Blood Moon.
The words flow through the air and lock around my throat, squeezing until every inhale turns shallow and my pulse kicks up, but I hold myself still as this is what I’ve been waiting for. This is it.
Across the circle, a blur of colour catches my attention as JC drops onto Lucien’s shoulder, followed a heartbeat later by Nex landing beside Darren. My attention follows them instinctively,searching for Ahria among the flashes of wings and scales, but she’s not there. She disappeared halfway up the climb, and I can’t stop thinking that the next time I see her, her jaws will be parted, ready to burn me alive.
Lucien keeps his attention fixed on Magda, but Darren’s eyes keep flicking between Neeve and me, panic bright in his face every time he looks at her, and something far darker whenever he glares at me.
But I don't turn away.
Neevechoseto enter, I didn’t force her.
We will both get through this ceremony alive and tomorrow, we’ll be bonded riders.
But even as I think it, a bitter certainty crawls up from my stomach and coats my tongue, as I know something is going to go wrong.
Movement at the edge of the circle pulls my focus forward again, to where a frail old woman is shuffling into place beside Magda, her eyes distant and glassy. And she’s buried beneath so many layers of colourful wool that I can’t tell whether she’s plump beneath it all or painfully thin.
I’m assuming she’s the Dragon Shaman Neeve told me about, the one who hosts the ceremony and apparently lives up here with the unbonded creatures and never comes down.
Magda bows as the old woman stops before her, then lowers herself to take a strange object from the Shaman’s arms. It’s long and purple, curved slightly like some overgrown root vegetable. It’s clearly full of liquid, because Magda’s hands dip beneath its weight, her shoulders tensing as she draws it carefully against her chest.
“Only those who drink from the Vega fruit will enter the ceremony.” Magda lifts the purple object as she scans around the circle. “If you wish to enter the Blood Moon and risk your life over the next few hours for the chance to bond, then drink.If you do not, simply pass the vessel to the next person. Anyone can enter Blood Moon, there are no rules or exceptions. Some of you may have had dreams. Some of you may have not. But either way, do not choose hastily, because once you drink, there isnogoing back.”
Swallowing against the pressure clamping tighter around my throat, I look past Ezzy to Neeve, whose fingers are tangled in her long braid, twisting it around and around like she can wind the fear out of herself. I follow her wide eyes to where she’s watching the Shaman lowering herself into the centre of the circle, her head almost disappearing into the layers of wool, while beside her Magda moves over to Lucien with the purple vessel held carefully in both hands. Lucien bows as she stops before him, taking it from her before immediately turning to pass it to Darren beside him.
Counting quickly, I realise we’re about a third of the way around the circle from him, and as the vessel starts being passed from hand to hand, I suddenly feel too hot and too cold all at once, every layer of clothing clinging too close, my skin prickling beneath it.
Ezzy shifts beside me, her knees bouncing as her fingers fidget nervously in her lap. Lifting my hand, I settle it over hers, giving it a small squeeze, and she gives me an uneasy smile back, though I don’t know why. She isn’t the one about to drink some hallucinogenic plant juice and have her Threads—her future—ripped wide open for the dragons to judge.
Across from us, the vessel keeps moving, shifting closer and closer, and with every hand it passes through, the rhythm in my own chest starts to beat harder, faster, until I can feel it pulsing against my ribs. Everyone bows as they receive it. Some hesitate. Some pause. Some even lift it halfway to their mouths before thinking better of it, but no one drinks. They simply pass it to the next person.
Shit. What if I’m the only person who enters?
Even Neeve might still change her mind, and I don’t think it makes any difference to my odds, not really, but the thought of being up here alone, of stepping into whatever this is with no one else beside me?—
Still, the vessel keeps moving. No one speaks, and the world seems to narrow to the roar of the waterfalls above and the frantic ticking of my pulse in my ears, then, about a quarter of the way around, someone lets out a small gasp as the recruit beside them lifts the fruit and drinks.
A shrill cry erupts from the centre of the circle, and my stomach flips so hard it almost climbs into my mouth as the dragon lady throws both arms into the air, shaking some rattling thing in celebration.
“Oh, Stars,” Ezzy whispers, dropping her hand from mine. “It’s Lee.”
“What?” My head snaps to the circle, to where One-eyed fucking Lee is lowering the hollowed-out purple vessel from his mouth. His single eye narrows on mine as he wipes his lips, a slight curve pulling at them before he passes the vessel to the person beside him.
My fists curl. God, what’s his bloody problem? Quickly, I make a mental reminder to myself to not soften his landing as much next time we have a demonstration.
The recruit beside him hesitates, staring down into the fruit like it might bite him, but Lee nudges him hard with his elbow, just enough to make him jolt, and after one shaky breath, the recruit lifts it and drinks too.
This time, the dragon lady doesn’t scream. I guess it must only be for the first person, and the purple vessel keeps drifting closer in silence and no one else drinks until it lands in Neeve’s hands.
Suddenly the air feels too thin to breathe.
I want her to be happy. I do. I want her to get her dragon, the red one from her dreams that I know must be waiting for her, but then I notice Darren across the circle and, for one awful second, I wonder if maybe he’s right.
Lucien said the Blood Moon was like a lottery.
And lotteries don’t care how badly you want to win.
Darren doesn’t take his eyes off Neeve, tears swelling behind them as his brows lift and he gives the smallest shake of his head, not angry now, not even stern, just desperate, silently begging her not to do it.
