Total pages in book: 107
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100363 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 502(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 335(@300wpm)
“A ritual?” I know of only my mother’s rituals, in which she welcomed the seasons and helped them change all around our manor. She never spoke of group rites.
“Once every season, the court worships the gift of Living Essence. I find it tedious, but others enjoy it.” He pauses. “Obviously, there is group sex involved.”
“Obviously,” I say with a laugh. “How will I know the etiquette?”
“Observe. I trust you’ll be able to pick it up. As I said, it’s tedious. And unimaginative.” He makes a disgusted face.
“And you so conveniently are otherwise engaged,” I point out. “Where and when should I report for this ritual?”
“Follow the crowd from the main gardens when the moon has appeared.” He tucks his letter into his jacket. “Now, I must leave you. Bring me a full report tonight.”
As he passes, he stops, as if without thinking, and drops a kiss on my forehead.
* * * *
Walking through the darkness of the gardens, I adjust my mask so that I can see better. The robes Sarta designed for the ritual are long scarves of transparently thin emerald silk, held into the suggestion of a garment by a tightly-cinched belt of ivory around my waist. My mask is a collection of verdant leaves, splayed across my face like a butterfly’s wings from the bridge of my nose.
I don’t know what I’m meant to be disguising; everyone at court has already heard of the human woman of voracious and adventurous appetite.
The path to the king’s gardens is lit with fires on evenly spaced plinths. I see courtiers moving down the tiers and follow them. Unlike Luthian’s gardens, which seem to stretch on forever, the king’s garden ends abruptly at the tree line of a dark and imposing forest. I’m grateful to have someone to follow, though the sound of drumming might have led me to the right place on its own. As the winding path brings me closer to the drums, firelight flickers through the trees, and the oddest sense of anticipation tingles in my blood. I know magic. I’ve felt the rise and fall of it, held a ball of it in my hands. I can’t direct it, but I recognize it, and I let it draw me along, just as the crowd sweeps me toward the sacred clearing.
An immense bonfire licks at the sky above, dwarfing the standing stones that surround it. Inside the circle, identically dressed priestesses in robes of moving water walk a clockwise circle, their lips murmuring a chant I can’t make out. Each of the stones bears a chained and naked faery, all of them with cocks that stand out from their bodies, swollen and jerking. They’re blindfolded and gagged with strips of leather.
I glance around the outside of the circle, where the court has assembled in numbers so vast, they spread far into the trees. Some of them hover, wings fluttering, others have climbed into branches. Everyone wears a mask, but I find the king immediately; he’s the only one seated, on a throne of quartz that hums with power.
He finds me, too, his eyes settling on mine from behind his mask of amethyst. I drop my eyes demurely but see him gesture to one of his sylph guards. Still, I feign surprise when they approach and urge me to the king’s side.
“Cenere,” he says, patting his knee. “Come, sit on my lap.”
Cassan stands to Arcus’s left, his face covered with a leather mask of a stylized fox. An appropriate animal, given the impression I have of him. I flash him a sly smile and tilt my chin as I pass him, and he doesn’t hide his grin.
To the king’s left stands a much taller faery, shirtless, his muscular body clad only in a small leather loin cloth. His gleaming amber eyes give the feathered owl mask he wears an uncanny effect, and golden hair cascades down his tanned back. The firelight casts every line of his powerful muscles into deeper contrast. He doesn’t look at me, or at the king or prince beside him. He doesn’t appear to want to be here, at all.
Arcus notices where my gaze has landed, and he catches my hand to pull me onto his knee. “That’s my son, Kathras. Unpleasant bastard. Loathes participation in my court.”
“It’s a lucky thing for me, then that my king is immortal.” Kathras keeps his gaze trained straight ahead.
In the circle, the maidens have stopped before the bound faeries, each of them holding a golden cup. The drumming picks up its pace, and my heartbeat strives to match it. The captive faeries twist and groan, as if tormented by an unseen force. The drumming reaches a crescendo, then abruptly stops. The fire flares brighter, and in unison, the chained faeries come, their seed falling into the goblets.
The drumming begins again, slower, and the chained faeries moan, some in agony, some in pleasure. One of them shouts and strains at his bonds.