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One of Rychel’s hands slipped into mine.
The blade was lifted higher.
“What is he doing?” My voice was filled with panic.
I held my breath as Draven began to saw at something on his forehead.
Crimson drops fell to the ground around him. Red liquid trickled down his face.
“No,” I breathed.
With a massive amount of force, Draven's blade was slicing through the strong, dense material of his own horns.
The sound of cracking and splintering filled the air as the blade cut its way through the tough shards of horn. Blood ran down Draven’s cheeks to his jaw as the horn came away in his hand.
Wordlessly, he held it out to the mirror, letting the blood from the jagged horn dribble across the greedy glass.
Then he dropped the horn to the ground and lifted his blade to the other.
“No,” I whimpered. Tears were running soundlessly down my cheeks.
“It's all right,” Odessa said quietly.
She was trying to be comforting. I understood. But thiswasn'tall right. This would never be all right.
Draven continued the grueling process, cutting through his other horn with brutal determination. Each incision was a visceral reminder of his commitment to this sick game.
And of his refusal to offer the mirror its first choice.
Me. It had wantedme.
I watched him hold his second horn up to the mirror. The blood fell onto the pane again.
Still, he did not step through.
“What?” I clenched my jaw until it hurt. “What now? Why isn't he moving?”
The second horn fell to the ground at Draven's feet. He crouched down, placing his knife beside the two bloody, severed horns, then stood back up and began unbuckling his jerkin.
My heart thudded against the walls of my chest. “What the fuck is he doing? Odessa?”
No one else spoke. Odessa seemed to be holding her breath.
Slowly, Draven undid the fastenings of the leather armor and pulled it off, then stripped off the protective linen tunic he wore beneath.
When he was bare to the waist, he stooped and picked up his knife again.
Holding it aloft, he said something to the mirror, then he looked back up at the gallery.
Our eyes locked.
“What are you doing, Draven?” I whispered. “Please, just stop.”
I could feel the eyes of Sephone’s court on me, knew they were watching hungrily, hoping to pick out the words I was saying. I didn’t care.
“Please. Stop,” I mouthed against the glass, leaning my head against it hard.
Draven’s lips turned upwards slightly. His eyes were saying not to worry. While his blade... His blade was curving down towards the bronze-skin of his chest.
