Stranger Rituals

by Kali Rose Schmidt

  The bloodletter and the blood cursed will be birthed in Warskia, only one can live, and the other must die at the chosen’s hand. One will end the holiest of wars, will raise the dead beneath the earth with the power to save or slaughter. That one is sacred. That one is chosen.

  The Queen of Winter appeared behind the Priestess. And Scarko gasped in her dream. Someone else was there, too, in that beautiful room of gold and red, someone else was kneeling.

  Rhodri.

  The Queen turned to him with dark eyes. She smiled. Rhodri gasped, crumpling, his head to the floor. The Queen, all in white, dark hair in a crown on her head, her own pointed ears clearly visible—fully Fae, then, Scarko thought—stalked toward him. She placed a foot, strapped in red, lace heels, atop his horn.

  He gasped. Scarko could feel the pain, and her physical body trembled, still held by Rhodri’s warm grasp back in the dungeon of the Order.

  “I will destroy you. When this treaty ends, Rhodri, you’ll be chained to my bed.”

  And she laughed again as she pressed down on his horns, the pain searing through Scarko herself.

  The vision shifted.

  A castle wrought in silver and gold, a hallway trembling, polished, white stone floors, crumbling. She had been in this palace. Had lived in it. She heard screaming, saw running.

  Vojtech.

  He looked the same. But his eyes flicked with fury to her. To Rhodri.

  They were the only two in the hall.

  “They have taken the castle?” Rhodri’s voice came through her own lips.

  Vojtech nodded as screams resounded.

  “My family,” Rhodri began, turning from Vojtech, as if Vojtech would come with him. “My sister and my mother, your cousin, let’s get them. Get as many as we can, and then go.”

  Rhodri began to run down the hall. But there were no footsteps after him.

  He turned. Vojtech smiled, a cold thing, and reached into his robes, but then he followed Rhodri. Scarko felt herself, felt Rhodri, breathe a sigh of relief.

  They turned down a dark hallway, the gold and silver gone, and it was so cold Rhodri shivered. He wrenched open a heavy door, a spinning lock on the outside, as a rumbling shook the palace. A woman with Rhodri’s eyes was waiting, a little girl with blue horns and fair hair smiled, and a teenage boy with short pale horns hugged Vojtech around his thin waist.

  The room beyond them was dark.

  From somewhere down the hall they had come, a woman screamed.

  Vojtech roughly pushed the boy away, turned his head.

  “It’s a Vraka. Camille,” Rhodri said, shaking his head. “We can’t save them all. They wouldn’t save us. We need to go that way,” he yanked his head the opposite way, the part of the hall they had not come from. “There we can go through the tunnel.”

  The woman screamed again, and when Vojtech turned back to face them, face Rhodri, the woman, and the little boy and girl, his smile was so cruel, Scarko’s hands shook.

  “I am to be the Djavul, King, of the Vraka, Rhodri. I am to take back our home in the Nacht Lands, and I will take this one, too. You think I have time to worry after your whore of a mother?”

  Rhodri’s mouth opened, but before any of them could react, Vojtech took out something from his pocket. In the span of a heartbeat, he lit a match, held it to the dynamite, and tossed it just beyond Rhodri’s family, beyond his own cousin. And then he snarled, causing them all but Rhodri to stumble back. He slammed the door shut in the faces of Rhodri’s family, of his family, the flames bursting within as he spun the lock. Rhodri himself darted into action, ramming Vojtech’s head to the door in a guttural roar.

  Vojtech flung him off as the screams from inside the door grew louder. So loud. Pounding against the thick door. Coming from more than just the three Scarko had seen, she realized. Beyond the door was the Citadel of Death. All of the Järenchki were trapped inside.

  Her blood ran cold. Rhodri stared in horror.

  “Go back to the Nacht Lands, become the Queen of Winter’s slave for all I care, but I will take Warskia back, and I will rule the Vraka. And then I will take the Nacht Lands, too, even if you are there.”

  The vision changed again.

  Scarko’s legs gave out back in the dungeon. Rhodri held her tighter, keeping her upright.

