Page 57 of Heart of the Raven Prince

The fire hisses beside me, the wood snapping and popping as Sorcia pulls one final item out of her pack and walks to me. She holds up a bottle, waving it at me as she says, “The moon has to be at its highest point for the ritual. I thought we could have a drink to celebrate as we wait for it to rise.”

I grin as she opens the bottle, handing it to me first. I’m buzzing with nerves and could use something to calm them. I press the bottle to my lips and tip it back. It’s not the wine I was expecting, but something thicker, and richer. It coats my mouth and my throat instantly. The flavor is bitter and smoky, and the moment it hits my tongue, it numbs it. I sway, suddenly unsteady on my feet.

“Woah, what kind of…” I shake my head, my ears suddenly full of a loud ringing. My vision is beginning to blur as I stumble again. The world is tilting, gravity pushing down on my shoulders. My knees buckle and I fall, hitting the ground hard on my back. My tongue feels too thick, and far too heavy, and I slur my words as I say, “Sorcia, what did you give me?”

Panic is trying to rise in me as my mind attempts to make sense of what’s happening. I can drink men bigger than me under the table with little effort, one sip of this liquor shouldn’t be hitting me like it is. Sorcia comes into view, standing over me, staring down at me with those eyes that remind me of the sky. A smile stretches across her face, and for some reason I’m overcome with the sense that I’m in danger.

“S…Sor…cia…”

“Sleep now, Caden, you will need it for what comes next.” Her words chase me as darkness opens up around me and drowns me in it.

One moment I know nothing but cold.

The next all I know is pain.

The scream that rips out of my throat is loud enough to have the birds roosting in the trees around us suddenly take flight. My chest is on fire. I try to turn my head, try to see what is happening, but something is wrong, my body won’t respond to me. All I can see is the night sky glittering with stars, and the full moon shining down on me like a beacon. Agony slices through me, my cries sending more birds flying. I think they’re ravens. It’s an odd thing to focus on when it feels as though my chest is being carved open.

“Shh, Caden, hush now,” Sorcia says, her voice suddenly close to my ear, her hands on my face. She tilts my face to the side, pulling it from the sight of the night sky, and looking instead at the fire in front of me. The small campfire I built is now a raging bonfire, easily ten times its size. It casts harsh, jagged shadows across the clearing, and in those shadows, I can see cloaked figures dancing.

I feel the moment one of my ribs is snapped, then another. I try to jerk away from the pain, but I am paralyzed. It feels like someone has cut a hole in my chest and is breaking the bones over my heart. And Sorcia does nothing to stop it. She’s holding the book I stole from my father and caressing it.

“Sorcia,” I plead, my voice cracking and breaking as she cradles the book to her chest. I’m so confused, so lost entirely to the agony that tries to split me in two. I can’t make sense of what’s happening. “The…the ritual, is this the rit—”

“Shh,” she says, placing her finger on my lips. I hold her gaze tight, trying to fight through this pain. If this is the ritual to invoke Niamh, to turn Sorcia to a fae, then I will endure it. To prove to her how much I love her, I grunt through the worst of it and whisper, “Do it, Sorcia. Invoke Niamh.”

The dancing figures cackle around the fire like a pack of howling wolves. Even Sorcia throws her head back, letting out a shriek of laughter before she looks at me again, shaking her head like I have said something foolish.

“Oh, my sweet, blind prince,” she says, leaning forward and placing her hand on my cheek. “You were so easy to catch. You wanted a helpless damsel, and I gave her to you. Someone you could devote your soul to.” Her skin feels like it’s burning in comparison to how cold I am. “Yes, my lovesick little fae, we are invoking a goddess this evening. The true goddess of Fomoria.”

A cry of ecstasy goes up from the dancing throng at her words. Slowly, Sorcia raises the blood red book in front of her face, and with ease she plucks out the thorn. The moment she does, wind whips through the clearing, sending a swirling burst of embers sparking into the sky. The book falls from her hands, hitting the ground with a thud, as though it’s made of iron. The pages rustle in the wind, flipping to the dead center of the book and stilling there.

“We’ve waited so long for this moment,” she calls, her voice swept away by the wind as she raises the thorn in the air. “No longer must we fear death. Niamh only thought to grant us power, but our true goddess will grant us immortal life.” They wail like a horde of banshees as ravens begin circling the clearing, swooping lower and lower, dashing in and out of the fire. I have no idea how they don’t burn.

The dancers begin to chant, and Sorcia joins in. Her eyes change to a red so deep they look black as she brings the thorn closer and closer to that gaping, searing wound in my chest.

“Sorcia, please,” I beg, struggling against the drug that is still controlling my limbs, keeping me useless on the ground. My voice breaks when I say, “I thought you loved me.”

“Oh, Caden,” she croons, leaning close as she presses the tip of the thorn closer. “I love what you will become.”

Then she stabs the thorn into my heart.

Like a weed it grows, sprouting needle-sharp vines that burrow deep inside of me. Pain races through me, my blood boils, my bones snapping one by one. The torture doesn’t end. It will never end. I know now that I am always going to live in this eternal state of agony. My vision comes and goes, filtering between horrific images of the dancing, chanting people that circle the fire, to complete and utter blackness. I prefer the moments of unconsciousness. The pain does not go away, but at least I don’t have to watch what is happening.

What I helped make happen.

Sorcia digs her hands into my chest. I’m sure the pain doubles; I can’t really tell. When everything is unending suffering, there’s really no discerning between pain and more pain. I wish I would black out again, wish my vision would blur and obscure my view as Sorcia pulls my heart from my chest. It’s still beating in her hands, sinewy bits snapping off it as she rips it completely free. I think I cough up blood when that happens. I think I die. It’s hard to tell. The dangling bits of veins are twisting and curling, changing into slithering vines of thorns that sprout from the center of my heart.

My heart…how am I alive without my heart?

The fire is rising, blocking out everything, casting the world in a dark red glow. Even the light of the moon seems to be red now. Or maybe my eyes are so coated in blood it’s tainting my vision. The pain in my chest is slowly morphing as Sorcia places my heart in the silver chalice, blood dripping off her fingers and onto the thorny vines that wiggle around the edge. My blood smears the stem as she picks it up and begins to move toward the bonfire. It is massive now, taking up nearly the entire clearing. I don’t feel a lick of its heat; I am nothing but pain and cold.

And now hunger.

A deep, visceral need is growing in me. A softly burning ember that refuses to be ignored. I begin thrashing wildly against my useless limbs as that aching desire to feed builds in me. It's driving me to insanity. Sorcia holds the chalice toward the bonfire, like she is offering the flames a drink. The chanting reaches a crescendo when she does, all their voices converging to one. It is exactly what I think hell sounds like.

An ivory hand emerges from the flames. The moment those blinding white fingers grip the silver chalice, all the chanting ceases, and the only noise in the clearing are my own ragged cries. I’m losing more of myself to the hunger, that ravenous want that is all I can focus on. It’s easier than processing the pain, so I lean into it, surrendering myself to the hysterical beast that is howling inside of me.

A figure steps out of the fire. An angelic woman with great feathered wings spilling out from her shoulders. Power rolls off her like a coming storm, and at once all the dancing figures drop to their knees. All except for Sorcia, who stands firm in front of her, a devoted smile stitched across her face. How had I never noticed the look of insanity that is clear in her eyes?