Page 88 of Firebird
Malina straightened, wearing that fearless expression I knew so well. “Lead the way.”
XXV
MALINA
It was quite fascinating that Emperor Igniculus had labeled all non-Romans barbarians, and yet, he was the true savage. The Rite of Skulls was nothing more than a barbarous ceremony to highlight the cruelty and brutality of the dragon’s reign. Ofthisemperor’s reign. And I was to be a part of it.
Standing exactly where Julian had told me to, next to the skull bearer, I waited. The skull bearer was dressed in a plain black toga, depicting his lineage. His head was shaved clean and his face was painted to mimic a skeleton’s head.
The guests stood on the far side of the terrace behind a line of torches, near the long banister. They faced inward, the lights of the city glowing below Palatine Hill. They were all of dragonkind. Standing in a long line to witness this rite in hushed silence, their towering figures and regal attire, serpentine eyes glittering in the dark, made an ominous spectacle. A chill skittered over my skin.
A long, crimson carpet had been placed across the terrace for this ceremony. Along both sides of the carpet stood ten of the twelve generals of Rome, staggered down the line, Julian the farthest away. Near him, at the far end, Emperor Igniculus sat upon an ornate throne made of brass, the arms shaped like dragon’s claws, spikes cresting the chairback. It had been set upon a dais so that he could oversee the ceremony from on high. Or, he simply liked to look down upon his subordinates, to remind them of his status. Perhaps, it was both.
The throne must’ve come with the skull bearer and his attendants—also wearing painted faces like death heads—who all stood in the shadows behind me.
Directly at the end of the carpet stood Ciprian. He was bare chested now, except for his leather sheath with his gladius strapped across it, a black linen wrapped loosely around his waist.
Julian had explained the procedure of the ceremony, so I was aware what would happen. But knowing something and experiencing it were two entirely different things.
A drum began to beat in a slow tempo, the signal to begin. If it weren’t for the steady buzz of dragon power wafting in the air, the otherworldly glow of their eyes in the semidarkness would tell me I was standing among the most dangerous predators in all the world.
I turned to face the skull bearer, who held the gold-plated skull on a pillow—what was left of the king Ciprian had killed. I lifted the ghastly thing, shining under the moonlight, and upturned it where the empty hollow of the dead man’s skull became a bowl. The back rimhad been smoothed into a perfect dip for someone’s mouth to drink from.
The skull bearer poured wine into the empty skull until it was half-full. Then I turned and began my long march up the red-carpeted aisle.
Stopping at the first general, a behemoth of a man with a square, flat face and a horrifying scar across one eye, I held up the bowl. He unsheathed his gladius, pulled the blade across his palm and let it drip into the skull. After a few seconds, he lifted his hand away and resheathed his blade.
I walked diagonally across the carpet as Julian had instructed, the cool wind pushing on my tunic. But it wasn’t the chill in the air that had the hairs on the back of my neck rising. It was the low, deep rumble of dragons growling while the beat of the drum continued.
It wasn’t simply the generals in the ceremony, it was all of the guests too, like a choral song of beasts, harmonizing for this obscene display. I kept my eyes down except when I had to present to the next general.
On and on, I went down the line, head bowed and skull bowl up while they poured their blood into the ghastly goblet. When I finally made it to Julian, I still kept my eyes down. I didn’t want anyone to notice the way I looked at him, or to shake his resolve in seeing one ounce of fear in my eyes. Because there was fear inside me, so much of it.
My gift from the gods could be wonderful, but right now, I wish I could turn off the scraping of bloodlust beating against my flesh, trying to rip into my psyche. The beasts on this terrace smelled fresh blood, and they all wanted a taste. Except, perhaps,mydragon.
I dared not look into his eyes as he cut his palm and let his blood drip into the bowl. Afterward, I slowly walked and stood before Ciprian. Until now, I’d held the skull goblet with two hands.
I had no idea what would happen if I spilled the contents in this skull, but I knew the punishment would be severe. And Julian would either have to stand back and watch, or worse, he’d intervene. And that would be a death sentence for both of us.
Gripping the skull tight with one hand, my thumb hooked tightly around the dead king’s gold-plated mandible, I presented my left palm to Ciprian.
A dragon can’t taste blood and not transform. He will shift into half-skin.
Julian’s words repeated in my mind, the ones he’d whispered quickly to me in the kitchen, preparing me for the inevitable. Still, I couldn’t keep from trembling.
Ciprian gripped my wrist and unsheathed his blade. His chest began to swell, his shoulders widening, his entire body stretching taller, yet he remained mostly in human form.
“Look at me, witch,” he commanded.
I ignored the deeper growl rising from Julian to his left. I recognized the sound and presence of his dragon above all others, yet I couldn’t let anyone know.
So I obeyed the order of Ciprian, lifting my gaze to his red eyes, slit like a serpent’s. He grinned, revealing a row of sharpened teeth, two canines lengthening as I stared in a stupor.
He reached out with his gladius and slit a shallow cut on the fleshy part of my palm. I didn’t even flinch, then my blood was dripping into the bowl.
“Mmm,” Ciprian hummed and sniffed the air, still more human than dragon, “such a sweet sacrifice.”
It was a mockery to the gods to call this a sacrifice. There were no priests. No priestesses. This rite was presided over by the self-appointed god, Igniculus. An unholy horror of a creature.
