Page 111

Nickolai continued with his sermon, and Jarek shot an impatient breath out of his nose. He had time to explore the rest of the distant districts, but he didn’t want to miss the ceremony. Jarek’s gaze drifted around the chapel’s disheveled occupants. A woman next to him returned his glance, her dusty and gray streaked hair plastered to her face. Her pasty skin was covered in deep red gashes, and her eyelids dripped low like melted wax.

Jarek averted his gaze.

“Now for the binding.”

Stepping down from the lowest pew and onto the stage with the minister was a young man, the youngest in the room. One with bronze skin, dark hair, and a sharp face.

Nickolai bowed low, as did every assistant who followed him to the center of the church. Low hums spilled from their throats in a quiet hymn that dripped a chill down Jarek’s spine. The young man dropped his cloak, leaving himself completely nude in the bitter cold. His ever-changing emotions ran pale.

Nickolai gently lifted a long, gleaming dagger off a plate offered to him by one of his assistants.

The sanctum minister extended his hand, and the man placed his atop, palm up. Quickly and gracefully, Nickolai lifted the dagger and pricked the man’s middle finger. A small bead of blood seeped from the wound, and the minister stepped away, toward the back wall. He spoke as he reached inside a jagged hole in the rock wall with his knife.

“To be bound is to surrender to the sun’s will, to let its essence flow through us. It is an act of complete submission. It is not weakness, but a source of strength, endurance, and dedication that is justly rewarded!”

He pulled it out and lifted the dagger high in the air as the artificial joints clicked under his skin. Jarek tensed as the Serpent raced through his veins. Every head in the room dropped, one row after the other, conceding complete silence to the unnerving, rhythmic humming. The man swallowed, and his cloud of fear rippled until it was dark.

Jarek gritted his teeth, now realizing why Kyer warned him not to come as he resisted every urge to intervene.

How far could the Diseased Serpent take him before his body gave out completely? How much damage could he cause before Brialis released her hive of drugged Swarm to stop him? He could ignite a mine, bring down the church feeding into this ridiculous worship, even end Brialis’ life alongside his. Was playing Amalia’s long game worth it when he could help these people now?

The Serpent sped through his veins the longer the thought lingered. If he did damn Kyer’s trust, Jarek would be no different than Draven. He’d never learn what happened to the Vulpes; Amalia’s cause would lose a valuable asset, and he’d leave Lilith alone to clean up his mess.

Jarek clenched his fist until his knuckles were sore, taking in the man’s fear and holding it there.

Nickolai continued, “May this union be a beacon of unwavering loyalty, a testament to your commitment, and a source of strength and longevity. I pray it accepts your body and soul.”

He placed the tip of the knife to the droplet of blood. The man—his back turned to the crowd—lifted his hand after Nickolai took a long step back. Wide eyed, he glanced at the minister, and Jarek caught his first look at the lemony yellow soul he carried. Everyone in the church was silent, watching with bated breaths.

The man opened his mouth to speak then turned rigid, his fear searing in Jarek’s palm. An ear-piercing wail left his throat as he fell to his knees, gripping his wrist. Jarek straightened, mouth agape. Every vein in his hand darkened, and his fingers turned stiff as a slurry of black replaced his blood. He screamed, tears running down his cheek as streaks of thin black strands twisted and curled under his flesh. Nickolai motioned for his assistants. Two grabbed each of his arms under his shoulders, lifted and dragged him backwards to the soft sand outlining the rocky stage. The man was pressed against the wall, flailing and crying, but unable to pry himself away.

In a practiced rush, one assistant placed his palm against the man’s chest. A sickening tear of flesh silenced his cries before the assistant was finished. When he pulled back to kneel, a yellow soul now danced in his palms just before the arm of the sacrificed exploded like stretched thin fabric, ripping and revealing a spike of hardened ghostsoil. His limp body peeled away as the ghostsoil overtook him and filled the silence with scraping rock against rock.

It was over in seconds.

A shimmering spear jutted out of his mouth, leaving nothing that resembled a once living man, only an addition to the graveyard at the bottom of the church.

Nickolai sighed. “Devout as we are”—he gestured around him—“total purity is not possible for us all. This balance is beyond our mortal understanding, even if the body and spirit is as so to our eyes.” He looked through the pews. Click, click. “The flesh is weak, but vitality is everlasting. The tragic loss of one precious body may be a part of a more significant design that we are not meant to fully comprehend in this moment. Take heed at this time and—”

Nickolai’s words sputtered, and he gasped. Jarek released the man’s fear, gifting it to the minister.

He tore up the stairs and out into the snow.

Chapter Twenty-Two

Aslap on his shoulder sent his blood boiling.

“Are you listening to me?”

Jarek rolled away from Sterling. Blinking away his mental state from what he witnessed yesterday, he lifted his head, blocking out the harsh, descending sun with a hand. They were almost back at the lodge. Already?

“I’m ignoring you,” Jarek groused.

“You mean to tell me you don’t want to listen to my complaining? Here I was thinking I was starting to miss you after being gone for weeks on end.”

“That implies we enjoy listening to you talk at all,” Jarek said.

Up ahead, Maude snickered.