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The echoing breeze through the crown of willow trees startled Mara from the black swarm that had stolen her just moments before. She squinted, almost in pain, the wind howling and prickling when it brushed over her exposed legs.

The soft bed of moss sunk with her weight. She stared up at the dark sky through the thick tree branches, realizing she was sprawled out on her back. They created a daunting silhouette of ghostly arms. A light, milky fog haunted the woods around her, straining her eyes as she tried to focus on her surroundings. Mara’s heart ramped up speed within her chest, threatening to break free from her constricting bones. All the blood in her body seemed to be rushing to her head. She turned over, putting all her weight on her hands, and heaved.

Her stomach emptied itself onto the sage green carpet. She wiped her mouth and then tried to stand. Mara attempted to rack her brain for Evrardin’s words—for the words she read in the giant tome—to remember what to do.

“Okay. Okay. It’s fine. You got this,” she muttered to herself, her eyes widening in astonishment and fear, the indelibly dark woods around her making the air heavy on her skin. She expected the Veil to be… more luminous. Sunny, even. This felt like the opposite of where the sun goddess would reside.

She began moving, her toes wiggling in the furry moss, seeking out Acastus. He should be here somewhere, too, right? It was hard to see the forest floor with not even the light of the moon to guide her. Instead, an odd, unearthly glow in the distance created tiny specks of shadowed light.

Her toes struck something hard, and she stumbled forward. “Seven hells.” She was beginning to question what she did wrong in a past life to get caught in this mess. This was not how she thought her marriage would go—albeit she knew it would be to someone she didn’t love. That much she could predict.

“Acastus,” she whispered. She knew he couldn’t possibly hear her when she spoke so low, but she couldn’t get herself to call to him any louder. The moaning of tree branches made gooseflesh rise along her arms. Mara’s hand extended aimlessly in the dark, brushing against a tree’s trunk, the bark rigid. How bizarre; she could feel the tree like it was right in front of her, but she knew her physical body was soaking in a pool of holy water.

Mara had never feared the dark or silly ghost stories—it used to irritate Azor that he couldn’t scare her—but this was different. Mara wasn’t standing in the halls she grew up in without sight, she was in a foreign forest—another realm—that looked nothing like the comforting lands she might have imagined for the gods to dwell. The gods had truly fled, not just escaping to the Veil, abandoning their people, leaving a wasteland in their tracks.

A sharp wind washed through her dress, shaking pieces of her hair loose from where it was tied on her head. A deep gurgling noise sounded from the tree and Mara stumbled backward, falling on her backside. She had grown to despise her rooms at Kairth, but she would give anything to be there right now.

The already dim light around her seemed to blacken, a chill running up her spine. She had been such a fool to confide in Evrardin. He had reassured her this was easy and nothing to worry about. She would put coin on the fact that he was back in the Old God’s Cathedral with a smile on his face.

Her anger didn’t have a chance to come to fruition, Acastus’ form appearing before her. She almost sighed in relief. “Mara,” he hummed, approaching her. There was something odd about his appearance, his eyes darkened, feathers falling from his coat.

“What do we do now?”

“Here, take my hand.”

Mara bit her lip, letting Acastus’ bare hand wrap around hers. Her eyebrows cinched, noticing the odd tint of Acastus’ skin, realizing she had never seen his hands without gloves before.

Before she could utter anything, the ground began to shake, the crumbling of sediment and stones echoing around her. She frantically turned, the ground coming to life, still clutching Acastus firmly. “What’s happening?”

Mara adjusted her stance so she wouldn’t topple over as the dirt beneath her rumbled. Then she saw it. She saw what was making such powerful breaks in the mud.

Shadowy hands sprouted like terrifying budding flowers, clawing and grappling with the dirt as bodies unburied themselves. Foul creatures that had shimmering skin like deep sea waters began to rise all around her. They were lanky, all bone and skin. Their fingers were sharp and pointed, unlike her blunt ones. They had hollowed faces, darkness pooling where their eyes and mouths should be, resembling a dark void trying to tempt you in.

A screech erupted from her throat as something silky gripped her ankle. She should have run when she had the chance.

She looked for Acastus, but his figure was gone—her hand holding nothing but air. She squealed, trying to kick her foot free,but when she did, another slimy hand caught her, its fingertips a dark blue. She tried to escape but more and more hands clawed at her. Their nails dug into her flesh, slicing it as easily as butter. Tears welled in her eyes, not just from the pain, but the sheer horror and shock.

The wild hands pawed at her, suffocating. She could feel them all over all at once, the slicked skin smearing against her as they grappled at her appendages, gripping her tightly.

She screamed as she tried to trudge forward, using all her strength to move her legs one step after another. The bodies became too much, and she collapsed onto her knees, feeling the life force slowly draining from her. She whimpered, the tears a steady flow as she leaned forward, the lanky hands never releasing her.