  She was in her village. The one she had lived in as a child. Someone was watching her from a doorway, watching her as a nine-year-old child, her hair in a long, dark blonde ponytail, a huge smile on her face as she kicked a rock down the dirt path alone. Homes lined the path, small, broken down cottages. It was springtime.

  Scarko ran after the rock, faster and faster, and whomever was watching her walked alongside.

  In the middle of the path, a bird skull.

  Scarko the child made to jump over it, but through the vision, in her ear as she watched, someone hissed, “Do it now.”

  And then a wind sprang forth, violent and cold, a wind from a Vindmat she could not see in the vision, and Scarko the child fell, her palm colliding with the bird skull. Blood dripped upon it as it connected with her small hand, and then the skull began to move.

  The skull she wore around her neck.

  The skull that caused a woman to begin screaming throughout the village: Demoni!

  A demon, as the bird skull hovered into the air.

  Scarko’s eyes flew open with a gasp.

  She was back in the dungeon, and she pulled away from Rhodri, color drained from her face. Yezedi had seen none of it, but her skin was sallow, too.

  “How?” The word was a rasp on Scarko’s lips.

  Rhodri’s face was unreadable. “I stole the memory for you. He tracked you, your scent.”

  “But his visions—” It was the only words she could manage as she stumbled, Rhodri catching her around the waist. She yanked away, and he let her go, let her slide down the wall of the dungeon, sinking to the floor.

  “What did you see?” Yezedi asked, so quiet.

  Scarko shook her head.

  “His visions are his gift. They are not sent from the gods anymore than my ability is from the gods,” he smirked, and Scarko felt just a caress of pain pressing against her temple, but she did not move, could not speak. “Anymore than yours, or hers.” He gestured to Yezedi, who was looking between them with fear on her face.

  Scarko put her head in her hands. “He made me fall.” She felt the weight of the bird skull around her neck. “He sent me to the Palace.” Her words were hoarse.

  “Scar—” Yezedi sounded scared.

  Scarko, with effort, picked her head up. Rhodri was still staring at her, but Yezedi was looking up the dungeon steps. “We don’t have much time.”

  Sacrament would soon be over. Vojtech would look for them both.

  “How did he know I would come to the Order? The visions must be given by something.” Surely, he had not lied to her, not completely, not so wholly.

  Rhodri shrugged. “Magic. The gods, perhaps, but his vision would have told him where you might go. When you might come here.”

  “Scarko—” Yezedi’s words were a warning.

  “You can come with me, Scarko,” Rhodri said quickly, carefully. “We can fight against this. Otherwise, he will have you kill Zephir, only to use you as a weapon in the war, as a weapon to raise the people he left behind, to rule them just as unjustly as Olofsson does. Perhaps more so, for he will want the Nacht Lands, too.”

  “And you?” Scarko asked, trying to think, trying to stop her head from spinning. “What do you want? Whom do you fight for?”

  “My people.” There was conviction in his words. “Järenchki, Fae,” she glanced at the delicate points of his ears, “others,” he drawled. “That is the only side I stand for.”

  His people. She hadn’t even thought about them.

  “Why, then, should I help you? My people are within these castle walls.” As she said the words, she knew she meant her people. Klaus. Yezedi. Even Alexander. Everyone under the Djavul’s spell.

>   “We need to hurry this up, guys,” Yezedi whispered quickly beside them.

  “I won’t harm them. As you know, only you can…” he grimaced.

  “End the war,” Yezedi supplied.

  “Yes. And the Queen of Winter. She will come for the winning side afterward, for the mortal lands. If Olofsson doesn’t get what he wants first.” He gasped the words, fighting against the bonds of the curse of silence. “I will help protect your people. I promise you.”

  Scarko snorted. “I don’t believe in promises.”

  He whipped a knife from somewhere so fast she nearly gasped. He dragged the blade across his golden palm, an act she had done to herself so many times, she marveled that it was strange to watch someone else do it.

  He stepped towards her and Yezedi’s breath hitched behind her. Scarko smelled citrus and the tang of iron as he grew closer.

  He extended his bloodied hand, she saw once more the dark ink of swords and stars. His palm was nearly the size of her face.

