Page 2

Because that’s all I am to these people.

A sacrifice destined for death because I had the misfortune of power-hungry parents with impeccable timing.

It’s widely believed throughout the five kingdoms of Norica that if a first-born child takes their first breath on the Hunter’s Moon, they have a chance to ascend and become imbued with the spirit and strength of the first hunter so they can bolster mortal armies and protect mortalkind from the creatures—vampires, werewolves, fae, and other supernatural beings—who share our continent.

But ascension is only possible through sacrificing a sibling who is born on the Death Moon.

Unfortunately for me, I was born on the Death Moon.

I am not the chosen one.

That honor belongs to Vivian. Born on the Hunter’s Moon, Defender of Mortalkind, soon to ascend into the coveted role as a mortal king’s stake. To our kingdom, she is everything. To me, she’s, more often than not, a selfish bitch.

Now, families throughout the five kingdoms strategize their conceptions and births in the hopes of bearing children such as us. They do this under the guise of unbridled hatred and fear of creatures and the threat they pose to mortalkind, but they cannot hide the shine in their eyes when they obtain precisely what my death will bring my father: wealth, status, and glory from the mortal kings for producing hunters for their armies. I’ve seen courtesans become ladies and farmers become lords, all under the pretense of strengthening Norica.

“Sisters!” A witch claps, and sage sparks fly from her fingers. Five other witches spill into the garden, all of them barefoot and draped in silk. “Perfect.” She glances toward where Viv perches in a wooden chair beside the altar. “Vivian, you will remain there until I give you the lunar blade.”

Vivvy nods curtly.

Satisfied, the witch turns back to me. “Sacrifice, my sister witches will call unto the moon before you ascend the altar.”

The witches dance and twirl down the aisle like wisps of dandelion puffs floating through the air. They are ethereal and a delight to watch, so careful not to bump into the crimson floral arrangements attached to either side of the pews. I wait for the sugared scent of their magic to permeate the air, but it doesn’t come. Further reminder that this is all for show.

“You will remain where you are as they toss petals to ensure your journey unto Death is as beautiful as the sacrifice you are making to help eradicate our lands of those who wish to harm us.”

“But how is any of this beautiful?” I ask, unleashing myself from Father and gesturing around us. “Death is not beautiful. The murder of innocent creatures is not beautiful. None of this is⁠—”

“That is enough,” Father barks. He grips my elbow and harshly pulls me away from the witches and deeper into the gardens. With every whisper that trails after us, his face becomes redder and redder, a kettle far past its boiling point.

Footsteps follow.

“You insolent symp,” Vivvy hisses.

“I don’t see how that’s an insult,” I toss over my shoulder. “Likening me to someone who dreams of peace between mortals and creatures? Come on, Viv, you can do better than that.”

Father’s grip tightens as he draws to a stop. I can barely make out the chatter from the rehearsal over the chirping of cicadas this deep in the garden. Vivian descends on us, dark eyes bright with fury. He points in the direction we came. “Go back to the rehearsal, Vivian. I will handle this from here.”

“Handle me how?” I ask impetuously. “What punishment could you possibly dole out to me that’s worse than dying tomorrow?”

My sister’s eyes narrow. “I’m sure I could think of one.”

“Go back to the rehearsal,” he says again in a tone he normally reserves for me. “Say whatever you must to convince everyone all is well.”

Viv nods and spins on her booted heel. She’s a few feet away when she stops and whirls back around. “Just because you’re going to die tomorrow,” she says cruelly, “doesn’t mean we can’t punish others in your stead.”

My insides sicken from the threat. There is only one person I care about, who is also the only person who cares about me.

Cress.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I breathe.

Her gaze flicks to Father before she stalks off and resumes her position for the rehearsal.

“I’m about sick of your antics,” snaps Father. Annoyance deepens the lines around his mouth. “I will make do on Vivian’s threat should you not cooperate, Sacrifice.” He roughly grasps my chin between two fingers and forces me to hold his glare. “This is what you were bred for; this is what your mother died for. You are a necessary sacrifice.”

My nostrils flare.

“Say it,” he commands.