Libby focused on her surroundings again. Thassa was still talking, and she hid her yawn with difficulty. As much as she loved her gods, did their veneration have to be this long-winded?
“The blessed aspirants give themselves freely,” the high sorcerer continued, “for there is no greater honor than to die at the hands of The Three. And the spell cast by this faithful council shall choose the one most worthy.”
At those words, each aspirant prostrated themselves, palms and foreheads touching the woven rugs beneath them. The principals bowed their heads. Libby copied her father, tendrils escaping from her bun and brushing against her cheeks. She flicked her head in annoyance, just as the sorcerers tossed their flickering spheres into the fire. Except Thassa, who was busy mouthing to his orb. Ebony wisps coiled through the golden ball and it transformed into a sallow russet color as he threw it into the flames.
She rubbed her chin. Why hadn’t the other council members whispered incantations to their spheres? Perhaps this part of the rite was meant for the high sorcerer. It wasn’t her place to question it. At least, not out loud.
Smoke billowed in a sibilant rush of power and she jumped, as did several others. Some coughed, jerking back when heat burst across them. She flinched. Colored flame crackled and flashed like a lightning storm then receded as if doused with water. The smoke vanished, leaving behind something that made her gawp.
A whirling ball of magic hovered above the charred wood, twice the size of the sorcerers’ hand-held orbs. The principals gazed, speechless, at the amber sphere. Even the sorcerers stared, entranced. The aspirants stayed prostrated on the ground as the glowing sphere floated toward them. It moved of its own accord, carried by an invisible current, weaving like a divining rod over each aspirant, one after another. It reached Karlo and she held her breath as it hovered for a moment, then floated to the woman beside him, who was sobbing again. Libby exhaled, and her father squeezed her hand. He knew her fondness for their brave aspirant.
The sphere reached the last of the aspirants without stopping, then ebbed and flowed toward the principals. Her father stiffened beside her. The sorcerers threw questioning glances at the silent, grim-faced Thassa as the orb performed the same search above the principals, one row at a time. Uneasy whispers filled the tent. An old woman muttered this had never happened before. More people turned questioningly toward Thassa, but he remained mute.
“Keep still, Libby.” Jasco’s voice was a murmur. “Something’s not right here.”
She closed her eyes when it drew close. Heat pulsed above her and a humming sound resonated in her ears. It smelled sickly sweet with a sour undertone. Rubbing her clammy hands on her skirts, she willed the sphere to move on. The unpleasant aroma didn’t lessen. Neither did the heat, even as chills skittered across her shoulders.
She dragged her gaze up. The orb undulated in place above her, amber hues churning as if trying to communicate.
Thassa pointed at her, his words tolling through the tent like funeral bells. “The sacrifice has been chosen.”
Chapter Four
Libby focused on the high sorcerer’s finger, her heart pounding with such force, it was deafening. Beyond him, several aspirants clutched each other, gawking at the sphere. Everyone appeared baffled, including the other sorcerers.
Thassa seemed unaffected as he rose and gestured at the orb. With one final hum it floated to him, shrinking until it fit into his hand. He closed his fist, the thin auburn tendrils swirling away into nothingness.
“Lissabet is not an aspirant.” Jasco’s voice was shaky.
The high sorcerer shrugged, brushing the magic away. “It matters not. The spell was cast and has chosen its sacrifice.”
“The orb was not supposed to evaluate anyone other than the aspirants.”
“I was not aware you possessed such intricate knowledge of magic, Principal Donaire.” Thassa crossed his arms. “Perhaps you should sit on the council in my place?”
Jasco flinched. “I meant no offense but please, High Sorcerer, she is my only child—”
“You assume she is the first sacrifice to be loved? I wish love could prevent this from happening. It is not enough. She has been chosen to die and we must treat that as an honor.”
“Thassa.” Her father clambered to his feet. “There must be something we can do. Perhaps the spell meant to choose Karlo? It paused above his head...”
