Page 26 of The Veil of Hollow Gods

The sigilweave takes me to a new room where the air chokes with ripe sweetness, sticky glazes, wine-dark fruit bursting open, and the slow drip of nectar pooling in shallow dishes.

Fingers shine with oil.

Teeth flash.

The room tips on its side as the air lodges in my throat. I grip the wall, squeezing my eyes shut, but nausea churns, and I take several breaths, aiming to calm it.

"And our final potential Maiden, Amara DeTiri." The same feminine voice from the Gloaming Room booms across the space, magically amplified but also thinner, less weighty than her true voice.

The room watches, every eye on me a weight. Hunger dressed as ritual.

I try to stand straight, to look out into the room and meet their greedy eyes, but it’s too bright. I grew used to the dim aetherglow of my windowless room. Light fractures in my vision, carving strange shapes of faces, painting fractals and hazy rainbows across the world .

And then, in a blinding flash, it’s gone.

Everything is normal again—or whatever version of normal Shadowfell still remembers.

I ignore the demons seated, watching from elevated lofts built into every wall. The kings enthroned in their own loft directly right in front of me.

I ignore Tyr’s pointed stare, heavy as bloodied silk on my skin, and focus only on the other women.

Potentials lay about on colorful pillows, lounging against each other. None of them wear the typical black lace and veil, but deeply hued silks that slide and cling to their bodies.

I look down. I, too, wear dark red silk, draped over one shoulder. It skims every ripple, every curve of my body, before brushing my toes. It’s cut high on both sides, high enough that I’ll have to be careful of how I step.

My fingers trace the smooth, cool fabric as I survey the scene before me fully.

Potentials are grouped by vestige, wearing the same colors.

Except for Ashera and Emile, who wear deep stormy blue.

The three potentials from the bath all wear silks the color of burning embers.

Sevigny—who’s somehow found Selke, of all people, and claimed a spot in her heap of pillows—wears a brilliant opalescent dress that makes her fair skin glow as though it’s witchlit.

Selke, by contrast, wears deep golden almost bronze silk, nearly the same shade as her skin.

She doesn’t just glow. She radiates—like the witchlight’s coming from her.

I’m the only one in this strange red.

Bloodrich red.

In the center of every grouping stands a silver platter. Not gleaming and bright like the silver of the banquet .

No. They’re aged. Tarnished with gold and green, as if each has seen several lifetimes of ritual Trials.

Its many tiers hold fruit and cheese and delectable pastries the likes of which I’ve never imagined—layers of confection with sticky sweet icing dribbling down the sides. Toasted and sugared nuts. Segments of fruit dripping with juice.

My mouth waters at the sight, and I take a breath, steady myself, and snake through the pillows and bodies.

Music swells from somewhere hidden.

My next step lands wrong.

The room tilts, light fractures.

And then?—

I’m somewhere else.

It’s a cave.

Firelight dances across his face. I’m cold, but not as cold as I should be…

"You can’t eat this." Purple nyrelith juice clings to his fingers…

And the world rights itself once more. I keep my gaze ahead, not at the demon kings watching me but to the arched window and the painted sky beyond.

I count my breaths, trying to find names for the colors living in the sky, until I finally reach Sevigny and Selke on the large aubergine pillow they share.

Sev gives me a nod as I settle in next to her.

But Selke is more hesitant. "Why join us?"

I shrug, eyeing a small cake made to look like a blood orange wedge. "Why not?"

The truth is, I want eyes on me.

I want to be seen making the choice.

They’ve already painted a target on my back, putting me in a silk that doesn’t represent my vestige .

I need to at least look like I have allies.

"Don’t you know what the first Trial is?" she snaps, drawing my gaze.

Her thin brows are drawn tight. She’s not angry. She’s worried.

"I don’t," I say evenly. "But you clearly do, so why don’t you enlighten me." I pop a grape in my mouth, and something overhead catches my attention.

The ceiling reveals itself in soft focus—arches sculpted into the body of a woman, long hair spilling past her bare breasts, one hand cradling a skull like a lover.

"It’s a ritual to the goddess Veydra." She makes no attempt to hide the disdain in her voice. Whether it’s at my ignorance or the Trial itself remains to be seen.

"The demon goddess?" I ask.

She nods, dark eyes pinning me in place. "The demon goddess of gluttony and fornication."

Bloodrich red .

The phrase flares behind my eyes—unbidden, vivid, wrong.

