The banana I ate for breakfast didn’t taste so great coming back up.
“I do nothingbuttry,” I bite out through clenched teeth, every muscle in my body burning as I push up onto my hands, strings of spit clinging to my cheek, my heavy braid dragging along the stone like a dead snake.
A set of waves drum against the walls with such violence, it sounds like the space is full of thunder.
I picture the next set bigger.
Angrier.
Picture it battering the bold, blue stone until it caves, releasing a torrent that drowns the place like a blood-filled lung.
“Then why are you making no progress?”
Arms trembling to hold my weight, I groan, the sound cut short when my spine arches and I spill another burping splat.
I’ll never eat bananas again.
“Tell me …” He drifts closer, his hooded robe a gray blur in my peripheral. “Doyouthink you deserve this?”
“Deserve what? To be vomiting my guts all over your scribed floor?”
“To be theHigh Mistress. To be with this great man who has chosenyouabove all others.”
I laugh, low and hollow, staring at the tiny words etched in the stone, illuminated by a beam of light pouring through a hole in the ceiling.
… twist and sow
Smother her while she sleeps or catch the lethal grace.
My stomach knots on a retch that rips my throat, leaving the taste of blood thick on my tongue.
“This is a waste of time,” I grind out. “My worth shouldn’t be defined by my ability to climb out of a stupid pool.”
“Bowl,” he corrects, and I snarl, another dry heave cramping my guts. “And whether you agree with it or not is of no consequence. This is the way things are done. May I suggest you pour less energy into complaining about one of our greatest traditions and more into conformity.”
The words burn more than the slur of bile scalding the back of my throat.
Conformity.
I bunch my hands into fists, force my knees up under myself, and push to my feet—standing before Elder Creed on legs that can barely hold my weight. Behind him, the electric eels twist and turn, bumping against their glass cage.
His head tilts to the side, face a shadowed hollow I’m forced to sketch from my imagination. “Do you have something you’d like to say, Mistress?”
So many things.
Too many things.
The entrance doors open, and Cainon appears at the top of the stairs, arms folded, looking down on us.
I swallow the words. Pack them somewhere deep and dark.
“No,” I mutter, turning toward the bowl, easing my shoulder into a stretch as I prepare to leap back in again. “No, I don’t.”
* * *
Iset the blade on the pad of my finger and give it a flick, feeling the sharp tip pierce my skin as it spins. A bulb of blood dribbles free …
I close my eyes and picture feeding it into that crystal goblet.