Karlo sat frozen, a stricken expression on his handsome face. She gazed imploringly at her friend. Would he offer himself, like when the call came for aspirants?
He looked away and stared at the floor.
The silence never sounded so loud.
Thassa shrugged again, tying his hair into a loose braid. “Karlo was not selected. The spell we cast is incontestable. Lissabet is the chosen sacrifice and will be taken to Flat Peak. Principals and their honored former aspirants may leave the Sanctellium and prepare to depart the camp at dawn. May The Three grant you safe travels back to your homes.”
“That’s it?” she burst out. “I was chosen and there you have it? I wasn’t even supposed to be in the tent!” She leapt up. “You insisted on my presence. And you addressed your sphere when you threw it into the fire. You planned this, you snake. I knew you hated me!”
“Do not speak to our high sorcerer in such a way, Sacrifice,” a council member admonished.
“Don’t call me that. Don’t bloody call me that.”
Her father stepped between her and the sorcerers. “Libby, please stay calm—”
“And you!” She rounded on him. “One weak protest and you roll over? You’ve nothing else to say?”
His face crumpled.
The elderly sorcerer spoke again. “The spell was cast. The council’s word is the will of the gods. Would you have your father defy our hallowed lords, wayward child?”
“But Thassa engineered this! There are no other family members in this tent! And he said something to his sphere, when no one else did. Why, Thassa?”
“Enough,” the high sorcerer thundered. “Your ridiculous accusations undermine the honor bestowed upon you.”
“Fuck your honor!”
A firm grip on her shoulders preceded whispers of magic along her spine. Forcing her muscles to work, she turned her head. Colored tendrils trailed from the wrinkled hands of the sorcerer who’d reprimanded her.
He’d put a spell on her, the bastard. Her thoughts slowed and dimmed, like she was dreaming. She tried and failed to move. Her body was no longer hers to command.
“Thank you, Falsten.” Thassa sighed, then scowled at the crowd. “I said leave.”
The principals departed in a hurry, collecting their former aspirants. Her father’s friends tugged him away. She strained to call after him, to no avail.
She caught sight of Karlo, a relieved smile on his face as he walked hand in hand with the weeping girl from earlier. She beamed like a bride on her wedding day, cooing her thanks when he escorted her through the exit. He didn’t look back.
Libby stayed with the sorcerers, bound by the suppression spell. They bustled around her, readying themselves for the trek to the summit. Thassa alone remained stationary, gazing at her with an undecipherable expression on his pale face.
He leaned in. “You hate me now, don’t you?”
Her pulse roared in her ears. She couldn’t respond.
“Use the hate, Lissabet. Consume it. Let it saturate every inch of your blood.”
As she considered his strange words, her shocked, crying mother replaced him in her visage. Despite the spell’s confines, a sob escaped her. She tried to fling herself into Alasia’s arms, to no avail.
“This can’t be happening.” Tears poured down her mother’s cheeks. “Thassa, there must be another way—”
“I already told your husband, there is nothing more to be done. Say your goodbyes.”
Alasia flinched and fell silent, tears staining her cheeks. Terrible finality washed over Libby. Her mother held Thassa on as high a pedestal a
s anyone in the land. Even more so since his ascent to the high sorcerer position after Breibern’s death last year. He was closer to the gods’ grace and mercy than anyone else. Her parents would never risk his wrath, and therefore the wrath of The Three, by going against him.
She endured their tearful embraces and vows to treasure her memory, her chest tightening with the desperate need to plead for their help.
She wasn’t sure how long she remained standing after her sobbing parents departed. The spell’s power increased, lethargy dulling her fear. She focused on Thassa’s face with difficulty as it swam into view in front of her.
“It is time,” he said. “Don’t be afraid, child. It’s an honor, remember that. Remember everything I told you.”
He touched her shoulder, removing enough of the spell to sharpen her mind and tense her muscles. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. He hadn’t lifted the spell completely. Determined to defy him, she twisted to run.
