Page 58 of The Deathless One (The Gravesinger #1)
She kicked and struggled then, cursing a storm upon the man’s head as he shoved her into the metal tub she hadn’t noticed in the corner.
She flailed her arms, digging her nails into his forearm as he held her underneath the water for a little too long.
But he was so strong, and his palm on her head didn’t give her any room.
She couldn’t breathe. He was going to drown her, and she didn’t know where Elric was, so she didn’t know if she could even come back.
Finally, he yanked her out of the ice-cold bath. Teeth chattering, she hung limp in his grip like a bedraggled kitten he’d pulled out of a gutter.
The man she had once thought of as her father looked at her with cold eyes. “It’s a sacrifice, and I’ll admit, I still can see my daughter in her. What a blessing to rid myself of this weakness. Strip her for me and place her underneath the sheet.”
And then Callum turned his back on her.
“You will not touch me,” she hissed at the henchman, trying her best to pull on the magic Elric had given her. But there was no god to answer her call.
So when he shoved her around and ripped her shirt down the back, she had to admit this was really happening.
She was helpless as he did the same to her pants, not even bothering to give her a word of encouragement or pity.
Instead, she stood there, desperately trying to hide her body from the eyes of all the other men in the room.
Her gaze met Sybil’s, and she knew the other woman was with her.
Tears burned in Jessamine’s eyes, but they did not fall.
Sybil’s gaze made her think that the witch had suffered this before.
It was either that, or the legacy of centuries of pain that was passed down from generations of women before them.
Women who had found themselves at the mercy of those who wanted to hurt them.
“Get on the altar,” the man behind her growled.
“No.”
“Or I will make you.”
Squeezing her eyes shut for a moment, she pulled herself together.
She could run, but they would catch her.
Even if she did escape, a naked woman running through the streets at night wouldn’t get far.
There was no magic at her fingertips. All she could do was step up onto the altar and lift the sheet.
She lay down on the rough stone, the icy touch of it going straight through her body. As the thug pulled the sheet over her form, she wondered if she looked like the corpse she was.
At his glance and sudden pale features, she thought maybe she did.
The sheet settled over her face, and she puffed out a breath. “May I please see?”
She didn’t want to beg. Please don’t let it sound like she was begging.
The sheet peeled back for a moment, revealing Callum leaning above her. He gently cupped her jaw, his thumb stroking over her cheek. “Why do you want to see, dead girl? Nothing good will come of that.”
“I want you to know that I am aware of every step of every horrible thing you’re about to do.
I want you to look me in the eye and know that you’re killing me.
” She swallowed. “That’s what you’re going to do, isn’t it?
You’re going to sacrifice me, and you’re going to regret it for the rest of your life. ”
That shadow passed over his features. The pain of a man who sincerely regretted something he had to do, and yet he was going to do it anyway. “You’re already dead, Jessa. I lost you the day of your wedding.”
He gently feathered his fingers over the pale purple circles around her eyes, down the hollows of her cheeks, and over that horrible writhing scar around her neck. She could see he believed every word he said. She wasn’t his daughter, not now that she’d survived death itself.
“I’m still me,” she whispered. “I’m still the little girl you tucked into bed. Just like this, Callum. I’m still her, and somewhere in there, you’re still you.”
He shook his head, tears dripping from his eyes and falling onto her cheeks.
“No, sweet girl. You’re dead. And whatever he brought back is just a twisted replica of the little girl I raised.
Sacrificing you is a gift to the entire kingdom, just like the first time you died.
I won’t let them forget you, Jessamine. But I can’t let them have you either. ”
He straightened, leaving her vision free at least. But then he lifted a black-bound book, and horror bloomed in her chest.
“No,” she said, trying to lunge up from the altar. “I can’t let you—”
Magic wrapped around her torso, binding her arms to her sides and slamming her back onto the stone. Her ribs creaked, almost cracking with the pressure, and a low whine squeezed out between her lips.
“Don’t move,” Callum said. “We’re lucky to have a witch among us. After all, we’ll need her power as well.”
He raised his hand, words in the old tongue flying from his mouth.
Then Sybil started to scream.
Jessamine craned her neck, trying to give what little comfort she could to the other woman. But then her eyes widened in horror as she saw all the black magic sucked out of Sybil’s chest and flooding into Callum.
All that power, all that magic, pulled and tugged out of Sybil’s being. It moved through the room, sluggishly trying to get back to its original owner as Callum drew it to himself. Coiling around his hands, the magic pulsed.
She could see the skin on his fingers peeling away, but he bared his teeth at the pain and looked back at the book.
“Together, we will raise a god,” he said, his gaze meeting hers. “This is where your story ends, Princess Jessamine Harmsworth.”
And then the sheet moved, covering her face and hiding the nightmare unfolding before her.