Page 78 of A House of Gold
"Can't." The word comes out choked. "Too much. Can't hold it."
"You can." His hands grip my shoulders. "You've held worse."
"No." I look up at him, and his face blurs. "No, I haven't. This is, Croesus, this is what you feel. All the time. This is..."
"I know." His jaw tightens. "And you need to survive it long enough to purge it. Can you stand?"
I can't. But the greed won't let me admit weakness.He picks me up anyway. Carries me like I weigh nothing. And the greed screams at being carried, at being vulnerable, at being in someone else's control instead of controlling everything myself.
"Put me down,” I demand.. "I can walk."
"No, you can't." He's moving fast now, through the penthouse, toward the bathroom. "You can barely breathe. Don't argue."
The mirror transition is agony. Reality bends, and the greed hates it, hates anything I can't control or claim or own. By the time we materialize in the House of Gold, I'm shaking so hard, my teeth are chattering. But the disorientation of it helps me find a bit of myself before I’m completely consumed.
"Ritual room," I gasp.
"I know." He's already moving, striding through golden corridors that seem to shift and part for him. "Hold on. Just hold on."
I can’t. The greed is too strong. Fifteen years of Victoria's avarice plus Croesus's curse are woven through it like poison through my veins. It's trying to convince me I don't need the ritual, don't need to purge, don't need anything except to take and claim and own.
We reach the ritual room. He sets me down inside the purification circle, and I collapse immediately.
"Raven." His voice is sharp. "Look at me."
I force my eyes open. He's crouched in front of me, gold eyes blazing.
"You're going to purge this. Right now. But you can't do it alone." He pulls a knife from somewhere, his athame, I realize, different from mine. "You need my blood for this. My power. Do you understand?"
"Your blood?" The greed surges.His blood.Take it. Claim it.Mine.
"To break my contract, one this longly held by Victoria, you need me." He cuts his palm without hesitation. Blood wells up, not red like mine, but gold. Liquid gold dripping from his hand. "Your blood alone won't be strong enough. You need mine to burn this out."
"Why?" I can barely form words. "Why help me?"
"Because you're mine." His voice is fierce. "And I don't let what's mine die."
He presses his bleeding palm to the floor of the circle. The gold inlay ignites, not white flames like when I use my blood, but pure golden fire that roars up like a living thing.
"Light the candles," he orders. "Now."
Using the flicker of rebellion greed has against him claiming me to help me, I crawl to them. My hands shake so badly I can barely hold the matches, but I manage. Seven white. Seven black. Seven red. Each flame springs to life, and the greed abhors them, abhors the light, the purification, anything that isn't mine to take and keep and own.
"Cut yourself," Croesus orders. "Add your blood to mine."
I take up my athame. Press it to my forearm. The greed won't let me, tells me I'm too valuable to damage, too precious to bleed.
"Raven." His hand covers mine on the knife. "Do it. Now."
Together, we cut. My blood, dark red, human, mixes with his gold in the circle. The flames turn white-gold, brighter than anything I've ever seen.
"Say the words," he says. "I'll help you."
I open my mouth, but the greed chokes the words in my throat. Won't let me give up anything, not even the sin that's killing me.
Croesus starts instead, his voice strong and clear:
"Ex carne mea, te expello." From my flesh, I cast you out.