“Stop,” he commanded.
She froze like a statue, a moan escaping her as her body rejected the desperate instinct to flee.
Thassa nodded in satisfaction. “The emissaries of our hallowed lords are due at dawn. You will follow the council to Flat Peak.”
Chapter Five
The warmth of summer was a mere memory atop the mountain. Wind barreled over the rocks, and Libby huddled in her thin blanket, numb from more than the suppression spell.
She sat clustered with the men in the shadow of an overhanging boulder. Thassa crouched beside her. The youngest sorcerer hunched on her other side. Thassa cast a shelter spell to protect them from the sudden storm. Trying to erect tents or build fires was pointless in the driving squalls.
The wind remained after the downpour ended, wild and fierce as if trying to drive them away. Darkness twisted the shadows into grotesque shapes, warping normal sounds into howls and shrieks. The spell kept her mute and compliant, despite the dread in her veins and the tremors racking her body. There was no point trying to sleep. The intermittent clearing of the clouds was her respite, when a thousand twinkling stars appeared in the sky. She found herself longing for those moments, straining to catch glimpses of the ethereal light.
As dawn’s first amber streaks came into view, she stirred. Her parents and Karlo would be departing the camp for home now. How would they break the news to the other villagers? Would they grieve for long? Tears trickled from her eyes at how quickly they had let her go, how willingly they had chosen their faith over their daughter.
Thassa had stayed awake throughout the night, seeming lost in his own thoughts. His brethren lay prone under their blankets, some snoring, others as quiet as corpses.
He shifted beside her. “They will be here soon.”
The dragons were coming. She swallowed as he edged closer.
“I understand your fear.” His hot breath tickled her ear. “Twenty-five years ago, a young woman sat here with me. She was so afraid. She was my dearest, my one true love.”
Thassa had a lover? He’d never shown any interest in the opposite sex. She wanted to ask the lover’s name, how they met. The spell made it impossible.
“She volunteered as her province’s aspirant to elevate her station. She felt she wasn’t worthy of me, or some such nonsense. No one expected the spell to select her. When it did—” his voice cracked, “I let her go. I had no choice. My soul died with her, though, and I have never been the same.” He hesitated. “I’m sorry to have been harsh with you, Lissabet. I only wished to keep you safe.”
Her retort about him failing pulsed in frustration on her tongue. He opened his mouth to continue, as a monstrous roar echoed across the rocks. The sorcerers flailed to their feet. Libby stayed sitting under her blanket, as she hadn’t received a direct order to rise. Heart pounding, she swung her gaze over the rocks, trying to locate the sound.
The youngest sorcerer pointed into the air. “Listen.”
At first, it sounded like the wind, blowing across the peak, but each gust was too steady, too unfluctuating.
Wings.
Everyone scanned the rocks in the dim half-light, like rabbits searching for a fox. A shadow passed overhead, billowing their hair and clothes. Claws crunched on rock and the nine humans looked up. Libby gulped.
Perched on a boulder opposite them, the carthorse-sized dragon folded its wings against its body, surveying them with gleaming red eyes. Its swan-like neck widened into a muscled body and a thick, spiked tail. Dense ridges protruded above its eyes, running in an armored line from its spine to the base of its tail. Below the ridges, bronze scales paled into a cream chest. Its four stocky legs ended in blunt talons.
Another shadow passed over them in a whoosh of wind, making them flinch and duck. A second dragon joined the first, this one pale amber in color with tawny ridges along its back. It snarled, showing off serrated teeth in its narrow muzzle, its tail quivering like a cat ready to pounce.
At a massive clatter of stones to her right, Libby stopped breathing. Towering above them, the third dragon’s red eyes blazed atop pitch-black scales. It growled, teeth glinting in the dim light. The wild, unfamiliar smell of mountain forests and smoky ash made her shudder.
