It’s almost a relief when two platters sweep into my line of vision and serve as a distraction.
I swallow when I see it’s the same book.
“This is your new bible. Our god is a jealous god, and we kneel before no other than this one.”
He hands me a tome. My fingers brush over it, and I have the disconcerting suspicion that it’s made from skin. Human skin.Oh, fuck.
“We will expect you to know these pages front to back. This is your past, your present, and your future. You will live and die by these words. Especially if you allow another to access the contents.
“Do you understand?”
“I understand,” I bluster.
“I understand.” Hell, Wynter sounds frailer than I do.
To the cheer from the crowd, a pillow pops up in front of me.
It’s a ring. Like a sovereign’s.
It matches Dyers’s.
“Wear these for official events only,” we’re told.
“Now, where are your coins?”
It takes a few seconds for me to remember my Hispania coin. And Darius Harrington’s.
“It’s a rare thing for a member to gain two. Never mind another half.” Alaric accepts our coins into his possession and tumbles them in his hand. To me, he remarks, “We’ll expect great things from you, Sister Egilona.”
Oh, goodie. NOT!
“Please rise,” the leader orders.
Wynter nearly tumbles into me before she catches herself. And I’m thankful she did because I doubt I could have propped her up without both of us falling over.
Men lay black velvet cloaks onto our shoulders.
Alaric hovers a chalice under our noses. At first glance, I don’t recognize it. Then the leader holds it low enough for us to see that it’s… God. Blood. Dyers’sblood.
“You honor your brothers with your actions tonight. There are few pledges who make such an impact on their very first evening as one of us.
“You wear this as a badge of pride, knowing that as sisters of the Veronians, you have accomplished more than most of your brothers.”
A pin dropping would be louder than a hurricane in the deathly silence from the crowd.
The leader dips his thumb into the blood and scrawls a “V” onto my forehead.
I’m not sure how I don’t gag.
Wynter moans, just low enough for me to hear as Alaric anoints her with Dyers’s blood.
When the leader’s hands press onto our shoulders, in a low voice, he murmurs, “Turn and face your brothers.”
Like marionettes, we comply.
The lights illuminate our audience and we are in darkness.
Spots from the sudden shift dance at the front of my vision, making me blink as hundreds of men come into focus.
