hall as my village’s champion.
Instead, I was a shadow slipping down a corridor that smelled of incense, erased like footprints in the sand. I didn’t realize my hands had curled into fists until my nails bit into my palms. Hard enough to leave crescents of pain. Hard enough to feelsomething.
I moved toward the wall without thought, drifting to where the others waited, every girl who’d been rejected like me. They stood scattered like forgotten statues, their veils still in place.
One girl was weeping so violently her veil fluttered with each shallow breath. Another was on the floor, arms wrapped around her knees, rocking in small, broken motions. A few whispered behind their coverings, urgent and hushed, their voices filled with confusion or quiet despair. Someone let out a soft whimper before smothering it beneath her palm. Another choked on a sob, fingers clutched tight around the pillar beside her like it might keep her from unraveling completely.
I stared at the floor, my throat raw, the ache in my chest festering like rot.
The doors opened again behind me with a dull groan, and more girls spilled out. Some stumbled, their steps faltering like they no longer trusted the ground.Others moved in silence, their shoulders hunched, heads bowed as if even the stones might condemn them.
A woman in crimson robes appeared at the mouth of the hall, her hands clasped tightly at her waist, her posture rigid with long-suffering duty. She was older, with paper-thin lips and a narrow, pinched face that might once have been pretty before bitterness pillaged it out. A single curl of silver hair had slipped loose from her tight braid, but she didn’t bother to fix it. Her eyes flicked over us like we were something sour.
“Take off your veils,” she said, her voice clipped and satisfied in the way people sound when they’re telling you something cruel. “You won’t be needing them anymore.”
She turned before any of us could move, robes hissing against the stone as she walked.
We were silent for a moment, and then, one by one, the girls began to lift their veils, pulling the gauzy fabric back from their tearstained faces. Some did it with shaking hands. Others, stiff and resigned.
