“Welcome, the good people of Calcatra,” the seven voices intone, their eerie unison quenching all other sounds.
They stand in perfect formation in front of us, their thin, bloodless lips, moving in flawless synchrony. “Tonight, you meet your Champions, witness their magic, and hear their promises. They stand before you, vying to be your next Archpriest or Archpriestess. It is you, with your prayers, who will determine their power in the Challenges ahead.So choose wisely.”
Then, as if pulled by unseen strings, the Sibyls raise their arms. And point at me.
A hush ripples through the crowd and my stomach drops.
I’d suspected they might call me first. Most likely because I’m seen as the weakest, the least favored. Still, I tell myself it’s better this way. Better to face it now than stand here stewing in my doubts, measuring myself against everyone else.
My cheeks burn, and my magic stirs in protest, writhing beneath my skin. I force my legs to move, stepping forward, the weight of a thousand eyes crushing against my back.
The Sibyls’s mutilated faces turned toward me—not seeing, not hearing, only knowing.
And yet, I feel them watching. Judging.
I bite my cheek and force a slow exhale. As I reach the center, my gaze instinctively seeks out Ryker. But instead, my eyes collide with Mael’s.
His narrowed eye is locked on me, a grin on his face. I hold back a grimace. It helps to imagine slipping a touch of rot into his teeth-cleaning powder sometime soon. Just enough to yellow that smug smile.
“Raylane Troubelle,” the Sibyls’ voices ring out again. “Godbound of the Goddess of Blood and Decay, show the good people of Calcatra what you have to offer.”
My heart stutters. What do I have to offer?
My fingers twitch involuntarily, drifting to the crimson strand of hair that marks me as cursed. I catch them halfway, pressing my palms flat against my thighs.
The silence stretches, until the crowd shifts, most likely growing restless with my inaction.
“Go away!” a man’s voice cuts through the space. “We don’t care for Calista, and we don’t care for you!”
Approving laughter follows.
I lift my chin, eyes scanning the sea of faces that blur together. They want a show. They want excitement, a spectacle they can talk about for days.
But my magic is restless and dangerous. If I unleash it here, if I let them see what lurks inside me, will they see me as anything other than a monster?
And when the adrenaline fades and they are left to make their choice, what will they remember?
My pulse is a wild, frantic drum against my ribs. The weight of the crowd’s anticipation crushes me. If I stand here, frozen in silence, I will lose them. If I give them the destruction they hunger for, I will lose myself.
No. There is another way. I can’t give them the show they crave.
But I can give them something different. Something lasting.
I can give them hope.
The realization settles like a steady flame in my chest. Slow at first, flickering, but then growing, catching, spreading.
If I can’t give them magic, I will give them my voice.
Let them call it useless. Let them scoff. Let them doubt me.
And if I have to fall, at least I will not go down silent.
I inhale, peel off my gloves, and let them fall. My blackened fingers are exposed as I speak.
“You all know my name. You all know why I stand before you.” My voice is steady, but my fingers are begging to tremble at my sides. “You have heard the whispers, the rumors of my shame, of my curse. But do you know how it happened?”
I let the silence stretch. My gaze finds Ryker again and this time, I don’t look away. If he refuses to seek the truth, I’ll drag it to his feet. He doesn’t have to care. But he will hear me.
