Page 7

CHAPTER 7

Blood rushed through her head in a silent scream.

What did he mean by the first ceremony is upon us ?

She had thought they would be given more time – enough so that she could ask Fynton what to expect, at least.

She glanced around the hall as people murmured, but no one paid her any mind.

She was the centre of attention, while at the same time, invisible.

Was this a test?

Yes, obviously.

But why?

And why now ?

She couldn’t help but glance at Fynton and search his face for something that might offer a sliver of comfort against the unknown they faced together, but he didn’t meet her gaze.

Instead, she watched as his jaw clenched, eyes unmoving from his father.

She had known there would be ceremonies prior to the wedding, but had not heard of anything regarding the fact that her life would be forfeited should they fail.

They were meant to be a formality of ritual, not an ultimatum between marriage and death.

She was damn sure her mother would never have agreed to it had she known.

Elva would never have agreed to it.

She took a choked breath and pressed the flesh between her thumb and forefinger to try and steady her nerves.

There was no way the king would forfeit his own son’s life, so maybe she’d misheard?

Perhaps they meant forfeit as in.

.

.

lose their titles?

The door to the side of the pulpit opened and seven figures dressed in plum-coloured robes entered.

Their faces were covered by long hoods, the cloth only broken by resplendent gold jewellery, which dripped down their chests.

Strings of prayer beads woven with tiny gems were laced through their fingers, the only peek of flesh visible.

The priests of the Seacht were imposing; demigods surrounded by an undeniable air of gravitas.

She was so taken with their formality, it took a moment for Elva to notice between each of these adults were smaller figures, children dressed in a light plum colour – small, gaunt things that looked too tiny to be amid such decorum.

They didn’t have drawn hoods, and she scanned their faces as they came to stand in a semi-circle around the king, a child between each of the priests – their tiny, purple shadows.

‘Welcome, Prince Fynton and Princess Elva,’ the priests intoned as one.

‘It is with the blessing of the Seacht we greet you on this cardinal day.’

She was clammy.

She didn’t know where to look or what to do with her hands, and she kept glancing at Fynton to try and garner a sense of whether this was normal, but his focus remained on the king.

‘In the name of Premil, the God of Tranquillity, and Bruna, the God of Agitation, we welcome you to the first ceremony of your nuptials. Blessed by the glory of the Seacht, in the shadow of Caius we follow.’ The priests made symbols of the diamond, and the prayer rumbled from the lips of the men behind her.

The words fell out of her mouth, wooden and lifeless, as she tried to think of something that would stop the proceeding.

Perhaps she could faint?

But then the treaty would be void .

And as much as she despised this new development, the reasons why she agreed to the marriage were still valid.

Her people needed help; it was on her to weather this so they might survive.

‘Before us we have seven offerings,’ the priests said, dragging her attention back to the present.

At this, the children stepped forwards and each raised their left hand to reveal a small gemstone nestled in their palm.

Gemstones were the consecrated symbol of Caius, and by extension, the Seacht.

They were the physical manifestations of reverence, used in all formal ceremonies.

‘Each acolyte has been selected from a temple in the city, and each has chosen a sacramental stone for this honour. However, only two of the seven have been blessed by our one true leader, Caius, God of Gods. It is your duty to decipher which two stones are the true bequeathments. If you choose correctly, we will know the gods of Tranquillity and Agitation have blessed this union, and each child you have selected will be rewarded with a year’s supply of grain.

If you choose incorrectly, the union will fail and your life will be forfeited to the Seacht, as will the children you dishonour.

’

A choked exhale escaped Elva’s lips before she could stop the noise.

It was one thing to have her own life on the line, another to be responsible for a fucking child.

Anxiety crashed through her chest, wave after wave and she didn’t know how to make it stop.

She’d left the warriors so she wouldn’t be responsible for people’s lives anymore – and now there were children whose existence was on the line if she picked wrong?

And Fynton?

How was she meant to make a decision that impacted his life when she couldn’t even speak to him?

‘I’ll go first.

’

She wrenched her gaze from the priests and looked at Fynton.

A crease buckled the skin on his forehead and his mouth was pinched, but he held her gaze, and the flash of silver in his eyes seemed to stave off some of her panic.

She swallowed, trying to ignore the hundreds of eyes staring at her, and stood on her tiptoes to close the gap between them.

