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“Keeper.”
“Yes.”
“The one who decides what grows.”
“And what doesn’t.”
There it is. My gaze drops to the hole. Something still moves beneath us. The corrupted Harvest. Not the crowned thing. Not the land.
Two different things.
One old. One created.
“Oh.”
Ezra follows my gaze. “What?”
“The monster.”
Rhett looks at the hole. “What about it?”
“We made it.”
Malakai understands. “Not us.”
“No.”
I look at Mercy. “The sacrifices.”
Her face falls.
“Every person fed to this place.”
“Every Bride.”
“Yes.”
“Every drop of blood they thought would make the Harvest stronger.”
Mercy nods.
“They weren’t feeding the land.” I look into the hole. “They were feeding that.”
The thing beneath us screams.
Not a roar.
Not some ancient, inhuman sound.
Human.
Thousands of human voices screaming at once.
Oh God.
Hands burst from the hole.
Hundreds of them.
