“A life was taken beyond pardon,” the monk with the blade speaks, drawing my attention back to the ritual. “The debt stands. Let blood speak where words have failed.”
The monk extends his hand to Nix. Right then, Nix meets my gaze. Without hesitation, she puts her hand in his, palm facing upwards.
I’m locked, unable to look anywhere but at her. From the corner of my eye, I can see the monk bring the gold-tipped point of the blade to the middle of her palm.
She doesn’t even flinch when the blade pierces her skin. It’s a deep cut. Blood pours down her palm, right into the bowl between us.
“The throne acknowledges the cost,” all four monks say.
Then, it’s my turn.
One of the monks offers Nix a clean white cloth and she wraps it around her wound. The monk with the blade turns to me.
I offer him my palm before he even asks for it.
The monks recite cold words. “What was taken will be answered.”
It stings when the blade cuts the middle of my palm, but I remain still as stone. The monk guides my bleeding hand over the bronze bowl and I look down as my blood drips.
I’m startled at the sight.
The sky blue water swirls with Nix’s blood, and when my blood hits the mixture, it whooshes in the same way the dark ocean waves do right before they break on the shore and then turns a color I’ve never witnessed in my life.
The feelings it evokes surprise me.
It’s the color of heavy grief that winds tight around one’s heart when one loses someone they love. When one can hear and feel the good memories, the warmth of a loved one’s laugh, the sparkle of happiness in their eyes, but can never have it again.
I inhale sharply when Cecile’s face appears at the front of my mind. Her kind blue eyes and blond curls, the pretty mouth growing into a wide grin.
Frowning, I shake my head to try rid myself of the image.
One monk lifts the bronze bowl just as carefully as he had set it down and pours the odd liquid into a goblet that another monk holds.
It hits me then.
The next step.
My stomach churns only at the thought.
The monks offer the goblet to Nix first. She takes it and brings it to her lips with cold, ruthless confidence.
“This bond is sealed,” the monks say.
My gaze is locked on Nix’s throat as she swallows.
Then, it’s my turn.
I reach for the goblet with trembling hands. A chill runs down my spine when I look down at the liquid.
I don’t hesitate, though.
I must do it.
I want to do it.
This is my path.
The only way forward.