‘Did you know about this?’ she whispered, hoping to the onlookers it seemed like some sort of well-wishing.

Fynton stilled, and a crushing thump of disappointment echoed in her chest as she realised that yes – he had known about the ceremonies.

She shouldn’t feel disappointed, and yet she was.

‘Just follow my lead.’ His voice was barely a whisper, hot air against her neck, and the shiver that followed could have been from the contact, or it could have been from the fact that she was mere moments away from her Ending.

Fynton stepped back and turned to the dais, selecting one of the gemstones from a small blond boy.

It was a dark blue, its refractions deep and iridescent against the light of the mosaic, and – nothing happened.

The child, who now stood empty-handed, glanced at one of the priests, hope lighting his features.

She wanted to scream.

These children deserved to be fed regardless of her stupid decision.

Why were their lives on the line if she chose wrong?

Her track record for decision-making had been marred ever since the massacre at Anfa last year.

To have it tested again under such extreme circumstances did nothing to ease her fear.

Fynton stepped back and looked at her expectantly.

Not once had she frozen in battle or hesitated when it came to her warriors.

But standing there, in the middle of the Seacht’s cathedral, she didn’t know what to do.

She felt incapacitated.

Was she meant to choose by colour?

Or shape, or weight?

She wished Myrra was here, her brilliant sister who never faltered under scrutiny would know what to do.

She scanned the children’s faces, each so hopeful it made her chest ache.

Only Advisor Gudren and King Dermont looked unbothered by the proceedings.

The king sat, legs outstretched, eyes resting on the middle distance as he listened to the priests’ chant.

Advisor Gudren, on the other hand, watched Elva like a hawk.

His eyes followed every minute movement, the scrutiny prompting her small seed of Ever to shrink until even she couldn’t sense it.

Think, Elva .

Think.

She glanced at Fynton, whose face remained solemn, and tried to centre herself.

She couldn’t deny that only yesterday there had been a part of her which hoped their union would be called off.

But now?

There was too much on the line – the children, the treaty, her life – should they fail.

She could see Advisor Gudren growing impatient, feel Fynton fidgeting beside her.

Time was running out, but how was she to know which gem had the true blessing?

She looked at the stones: green, blue, yellow, red.

Green, blue, yellow – a tiny pulse in her knowing flared and without stopping to think whether this was a reckless decision, she succumbed to the urge prompting her to grab the milky yellow gem.

As soon as her hand closed around the stone, a blistering pain shot through her chest and the tug yanked from behind her ribs.

She staggered forwards, her hand outstretching to grab the lip of the dais as she tried to regain control of her body.

It felt like her chest was exploding; there was something deep and painful within, yearning to be released.

She must have chosen wrong.

Someone must have discovered she was Ever Blessed because the pain was blinding.

The sensation grew, the seams of her being unravelling, disintegrating until she was made of agony—

And then it stopped.

Someone was talking but she couldn’t make sense of the words, not when she thought she might be dead.

Was she dead?

‘Elva. Elva .’

Fynton’s voice made her turn, and she found him standing over her, hands hovering an inch above her shoulder as if he didn’t want to touch her.

His olive skin was sweaty, and silver crackled in his eyes.

She pushed herself up as reality came crashing back: the cathedral, the ceremony, Fynton.

‘Congratulations. Your nuptials have been blessed by the gods of Tranquillity and Agitation. May your union ride the waves of Ever until you meet your Ending. Blessed by the glory of the Seacht, in the shadow of Caius we follow.’ At once the priests stepped away from the circle, and noise erupted in the temple as the noblemen began cheering.

Only Advisor Gudren didn’t cheer.

His eyes penetrated her own, searching for something she didn’t yet understand.

‘ Congratulations, Princess .’

Her Ever writhed and ice-cold dread shot down her spine as the advisor’s voice entered her mind.

She glanced around but no one seemed to notice the voice, or the fear screaming inside her to run.

Never in her life had she frozen so still, tucking away all of the pieces of herself she valued as she looked into eyes like pits, so deep she couldn’t see the bottom.

‘ I am beyond thrilled that you have passed the first ceremony. It’s as if your choice had divine intervention to succeed.

The gods must see true potential in your union.

’ His voice was gentle, as if carried on a breeze, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.

She could feel Fynton staring at her, hear the noise of the crowd dipping and rising with male laughter.

And yet she felt entirely alone facing the demigod.

‘ Welcome to your new home .’