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“May they present to the Goddess for the record,” the first robed figure said.

Natalie stepped to the side, moving until she stood behind us with the others. The robed person looked over Sloane before settling on me. For some reason, it felt like they saw right through me. Despite the clothing, I felt exposed.

“You have been chosen by the Goddess and brought to the Grand Rite for a higher purpose,” they said. “You have sacrificed everything of yours in order to be found worthy of this honor. May you, on this sixty-second iteration of our sacred tradition, be found a worthy offering so that you may bring continued peace and prosperity to Avicourt and the five kingdoms.”

They closed the distance, one of the others walking up to my sister, lowering their hood. Their hair was a light brown, cut in the same severe way, the same dots running along their neck—though this person had fewer of them.

What did they even mean?

“It is an honor for Freia to bless us with siblings once again,” the robed person said, their gaze locked on me as they pulled a large feather from beneath their robes, completely unmarred. They paused, the feather held out between us, like they were… waiting for something. I had no idea what I was supposed to do. Sloane shuffled beside me, clearly unnerved as well.

As the silence extended, Natalie leaned toward us.

“Tell them your full name so that you may be added to the book and marked for the Grand Rite.”

Marked? I eyed the feather. Were they going to write something on me like the double exes when I’d go partying before I was legally allowed to drink?

I swallowed to wet my mouth before clearing my throat. Sloane’s whisper was lost on the sudden ocean breeze. With difficulty, I forced my attention to the person in front of me.

“Amethyst Webb,” I said.

The person didn’t move, the feather still held between us.

“Hold out your hand, sweetheart.” Natalie’s voice was gentle, like she was talking to a spooked animal.

I did as she instructed, unnerved by the unwavering, unblinking stare of the person in front of me. They set the tip of the feather on the fleshy spot between my thumb and pointer finger. They pressed it until it hurt and blood welled around the tip. I cried out, my hand spasming, but no one moved to intervene. After a moment, ink spilled out from the wound, swirling inside my skin.

It took every ounce of self-preservation to keep from punching the strange person and clawing my sister away from them, too.

“Amethyst Webb, daughter of Ephraim,” the person said.

Their voice hollowed out, echoing around me as if we stood inside a cathedral. Yet it was so piercing, it felt as if it originated within me, too, like the heavy beat of a club remix. It made my head pulse with pain.

And who the fuck was Ephraim?

“Freia welcomes you to the Grand Rite. May you bring honor to the Goddess.”

All at once, the ink stopped moving.

They pulled the tip out of my skin and, without a word, stepped away from me. As the person in front of Sloane followed the same pattern, they tucked the quill under their robe and replaced their hood. Their face became indiscernible between one moment and the next.

“May you be blessed by Freia in the heart of Magefall.”

It was impossible to know which robed person said it.

As soon as they disappeared without a sound, the guards drifted to other points around the small encampment and Natalie quietly ordered us to follow her. The tent she led us to was dark and cramped but not completely inhospitable—designed for use rather than comfort. Two small cots sitting only a few inches from the ground took up most of the space, a small sliver of floor between them. I slowly eased onto the edge of one of them, trying to keep my face blank. Sloane sat next to me, resting her head on my shoulder.

Natalie didn’t follow us into the tent, though she left the flaps pulled back, revealing the slowly darkening sky.

I carefully twisted my hand, flexing my fingers to try to relieve the lingering burning from the quill. The tattoo sat stark against my pale skin. The ink was a light green, similar to the robes the people had worn, arranged into the strangest ‘f’ with the horizontal lines pitched down at an angle inside a solid circle of ink. It looked, above all things, like a brand. Nerves tightened my throat, but I forced them down.

I tilted my head back and breathed carefully, the throbbing in my temples nearly incessant now. Sloane quietly picked up my hand, massaging each finger with a light but intentional touch. She’d taken a few classes about alternative healings last year. I didn’t have the heart to tell her the methods she learned never worked on me, though.

When she pulled away, I refocused on her, my vision swimming at the edges. Her eyes darted to the tent’s opening and then back to me.

“Should we run?” she asked. “Try and find the place we woke up?”

I bit my lip. I didn’t want to freak her out, but the pessimist in me wasn’t really interested in trying to run. Being stabbed by one of those guards? Definitely not something I wanted to experience.