  “It’s a blood oath,” Yezedi whispered. “He cannot break it. Not without sacrificing his own life. But you must…” She cleared her throat softly.

  His eyes sparked. “You must drink it, princess,” he whispered.

  “Guys.” Yezedi’s flame flickered out. “Someone’s coming.”

  Scarko caught the scent of Rhodri’s blood. It made her stomach rumble. Where Vojtech was red wine and darkness, he was lemon and citrus and something like almonds.

  She pushed his hand away, the blood sticky against her fingers. “I don’t want you bound to me.”

  “You don’t need to decide now,” his voice was low as he lowered his palm. “I have a little time.”

  “How much?” Scarko breathed.

  “More than we have, Scar,” Yezedi hissed, and she pulled Scarko toward her, slinging her on her shoulder once more. She shot a glare to Rhodri, whose brows were furrowed.

  He looked angry.

  “Don’t let him get to you, princess.”

  Yezedi began to haul Scarko up the stairs and Rhodri’s silver-tinted eyes shone in the dungeon. “If you need me,” he tapped a finger to his head, “I can hear you. As long as you don’t decide to die again.” Then he vanished before Scarko could take in his words.

  They had nearly made it back to the infirmary, so many questions buzzing through Scarko’s head that she hadn’t asked Yezedi a single one, when they heard someone speak behind them.

  “And where have you two been?”

  Yezedi’s hands trembled as she helped Scarko down, helped her stand before Vojtech. Yezedi dipped her head in a bow.

  “Sacrament,” Scarko said coolly.

  Vojtech’s pale eyes were gleaming in the obsidian hall, lamps lighting the windowless corridor. He had his hands clasped behind his back.

  “But not in the sanctuary?” He tilted his head. “Shame, Scarko, Yezedi,” his gaze flicked to her, then back to Scarko. “I would think, after our horrible loss, you would wish to be consoled by the others who will miss Klaus as deeply as you both will.”

  Yezedi shifted beneath Scarko’s arm, slung around her shoulders. Scarko’s heart twisted.

  But she narrowed her eyes. “I did not wish to speak of him,” she took a deep, shaky breath. “Yezedi obliged me. For a solitary Sacrament.”

  Vojtech dipped his head, ivory horns glinting in the lamp light. “How kind of her.” He took a step forward, and Scarko felt Yezedi tense. “I’ll take her in,” he gestured toward the door of the infirmary.

  Yezedi paused, but only for a moment, then she nodded, and Vojtech picked up Scarko, one hand under her knees, another around her shoulder. Yezedi bowed, and turned down the dark hallway, not daring to look back.

  Vojtech looked down at Scarko, and she knew he could hear her heart pounding in her chest.

  “I’m sorry,” he finally said, his dark brow furrowed. Like he might mean it. “About earlier. I’m sorry I laid everything on you so abruptly.”

  She wished he would drop her. Leave her be.

  “I accept your apology,” she lied stiffly.

  Vojtech’s lips turned down. “You shouldn’t lie, Scarko. It’s not good for your complexion.”

  She glared at him. “I’m exhausted. I have much to take in.” She took another shaky breath, not faked. “And Klaus…” Tears welled beneath her eyes, and she turned her head away, not wanting Vojtech to see her cry.

  He pulled her closer, and she cringed.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, and mercifully, he took her into the infirmary and set her down gently on the bed.

  “This prophecy,” she said as he stared down at her, looming over her. “After I raise your people, then what?” She couldn’t stop the image in her mind of Vojtech locking Rhodri’s family in the Citadel of Death, shoving Rhodri away.

  “Then we will return to the throne, and my people, too.”

  “Why do they live beneath the mountains?”

  Vojtech’s face darkened, and she wondered if she had pressed too far, asked too much. Press him as far as you can. You deserve the truth.

  Rhodri’s voice. She kept her features a polite mask of confusion at the question she had voiced to Vojtech. And made a mental note to demand Rhodri turn off whatever this was that let him inside her head.

  You let me drink your blood, princess. It can only be severed when you drink mine. And even then…

  But he stopped speaking inside her head as Vojtech spoke, playing with a strand of his long, dark hair.

