Page 66 of A House of Gold
Seraph leads us to a room at the top of a spiral staircase. Inside, a woman lies in a bed which looks more like an altar with its white silk, silver fixtures, and everything perfect and sterile. She’s maybe thirty, blonde, wasted away to almost nothing. Her eyes are open but unfocused, staring at the ceiling.
“Claire,” Seraph says gently. “I’ve brought someone to help.”
She doesn’t respond. Doesn’t even blink.
I can see the contract wrapped around her, silver chains instead of gold, tighter than any I’ve seen before. They’ve cut into her so deeply they’re part of her now, woven through her soul like thread through fabric.
Seven years. Seven years of pride eating her alive, telling her she’s perfect, that she needs no one, that accepting help is weakness. Seven years of slowly dying because admitting you need saving is the ultimate failure.
“This is your hardest contract?” I ask Seraph.
“One of them. The ones who believe they’re perfect are the hardest to save. They can’t admit they need saving.” His silver eyes watch me. “Can you break it?”
I look at Claire, at the chains, at the way they’ve become part of her, at the woman who’s dying rather than admit she’s not strong enough to survive alone.
I see myself. The version of me I could become if I let pride take root. If I refused help. If I insisted on being strong enough, good enough, perfect enough to handle everything alone.
“Yeah, I can break it.”
Seraph’s smile is approving. “Then show me.”
16
Claire’s contract takes forty-five minutes to break.
Forty-five minutes of pulling silver chains so deeply embedded in her soul they’ve become part of her spine, her ribs, her heart. Forty-five minutes of absorbing seven years of pride, not the sharp, instant hit I got from Barnes, but a slow, excruciating flood that fills me like poison.
I am perfect. I need no one. I am sufficient unto myself. Help is weakness. Vulnerability is failure. I am complete, flawless, beyond reproach.
The pride screams through every cell, and I have to hold it while I work. Have to keep pulling the chains free while the sin tries to convince me I don’t need to finish, that Claire should stay bound because she’s clearly inferior, that I’m wasting my talent on someone so weak.
“Raven.” Seraph’s voice cuts through the roar. “You’re losing yourself.”
I am not losing myself. I am finding myself. I am discovering what I truly am: exceptional, extraordinary, the best sin eater who’s ever?—.
No. No. That’s the pride talking.
I grit my teeth and pull the last chain free.
The release is like a dam breaking. Seven years of accumulated pride pours into me all at once, and I hear myself gasp or scream, I can’t tell, as my body tries to contain something it was never meant to hold.
Too much. It’s too much. I’m going to die. I’m going to burn from the inside out, and the last thing I’ll think is how perfectly I died.
“Breathe.” Croesus’s hands are on my shoulders, grounding me. When did he move? “You can hold it. Just breathe.”
I breathe. Force air into lungs that feel like they’re full of glass. Force my heart to keep beating even though it wants to stop under the weight of seven years of someone else’s arrogance.
Claire gasps. A real gasp, her first genuine breath in God knows how long. The silver chains dissolve into light, and she cries, deep, wracking sobs of relief and shame and freedom.
“Impressive.” Seraph stands, moves to Claire’s bedside. He touches her forehead gently, and she falls into what looks like genuine sleep. “Seven years. Most sin eaters would have died attempting that.” His silver eyes find mine. “You’re stronger than I expected.”
“We need to leave.” My voice comes out strained. The pride is building, swelling, trying to burst out of my skin. “Now. I need to purge this.”
“Of course.” Seraph inclines his head. “The deal is satisfied. Claire is free. You succeeded.” He looks at Croesus. “She’s remarkable. If you ever tire of her...”
“I won’t.” Croesus’s grip on my shoulders tightens. “We’re leaving.”
The transition back through the mirror is agony. Reality bends, inverts, and the pride hates it, hates being moved, being controlled, being anything less than the center of the universe.By the time we materialize in the House of Gold, I’m shaking so hard my teeth are chattering.
