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Elder Kanat deepens his voice, an arrogant smirk pressing his lips, “We require a single tear, a drop of blood, and a lock of hair...from yournetherregions.”
Isla stiffens but raises her chin and offers a curt nod. “I accept.”
Mathyr takes her wrist, prepared to escort her to the garderobe, but Isla reaches out and seizes my robe sleeve. I cringe from the infraction, wondering if she senses my forearm bone through the heavy robes, but if she does, she doesn’t indicate, nor draws her hand away.
Instead, her eyes confess glassy desperation, prompting my blood to quicken in my veins. Her chest hitches, and she requests, “Will you come with me?”
My first instinct is to part my lips in shock, but I must battle a groan because I’m weary of the elders’ condescending, too-moral outrage.
Mathyr tightens her hold on Isla’s wrist, protesting, “Have you no shame, you uncivil and insolent nighyan?”
It’s the first time my little dove lowers her chin, not in shame but in defeat and resignation, but tears glisten in her eyes. I’ve beheld enough brides on the wedding night to recognize when one is on the fringe of hyperventilating. Isla Adayra has willingly thrown herself at death’s door. The armor around my heart weakens. I’ll be damned if I leave her to face my she-wolf of a mother alone.
Before the Queen may drag her away, I assume Isla’s other hand to declare, “Wait!” Ignoring the elders behind me, I cling to the flicker of light returning to my little dove’s eyes and continue, “As uncouth and untraditional this may be, I will accompany you and remain with you for the procedure. We will erect a sheet to provide a barrier.”
Isla releases a long breath and bows her head for the first time. “Thank you, thank you...Your Highness.”
Between her double statement and how her eyes glaze across mine in a naked moment of vulnerability, I recognize she’s thanking me not only for this small mercy but also the Skull Ruins. Fuck! She knows it was me. Could she possibly have seen me? My face? I can only hope she assumed my identity on account of my power and the parietal skull bone. Regardless, Kryach cackles and foams at the mouth inside my mind.
Damn you, Kryach! Damn you to the deepest pit of the Void!I rage but receive nothing but laughter in return. Because he knows...my armor has shattered. My feeble heart has fallen for Isla Adayra.
And I will ruin her heart as I’ve ruined all others.
The Corpse Kingdoes not release my hand, and I could die from gratitude.
The moment the Nether-mark had licked flames along my spine at one touch of the Queen, I knew I could not withstand this trial alone. Everything has changed overnight. The Sythe wine has depleted from my blood, and I must save what little courage I have for the Bite Offering. But whenever Allysteir is close, the mark stills to a warm quietude as if I’m sinking into a tepid bath.
I hope he understands I was thanking him for saving my life... as I’ve volunteered to save everyone in Talahn-Feyal. While I may have been perfectly content marrying my childhood love and spending the rest of our lives discussing trade and farming agreements while slaying the occasional refter with our nights spent in each other’s arms as we grew fat and old and wrinkly and ever rich without the burden of children, I cannot complain over this fate. As Franzy told me on the train: I have a warrior’s spirit. I may never achieve the notoriety of the Scarlet Scathyk, but my name will be writ into the history books of Talahn-Feyal. The bones of a common Cock-Cross girl will slumber in the tombs of the great kings and queens under the mountains.
I hold to the image when the Corpse King and his mother escort me into the garderobe. Similar to a parlor with an adjoining room of individual lavatory stalls. Considering all we have is a simple ditch on our farm’s edge, the fine room is a worthy comfort for this oncoming trial.
“Lie down on the divan,” the Queen directs me, gesturing to the backless furniture.
I swallow any flustered gasps and slowly move toward the ornate divan with its legs constructed of iron-fused bones fused. What surprises me is how Allysteir does not release my hand but remains close until I’ve settled onto the divan with my back slightly arched.
“Allysteir, fetch the tapestry behind you and fix it to the hooks in the ceiling,” his mother orders, voice stern as an arrow, but he nods and releases my hand to obey her.
The tapestry settles against my waist, acting as the perfect barrier since Allysteir remains at the head of the divan close to my hair. The fabric is heavy from the gold-spun thread, velvet, and teeth depicting a battle. I can’t help but smile at the legendary siege of Scarlet Scathyk, taking comfort in the portrait. Little flutters cluster in my belly. I blush at Scathyk’s story: part history part legend of when she and her devoted soldiers engaged in a week-long siege against the Shee forces who invaded Talahn-Feyal, aiming to take her Dyn Kylverock Castle. I’ll never forget the legend of how she tore off countless Shee wings, hung them upon her naked body, and paraded herself in such glory on the highest balustrade to divert the main forces while her men used their underground tunnels in a surprise attack to crush the unsuspecting army from behind.
“Spread your thighs wide. We will do the hard part first,” the Queen commands from the divan’s end. For some reason, I can’t recall her name. Her fire-jewels catch the dim light of the lanterns in the room, casting ominous shadows upon her face.
I purse my lips and do as she directs but cringe...until Allysteir settles his gloves on each side of my head, hushing my tears and the Nether-mark with the breath of shadow curling upon my brow through the corpse mask. Closing my eyes, I bite my lower lip, warding off any instincts to tremble. The image of Scathyk with her sword raised high to the heavens and her breasts on full and glorious display above the translucent wings of the Shee bolsters me. I grin at the same time the Queen lifts my gown ends and positions it above my hips, prompting a rush of cool air.
Allysteir cocks his head. His corpse mask is a hollow imitation and can’t compare to his true face’s macabre beauty. But I won’t urge him to show me since he doesn’t know what I did in the Skull Ruins. I would never reveal the secret. No, I want to earn it, earn his trust. If the Corpse King can trust me?marked by refters and by the Void?if he can respect me, perhaps I may survive this Curse’s cycle. After all, I respected him the moment I removed his mask.
Because I love nothing more than one who defies every legend spoken of them.
First, the Queen slides my lower undergarments until they arrive at my spread ankles, then casts them to the floor, leaving my lower half fully exposed to her eye. Upon hearing her gown sway back and forth, I crane my neck to the side, peeking beyond the edge of the tapestry, wincing because she is studying my sex too much. I sigh, relieved when Allysteir catches it with his gloved thumb. I smile because his phalange bone hints beneath the glove.
His presence must be the only reason the corpus roses do not grow, do not follow me.
I arch my back more when the Queen massages the upper slopes of my mound, her nails curling into my darker pubic hairs, though she truly has no need. I’d prefer her to pluck the strands to their roots than this anticipation. But I smile at Scathyk’s bountiful breasts. No, mine cannot vie with hers. Or her flat stomach pane.
“Why are you smiling?” Allysteir’s voice catches me by surprise, and I blush.
I nod to the tapestry. “She is my favorite legend.” I inhale when the Queen’s fingers descend, dangerously close to the center of my feminine pleasure...to my rosy nub.
“She is mine as well,” he responds, his breath cool and abating across my brow.