  “The Järenchki were taken from the Nacht Lands, and many, my family included, were willing to go. The Queen of Winter, a Fae Queen who rules in the Northern Nacht Lands, was cruel. Much like Olofsson with the Vraka. We fled to Visla, only to be forced beneath the mountain by the Vrakan Royals to hide our hideousness.”

  Scarko’s mouth hung open. It meant Rhodri had went back, had fought for his people’s half of the land.

  “They accepted me when my visions began,” Vojtech continued. “They let me out of the cave.”

  Only, Scarko thought angrily, to have him shove them back inside when the time came to run. Vojtech wanted power over the Vrakans. It was why he made the Order.

  Vojtech sighed and ran a finger down the pale sheets of her infirmary bed.

  “I got the prophecy nearly the same time she did, if my vision is correct. She will be after you, Scarko,” his cold hand found hers, and he squeezed gently. “She will want you for herself.”

  “Will we go to war with the Nacht Lands too?”

  Vojtech nodded. “And we will win. With you, we will win.” He let go of her hand. “But first, you must kill Zephir before he kills you. Before Olofsson can make of his son a monster.”

  He turned to go.

  “Why not let Zephir kill me? Why not use him instead? The prophecy didn’t say I would be the one to survive.”

  Vojtech looked at her with such disgust, her skin crawled. “You have the blood magic. Only you can raise the Järenchki. Only you can give me an army to fight the Nacht Lands.”

  He left without another word.

  Prick.

  Scarko couldn’t find it in her to respond to Rhodri’s voice at all.

  24

  A Final Stab

  Two weeks passed.

  Scarko returned to her room after three more days in the infirmary and didn’t leave again. Yezedi brought her blood, and together, they cried until there were no more tears to shed. A painful, hollow ache built in Scarko’s chest.

  And not just over Klaus.

  Yezedi had her arm around Scarko as they sat together on the hard floor. Rhodri had been quiet, giving her space, until the fourteenth day when he told her she had to make a decision. He had to return to his lands. He had been hiding in the desert with that strange magic that rendered him invisible.

  “You’re going, aren’t you?” Yezedi whispered quietly as the moon streamed into the bare sitting room.

  “Come with me.” Scarko had said the words every day for the pas
t week, when she had made up her mind. When Vojtech had officially relinquished her from guard duty. The most he had spoken to her since he left her in the infirmary.

  Yezedi shook her head against Scarko’s shoulder. “I can’t, Scar. I want to go back home. Not to another foreign kingdom.”

  “But how will you escape?” Scarko picked her head up to look at her friend.

  Yezedi sighed. “The war can’t end until one of you dies,” she said with a smile, “so I’ll have time. Just don’t get yourself killed.”

  Scarko laughed softly, pulled her arm from around her friend and clasped her own hands together, as if willing time to stop.

  “Will you be able to do it?” Yezedi asked quietly. “Will you be able to murder Zephir?”

  Zephir.

  She had tried to keep his name out of her head for the past two weeks, tried not to think of that horrible moment in the forest. It haunted her every time she drifted off to sleep. Another nightmare to add with the rest.

  She met her friend’s eyes. “Yes.” And she meant it.

  When she was at last alone, Yezedi reluctantly heading to the Eldmat hall in the dead of the night, neither fond of goodbyes, Scarko paced her bare room, black tunic and pants on, dagger in her black boots. She had shed the grey cloak of the Order.

  Are you sure?

  It was Rhodri’s voice, a strange magic in her head that she still didn’t quite understand. For the moment, she ignored him. Then she unclasped the bird skull necklace from around her neck and set it in the entranceway where Vojtech would be sure to see it.

  It was a sign.

  She heard Rhodri’s musical laugh in her head.

  “I’m ready,” she decided.

  And he was at once at her side.

  “How do you do that? How has Vojtech not stopped you?”

  Rhodri’s hands wrapped around her, and she did not pull away. She could bear most of her weight on her foot, the healers of the Order had healed her quickly enough with overgiva traditional herbs, as Vrakans could not heal wounds, but she could not stand for long.