Page 27 of The Veil of Hollow Gods

Sev and I share a concerned glance, and I check on the other potentials with a quick scan. Ashera, just a moment ago, the picture of poise and relaxed composure now sits hunched over her silver platter, blocking Emile from taking anything off it while stuffing more into her overflowing mouth.

"What in the… Dama’s bloody chains… "

"I think we made the right choice," Sev says, her gaze trained on a potential I haven’t met, drowning herself in wine. Every time her goblet refills, she pours it down her gullet, sputtering and coughing.

"What do you think is happening?" I ask.

Sev shrugs. "Spelled food? Or a wasting curse where no matter how much you eat, you only feel more and more ravenous?"

"That might be it," I say, bringing the goblet to my lips. I pour the smallest amount in, and it pools on my tongue, thick and heavy—so rich, spiced with things I have no words for. The first swallow slides down my throat like silk, coating my tongue and mouth in the most delightful way.

I tip the goblet back and finish it in one go.

As I wipe my mouth, the goblet refills itself. I bring it to my mouth again.

"Amara," Sev warns. "Don’t."

"It’s good, though."

"Yeah, I bet it is. And what if it’s the spell that turns you into that?" She nods toward Selke, pushing fruit, the skin still on, into her mouth so far, she’s choking on it.

I pause, glancing upward. Is this what she wants?

Veydra. The apparent goddess of gluttony.

This hall is devoted to her. Someone carved her form into the very ceiling. And…

It was her statue I found in that hidden alcove.

"I—I think we’re meant to honor her." I point to the ceiling.

She shakes her head, crossing her thin arms over the iridescent silk. "You want to end up sick? Be my guest. But I’m not touching any of it."

I take a small sip, seeing if I can resist the urge to down the wine. The flavor explodes on my tongue. This time, more intensely, more focused. Honey and dark fruits and the slight tang of metal—iron or blood—I don’t care which.

I only want more.

Sev was right. I have to pull the goblet from my mouth with my opposite hand.

"I told you."

I don’t meet her gaze but search for Tyr’s. Except he’s locked in conversation with Lorien. A heated one from the stillness in Tyr’s face.

Bloodrich.

The word echoing in my mind finally settles into place.

That’s what the wine is. That’s the color of my silks. Bloodrich.

But it’s not a word I’ve ever heard before. I swirl the liquid in its goblet, watching the thick redness cling to the patinaed walls, turning the ancient silver into a glowing reddish gold.

It’s mesmerizing. Hypnotic.

And then the rim is at my lips again.

"Amara!" Sev snaps.

But it’s delicious and somehow warm, and this is Veydra’s Trial. If I’m meant to honor her…

Then I’m not sitting here and watching others gorge or fast, drown or cling to the rocks.

That’s fear. And judging by her displayed breasts and the skull in her hand, fear has no place in Veydra’s temple.

I tip the rest of the goblet down my throat and let the magic take hold.

Distantly, a song plays—strings, a lilting, aching melody—and I sway as my goblet refills. Warmth spreads through my core, from my chest and stomach outward, tingling up my neck and down my limbs.

Fire catches in my belly, and suddenly I need more. I must have more of everything. More food and wine. More sound, more sensation…

I reach for the tiered platter, and Selke lets out a hiss.

I hiss back, and her eyes widen, but she doesn’t relax. She tightens her grip on the platter and moves it closer to her.

That earns her another hiss, but I scan the hall for an unclaimed platter. The second I spot one, I’m off the pillows, dashing toward it. It’s across the room, a sea of bodies and pillows and hissing, growling potentials between us.

But that’s fine. I move through it all like picking my way through thick snow and ice, and as soon as I reach the platter, I drop to my knees and grab a handful of cake.

It’s moist and rich, and steeped in bright citrus, and I can’t help the low groan that rises in my throat.

The other potentials around the platter scoot away from me.

Good.

More for me.

I wash it down with another full goblet and reach for a deep purple-red fruit…

Plum.

I eat it in two bites, spitting out the pit as I grab the next thing that catches my eye.

A square of cheese. Not the hard, crumbly kind I’d eaten every day of my life. This is soft, smooth, and luxurious. Deeply flavored, almost nutty. My eyes roll back as the taste develops further.

On its own, the goblet finds my lips, and the cheese and wine do something extraordinary.

Like music in my mouth, creating new sound and harmony with flavo r

I scan the tiers for another block of that same cheese—snatching it off as soon as I find it—and shove it into my face.

My mouth is too full. I don’t care.

I need more. More of that music, that harmony of taste. I grab another piece, another gulp, until wine is dripping from my chin.

I tip my head back to groan—and there she is.

The goddess carved into the ceiling. Veydra.

Not just above me.

Watching me.

Her gaze, once fixed on the center of the hall, now rests here.

My heart stutters.

I raise my goblet, trembling slightly.

This is what she wanted. I know it.

Not gluttony. Not shame.

Fullness.

Experience.

Gluttony and fornication? Maybe, but I don’t think that’s how she would see it.

More cheese, more wine… My cheeks and jaw hurt, and I know my stomach isn’t far behind.

But I must keep going.

I have to experience more.

All of it.

When there’s no more cheese on the platter, I shove anything in, cakes, whole fruit, spiced and glazed nuts.

The crunch and sweetness and the juicy flesh all meld into something strange and delightful, and I can’t help but laugh. My arms swing out wide as the laughter burbles out of me. I can’t close my mouth. Can hardly breathe, but I don’t care. I’m laughing and swinging and, then …

I reach for another plum. Except I misjudge and knock it from the platter, not to the soft pillow, but to the stone floor.

The fruit hits with a hard, wet plop. The skin splits, showing its pale orange flesh and suddenly, I’m not in this temple of gluttony any longer.

I’m in the forest with Vella, staring at her secret spring garden.

A demon lets the fruit roll off his fingers and splatter to the frozen dirt.

Such a bloody waste.

Seeds and flesh exposed to the elements, not tended, not enjoyed as sustenance.

My stomach twists in knots, pulling me out of that memory.

The music swells, a loud, heady crescendo that pulls me toward it.

I lean over and spit the food out onto a ruby pillow and draw my arm across my mouth.

"This isn’t worship!” I yell over the strings and haunted chorus of voices. "This is wasteful. This is plain consumption. It’s not what she would have wanted."

No one is listening. I scan the room, looking for eyes to meet mine. The potentials are either too engrossed in their gluttony or carefully avoiding my stare. I stare upward, toward the loft seating.

It seems I have their attention, though.

Every demon in attendance, every noble watches me. Distantly a potentials laughter turns feral. The scent of overripe desire curls beneath my ribs. Shadows creep around the watchful crowd, deepening despite the light.

I glance toward the ceiling once more .

"You want reverence. Not restraint. Not gluttony through spellcraft."

Veydra wants surrender that’s chosen . Not stolen.

I bolt to my feet. "This is horseshit!" I say to the crowd before turning to face the loft of kings. "You fucking rigged it."