Page 108 of The Half King
She turned Nina to face the room and pried loose her fingers. Nina clutched her gown with both hands, shrinking against the altar as if to disappear inside it.
“It’s all right,” Cerise whispered. “Give me your hand.”
Nina obeyed, her palm shaking.
“The Solon dynasty,” Cerise called into the prayer room, “put forth the most alluring among them: a mortal whose face was so breathtaking that the goddess was lured from the heavens and seduced into taking vulnerable human form. For their treachery, house Solon was cursed with self-destructive allure.” She squeezed Nina’s hand. “Do you come before the goddess humbled, seeking her forgiveness?”
Nina nodded her veiled head.
“Say it out loud,” Cerise whispered.
“Yes,” Nina said in a broken voice.
Cerise brushed a thumb over Nina’s delicate skin, and then she nicked her sister’s palm just hard enough to break the flesh. Nina didn’t so much as flinch as the blade absorbed her blood and glowed brightly enough to render her veil transparent.
In the moment before the light dimmed, Cerise caught a glimpse of her sister’s face and saw something that eclipsed fear. Nina’s features were frozen in what could only be described as a silent death cry. She reminded Cerise of the rabbit kit at the temple and how it had screamed when the serpent had entered its cage. This couldn’t possibly be about Nina’s husband.
So if Nina was the rabbit, then who—orwhat—was her serpent?
The question flew to the back of Cerise’s mind as the blade dimmed, and everyone glanced around for some sign that the ritual had worked. General Petros studied his hands and arms, flexing them as if testing an injured limb.
“Do you feel any differently?” Daerick asked him.
The general shrugged. “Do you?”
Daerick probed his face and stroked his scraggly beard. “I don’t know. Maybe. It’s hard to say.”
In unison, they all looked to Kian, the only person who could eliminate any doubt as to whether or not the curse was broken. He pushed back his hair and locked eyes with Cerise as the shaded windows darkened with approaching twilight. A glimmer of hope passed between them. She had never wanted anything more than this: for him to remain whole.
Please, she silently begged.Please let this work.
The room went silent, every pair of eyes fixed on the king. No one moved, and if anyone breathed, Cerise couldn’t hear it. Even time seemed to have gone still. Just when she didn’t think she could survive another moment of waiting, the glow faded completely from the windows, and the only light that remained flickered from the enchantments overhead.
Kian exhaled into a shaky smile.
The sun had set, and he was still there.
Cerise drew a breath to thank the goddess, but her lungs were barely half full before Kian’s fingertips began to curl into smoke. He raised both hands to his face, watching in horror as they vanished in front of his eyes. He stared at Cerise as if she could explain what had gone wrong. She only shook her head. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing, but that didn’t stop the shadows from claiming him, faster and faster until there was nothing left of his body. His eyes were the last of him to go—not the storm-cloud gaze of a king but the broken despair of the damned. Those eyes pierced the deepest, most tender part of her soul, and then they were gone.
“No,” she cried.
Murmurs erupted in the sanctuary and beyond to the open-air corridor, where a crowd of people had followed and now learned of her failure. Through a haze of grief and shock, she looked across the room to Father Padron, the one person who could help her make sense of what had happened.
But he had no guidance for her. Strangely, he was retreating. He didn’t even seem glad that the ceremony had failed. He looked like a captain abandoning a sinking ship as he inched along the hallway leading to his office, his blue eyes radiating fear. Cerise had no idea what could have possibly scared him, but if the high priest of Shiera didn’t know what to do, what chance did she have?
“Come with me,” Nina urged, brushing the tears from Cerise’s cheeks. “Let’s take the carriage to the dock. There’s a ship bound for Calatris tonight.”
“No,” Cerise whispered. “There’s still time.”
Daerick cleared his throat. His face was ashen. “Not for me, there isn’t.”
“Don’t say that,” she told him. “We have until midnight.”
“To do what?” he asked.
“To keep the fight going.” She pointed the blade at the altar. “The ceremony was working. We all saw it. We must have missed something, some final step. Whatever it is, we have to find it.”
“Please,” Nina said, glancing at the sanctuary entrance, where priests were filing out into the corridor to disperse the crowd. “Let’s leave while we can.”