She closed her eyes, praying this would be quick and she wouldn’t be left to suffer an agonizing death. Blood trickled from where their nails sliced her skin. Her breath got caught in her lungs as they pulled on her below her rib cage.

As she went to open her tear-rimmed eyes, she saw the halls of the Old God’s Cathedral. She sat in the pool of water with a broken and battered choke of air, trying rapidly to catch her breath like a wounded animal. She heard the room gasp in unison. She must have sounded ravenous as she pulled air into her lungs.

“Princess,” she heard from beside her, likely the high priest.

She shook as she stood on her feet, stepping out of the pool, her entire body trembling like a newborn deer. Her eyes found Acastus as he stepped out across from her. He didn’t seem to be as upset as her, his clothes simply wet from the pool. Her hair now hung loosely against her shoulder blades. Her face had been tear-stained, her eyes red. Her dress was ripped and falling off her shoulders, calling into question her decency.

“Princess,” the voice called again. With her mind slowly clearing, she knew it was the priest who called to her. He grabbed hold of her shoulders, speaking directly to her. “What happened?”

His grasp on her made her stomach overflow with bile. She tried to push him away but stumbled back. The prince stood and watched the chaos unfold, not aiding her. The other Sect members created a hushed whisper like a river coursing out around her. They all wanted to know what happened—as if she knew.

Overwhelmed, her eyes darted around the cathedral further, unable to focus on any one spot. She didn’t know what she was looking for. Something that wasn’t there. A familiar face to comfort her. Her mother's shoulder to bury her head into. Her brother. Her father.

The bodies in the room closed in on her and she never stopped trembling.

Suddenly, she was swept off the ground, a yelp escaping her. A soft fabric shrouded over her, and she immediately yanked it around her shoulders, covering her exposed skin.

Her arms locked around the neck of the grouchy man carrying her, his hair messy with curls and a scowl so ingrained in his features that she wasn’t sure he would ever be able to smile without it causing pain.

Evrardin.

He marched out of the room, Mara tight in his arms. She watched as those on the dais surrounded the high priest and king, desperation on their faces as they tried to figure out why Mara came back battered and bloody.

The loud gossip of the crowd drifted away as Evrardin made it into the hall and took heavy steps as he brought her back to her rooms. They were both silent the entire way.

The guard at her door had an incredulous expression as Evrardin approached with a very disheveled and distraught Mara in his arms. The guard opened the door for them, a nervous jilt in his movements as he watched the captain barge in and kick it closed behind him.

In unsure movements, Ev placed her down in front of her bed. She looked at him and he took a step back. The tears had dried but left messy marks down her cheeks. She clutched the fabric around her.

“What was that?” she asked, her voice raw. She wanted to be upset with him for lying, but the shock of it all was making her too astonished for anything more to say.

“Not sure,” he said curtly. They looked at each other awkwardly for another beat. “I’ll go get one of your handmaidens and?—”

“No,” she said quickly. He raised a brow. “I mean, I think I’d rather be alone right now.”

He shook his head. “Princess,” he began, “you’ll need to be seen by the healer at least.”

She swallowed hard, wincing as she did. “Will the prince…” she began. Her words failed her yet again. Was the prince going to show up to her chambers? Would he be mad? Would he question her? Would the king hound her as well? What did Mara do wrong?

She attempted to look down at her toes when his rough hand grabbed her chin, turning her head sideways. “You’re bleeding,” he remarked, staring at the side of her face where blood crusted with her hair. His body took up too much of her space, so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him. Mara’s mouth opened but nothing came out. The spot on her chin where his fingertips lay burned with fire, a soothing feeling after the shockingly frigid air of the Veil. His thumb gently stroked her chin and her eyes fluttered shut, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the hands that had been violently prying.

Her breathing became erratic again, hyper-aware of his tight proximity and the way he intimately held her. He must have realized at the same time because he dropped his hand and stepped away.

Mara blinked at him.

“I’ll send the healer in.”

“Will you return?”

He cocked a brow, his face showing the most expression it had since she arrived. “Did you want me to?” His voice was quiet when he asked, confusion laced in his tone.

“No, I just—” She wanted to tell him that he had lied to her. She wanted to curse him out. To question him. To know why he carried her back to her room and covered her up when the prince seemed unfazed.

Something odd bloomed in his eyes—disappointment? “Yes. Unfortunately, I will be back.” And he would. He had to escort her wherever she was to be summoned. Certainly, the king would want to have a word with her. “I can’t escape you yet,” he said with indignation.

When Evrardin left, Mara removed the faded fabric from around her shoulders and tossed it aside with shaky arms. She noticed the golden hardware at the head when it clinked against the hard floor. She studied it until it registered that it wasn’t just some tapestry or altarpiece he grabbed to keep her modesty. It was his cloak that had been plastered to his back. Now it lay torn from where he had yanked it free, crumpled on Mara’s floor.