Thassa hauled her upward, magic tickling her shoulders as he removed the suppression spell. Terror smashed into her like a dam had burst. Her knees buckled and she sobbed in his arms like a child. He remained stiff and unyielding, as if he was strictly controlling his own emotions.
“Please.” She clutched his bony form and wept. “Don’t let them do this. Please, Thassa.”
He jerked back but kept tight hold of her as the dragon stalked off the boulder toward them. “Be still, girl. Accept your fate with dignity.”
A gray cloud swirled around the ebony dragon for a moment, covering him from sight. When it cleared, a man stood before them. A warrior no doubt, almost as terrifying as his dragon form. Tall and massively built with black curly hair, a thick beard, and muscles rippling under ebony skin. His eyes were now deep brown with a crimson ring ’round the iris. He wore a padded leather vest that left his brawny arms bare, with dark pants and heavy boots. A snarling dragon emblem was embroidered in blue thread on the center of the vest. A broadsword rested in a baldric on his back and a dagger hilt protruded from each boot. Despite her fear, she couldn’t help wondering where the clothes and weapons went when he shifted.
“Praise The Three,” he said in a deep, rumbling voice.
His Jothesian, the common language across the realm, was perfect, spoken with the barest hint of an accent.
“Praise The Three,” the sorcerers repeated in quavering unison.
“Is the sacrifice ready to dedicate her blood and her life?”
Libby shook her head vehemently.
Thassa pinched her, his voice trembling as he recited the formal words. “This blessed sacrifice dedicates herself to The Three, for there is no greater honor than to die at their hands.”
The warrior plucked her from Thassa’s grasp, his smoky, alien scent making her flinch. She screamed as he dragged her away with a vice-like grip. Her boots dragged along the escarpment and he said something in a foreign language that sounded like a curse, yanking her closer. Reacting on instinct, she sank her teeth into his forearm. The magnetic taste of blood filled her mouth; he swore and clutched at her hair. She clawed at his face, snarling like a cornered animal. Tightening his grip, he cuffed her with his free hand and forced her to her knees.
“Go with the blessings of The Three,” he growled to the dumbfounded sorcerers.
They stumbled away as the two dragons on the boulder took flight. The amber one soared away. The other one swooped so close to her head, she shrieked. At the same time, the warrior hoisted her like she weighed nothing, lifting her toward the bronze-scaled beast. Then she was airborne, curled into the dragon’s claws and hanging on for dear life.
“Libby!”
The faint scream made her heart stop. Her mother raced across the summit, her father one pace behin
d, both brandishing swords and yelling indecipherably.
“Mother!” Her cry became a shriek, the ground falling away with every beat of the dragon’s wings.
The last thing she saw was Jasco swinging his sword at the warrior. Clouds covered her view and all she could do was listen to the thunderous roar that followed.
Chapter Six
Beating their wings, the three dragons ascended high above the Shifterlands, where mist clung to them like wet fabric. The farther they climbed, the more the air thinned and the harder it became to take a full breath. Straining to distinguish anything beyond the vapor, Libby whimpered as dizziness overtook her.
She tapped the claws encircling her. “Please, I’m going to faint. We’re too far up.”
The beast’s growling response sounded irritated. The next moment, her breathing eased as they descended, but the thick clouds still blinded her, heightening the unnatural scent of dragon. Whistling winds merged with the swish of wings and the occasional rumble from above. The other two dragons stayed close in a V-shape formation with her carrier at the front. Although a touch of warmth radiated from the beast’s proximity, sporadic trembles racked her, and she couldn’t stop her teeth from chattering.
She touched the lump on her head, craning her neck to study the ebony dragon’s hazy outline through the clouds. What had her father been thinking, attacking a dragon shifter? He was no fighter. The soldier could have killed him with one punch. And what of her mother, screaming at Thassa like he wasn’t the most powerful man in Paskyll? Her thoughts tumbled like leaves in a breeze until exhaustion prevailed. Gripping the leathery feet holding her, she drifted into a restless slumber.
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