breath. I knew she was right. This was exactly what Damien had been afraid of. If I was caught here, his father would force him to kill me. I remembered Tobias’s tortured face in the woods. I couldn’t let that happen to Damien. From the state of his private study, he was already suffering from my absence. This could break him.
The stage. My eyes widened as I realized Damien was still up there, along with the remaining chosen. I hadn’t seen Jamie or Loralie, but for all I knew they could be up in front, where the king could keep an eye on them. Whatever was going to happen in the citadel, it hadn’t happened yet. Maybe there was still time to stop it.
“What did you do?” I asked, shaking her shoulders. “What about the ceremony?”
“There are always sacrifices in war.”
She spoke this with a cruel detachment, almost hatred. I briefly remembered the bite marks I’d seen on her neck once, at breakfast. At the time, I’d assumed it was Damien, but now I questioned it. Unlike me, she’d grown up in the citadel. I couldn’t imagine the horrors she’d seen over the years.
“What if it were me up there,” I asked, more softly this time. “As it was supposed to have been?”
“Then your honeymoon would have been a short affair,” she said coldly.
I shoved Claire out of the way and raced down the stairs. I didn’t have time to go back over the rooftops. I had my gloves on and my hood up, but everyone was so fixated on the ceremony, they wouldn’t see me even if I were standing right in front of them.
All the chosen were on stage now, next to their elite matches. I paused to scan the crowd and couldn’t help taking in some of the spectacle. The girls were wearing long, teal dresses and bridal veils, and the elite in handsome white suits. They were reciting vows, following after the head curate, who had a staff and a round cap pinned to his nest of coiled hair. His gold eyelashes fluttered as he recited the liturgy, in flowing purple robes. Then King Richard raised his hands, his gold crown sparkling, and announced, “you may now feed the bride. Blood of our race, given freely to our beloved choice.”
The girls responded, “blood of our race, given freely to feed your strength.”
Then, as one, the elite, using a silver, barbed thimble like I’d seen Damien use, punctured their wrists and held their arm up for their chosen to drink. I watched with morbid fascination. This wasn’t the distant, theoretical practice of the renewal centers of my youth, where the curate would place a drop of elixir on my tongue and tell us stories about the Before and how King Richard had saved everyone. This was visceral and raw.
A few of the chosen hesitated, Mary among them, but most latched on immediately, taking a few greedy sips before assistants gently pulled them away, holding up their hair and handing the elite a small cloth to wipe the wound. A few of the brides had blood around their mouths, which dripped onto their pale dresses; blossoming through the thin material and forming large, intricate rose petals of crimson. It looked like an engineered effect, rather than an accident, and the crowd clapped in response. Everyone was smiling, and even Jessica looked happy – triumphant.
I wondered if she’d also been named Champion in my absence. It seemed so long ago now that I’d wanted to win, to save my mother. Part of me was jealous to be missing out. And there was another part of me, hidden deeper, that was envious of the elixir. I could smell it, even at this distance – I could see it in the bright sheen of their skin and the light in their eyes. I licked my lips, I could almost taste it.
But then I glanced through the crowd. There was a heightened anticipation, an eagerness as they leaned forward hungrily, waiting for whatever came next. I saw movement, and caught a glimpse of a stained wrist or palm, jagged crimson on white fingertips, followed by the flash of steel. The rebels were here, and whatever was about to happen, it was now. I had to get everyone off the stage.
A pair of large oil lanterns were hanging on either side of the stage. I grabbed the wooden stake from beneath my cloak and flung it as hard as I could. It pierced