My lip curls. Not at the words. Not even the title.

At the venom in Selke’s voice.

I shake my head and reach for another grape. "So I shouldn’t eat all these cakes? Or I should? I’m not current on ancient rites to dead goddesses."

Sev leans forward. "My attendant said we should do whatever feels right."

Not helpful.

"Did she bother saying anything useful?" Selke scoffs.

Sevigny’s shoulders drop. It’s only a fraction, but I catch it.

"What did your attendant say?" I ask Selke smoothly and with just enough teeth to make my point .

She pauses, lifting a brow. "She said to play the Trials for myself. No alliances. No clever little schemes. Just survive the thing that’s been feeding on us since demons first crawled into this realm."

My gaze holds her a fraction longer, taking measure of the steeled will staring back at me.

Feeding on us. What a choice of words. I would have thought the same if I didn’t know…

"You know those of us who don’t make it get married off or become the next attendants, right?"

"Of course I do," she says flatly, and shifts her body away from me, toward Sevigny.

Selke is finished with this conversation.

Several moments later Sev breaks the tension. "I say one of us eats our fill, another does so in moderation, and the third abstains."

I smile at her. "There’s the Sev I know. I was wondering when you were going to make an appearance."

"Yes. It’s hard being my normal quick-witted self when nausea refuses to ease."

"Feeling better, then?" I ask.

She nods. "Slightly. You were right about eating lighter. It helps."

"So, who’s eating moderately and who’s abstaining?" Selke asks, pulling a sticky cake from the top tier. She takes a large bite and eyes us, cheeks full.

"I’ve already had a grape," I say.

"So have I,” Sevigny says. “But I don’t trust my stomach quite yet, so you should be the one to partake carefully. I’ll abstain. Just tell me what it tastes like."

"Agreed." Before deciding what treat I want to sample next, I survey the room. The other potentials are as bewildered as we are. None of them trust the platters brimming with delicacies.

Even Ashera, born and bred for this, takes her time chewing a single morsel of cheese.

"It would be helpful if they told us the rules or the goal," I murmured to myself.

"Ha," Selke barks out a laugh around the cake in her mouth. "That’s not what we’re here for."

Sev quirks a brow at her. "Oh? What does that mean?"

Selke reaches for the goblet of wine next to her, blood-dark and thick as sin, and washes the rest of the cake down.

"It means, we’re not here to play games or follow rules.

The Trials aren’t meant to test our abilities.

They’re not meant to see how smart or strong or how quick we think on our feet. "

"What are they for then?" Sev asks.

My gaze drifts back to Ashera, leaning back on her stack of jeweled pillows like she was a jewel herself.

"It’s to make one of us the Maiden," I answer.

"Potentials!" Lorien’s silky voice wends through the room, drawing everyone’s gaze. He stands in the king’s loft, in front of his throne, smiling.

The sky behind him, streaked with so many shades of amethyst and rose and pearlescent green, paints him as some kind of benevolent figure.

"For your first Trial, we ask that you eat and drink until you beg for Veydra to take you to the next realm. Enjoy yourselves, fully. Let yourselves luxuriate in decadence. In abundant richness. The wine will flow, and the food will replenish until we’ve decided on the potential with the most…

" Lorien pauses, dialing up his smile to beaming.

I’m tempted to shield my eyes.

"Well, until we find the potential with the most potential. "

As he lowers into his throne, I clear my throat. "And what about those of us who don’t have the stomach for such richness? The ones kept frozen and fed rations? How are we meant to handle this Trial?"

Lorien’s smile never waivers, but it’s Tyr who answers. "The False Light is attempting to influence the potentials. I want it noted, Shoreena."

The women from the Gloaming Room nods and conjures a scroll from the aether.

I track her movements before letting my gaze fall back to Tyr and ask with my gaze.

In turn, he offers a nearly imperceptible shake.

Understood.

I didn’t trust Lorien as far as I could shove him through my windowless wall, but that small sign from Tyr is all the reassurance I need.

"Stick to the plan," I whisper to Selke and Sev.

Selke already has half a red-skinned fruit in her mouth, juice trailing down her wrist and arm. "Shame you can’t enjoy it like me. It’s all unlike any food I’ve ever had."

I reach for the other half of the fruit in her hand, and she snatches it away. "Get your own. There’s plenty." Selke’s eyes narrow, and she bares her teeth at me.

I show her my palms. "My mistake."

She nods and shoves the rest of the fruit in her mouth, pit and all.