Sinon gets up. He wipes his brow, sweating like a pig in his heavy armor. I move into place behind him. My neck is throbbing from how many times my chain has been yanked, and I’m tempted to pull a Princess Leia on this guy and grab my chain, loop it around his neck, and choke the life out of him.

We head into the temple itself, past columns shaped like swords and statue after statue of the scarred, angry-looking god.

A pair of men in red robes wait by the portcullis. One raises a hand to us. “Halt.”

My owner stops and effects an ornate bow. “Sword Sinon Dantali, here for the annual Anticipation.” He straightens and then gestures at me. “I’ve brought an offering for the prelate.”

“A blonde, I see,” one of the men says with a smirk. “Original.”

“The prelate knows what he likes,” Sinon says.

“Truth. And it’s not like the Butcher God will show his face tonight.” The soldiers bark-laughs, and then one grabs my lead from Sinon. “Put her in with the other offerings.”

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4

In the antechamber, it’s immediately obvious who the other “offerings” are.

The room is filled with women of every shape and size, all attractive. Some have huge breasts, some are waif thin. Some are older than me, and some look barely old enough to be in high school. They’re all dressed in the long white loincloth and belt that I’m in.

They all have blonde hair.

The other slaves barely spare me a glance. Most gossip in low voices, oiling their skin and smoothing their hair. Some frolic near a fountain in the tiled courtyard, giggling. It’s almost like I’m backstage at a beauty pageant, waiting for my turn to go on.

“Got any mascara?” I ask the girl nearest me.

“What?” She frowns in my direction and moves away.

“Never mind. It was a bad joke.” I sigh to myself, looking for a friendly face in the room. “I guess I’m just talking for the sake of talking.”

Another woman stares at me as she walks past.

The antechamber tiles of the floor are cool beneath my dirty feet as I walk around. There’s a colonnade along each wall with more of the sword-shaped pillars, and I study the others. There must be at least thirty or forty blondes. Cleaver brides, I wonder?

Now if I just knew what those were…

A young girl sits by the wall, her legs tucked under her, tits out, her blonde curls pulled into an artful knot atop her head. She looks way too young to be here, but I’m guessing no one asked for ID at the slave pens. Still, she seems approachable, so I make a beeline toward her, smiling. No pageant jokes this time, Faith, I remind myself. You’re totally from this place, remember?

When she casts a timid smile in my direction, I smile back and thump down on the ground to sit next to her. “Hi there! I’m Faith.” I offer her my hand. “I’m new here.”

Her brows draw together and she tilts her head charmingly. “An unusual name. Where are you from?”

“Oh, here and there.” I wave a hand airily, because I know trying to explain that I’m from the US and from Earth will just be a mistake. “You?”

“Avalla. From Glistentide.”

“Totally one of my favorite places,” I lie, keeping my tone friendly. I sit down next to her and fold my legs under me in the same prim stance, my hands on my lap. “You’re far from home, I think. How’d you end up here?”

“In Aventine?” She bites her lip and ducks her head, looking so shy and awkward it hurts me to think of her in the same situation I’m in. “My parents sold me to a traveling merchant. He was very kind but I did not enjoy his advances much. He was very old and I admit I had foolish dreams like any young maiden.” She shrugs and her smile grows wider. “So he brought me here and then gave me as an offering to the temple, to be a cleaver bride. It is a great honor.”

Avalla says the words, but her smile is a little forced, the look in her eyes a little too blank.

Yikes.

I lean in close. “Like I said, I’m new here. Is it really an honor or are we screwed? Be honest.”

She looks startled at my words, and then her lip trembles. Her eyes become glassy with unshed tears and she blinks rapidly, wiping at the corners of her eyes with her fingers. “You will make me weep and then I will be blotchy.”

Yeah, I’m pretty sure if this was an honor, she wouldn’t be crying. Not crying like that, anyhow. That tells me everything I need to know. Cleaver bride is not a good thing to be. “Sorry.”

“It’s all right. I just want to look my best for when we meet the prelate at the choosing.”

“Choosing?”

Avalla gives me a curious look. “The temple’s choosing…for the Anticipation? You have not heard of such a thing?”

I shrug. “Really, really not from here.”

“But surely your land has gods. It is the Anticipation.” She says it as if there’s a “duh” at the end.

“Well, I’m sure anticipating learning what it is,” I joke.

She wrinkles her nose. “Your accent is strange,” she agrees. “Are you from across the seas?”

“Something like that.” I gesture with my hand, indicating she should continue. “Tell me more about this choosing? There are a lot of women here. Are we all being chosen?”

“Oh no. Just one. The others will become cleaver brides.”

Just one. Not great odds, and I’m definitely not the hottest babe in the room. “So what happens to that one? The girl that’s chosen?”

“She will be the servant to the prelate for the next year. He is the chosen priest of Aron of the Cleaver, and as such, she will serve all his needs until the next Anticipation day. After that, she is paid richly and can live a life of leisure having satisfied the gods.”

All right, so it’s clearly a religious thing. Sounds like a personal slave for the local priest, and then freedom. Hard pass. I’ve had enough of slaving. “Life of leisure sounds great and all,” I begin.

“Oh yes. It is a position of great honor.” Avalla’s pretty face is hopeful.

“And everyone else becomes cleaver brides? What is that, like a nun? Spend the rest of our lives serving the gods?” Maybe I can escape a nunnery.”

“You…you don’t know what a cleaver bride is?”

“No.”

She pales and swallows hard. “Cleaver brides are offerings to the god.”

There’s that word again. I’m starting to hate it as much as “tart.” “Offerings?”

“Sacrifices.” She swallows hard and tries to smile, but it has a glassy look to it. “It is a great honor.”

Ok, that is definitely gonna be a problem.

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5

There’s a huge knot in my throat and I clamp Avalla’s hand in mine. I’m trying not to panic.

Sacrificed.

To a god.

Me and all these women in this room are going to die if we’re not chosen to serve the prelate. I’m guessing we’re not going to be “serving” like a waitress but more like serving in bed.

So it’s either that or death. Shit is hitting the fan.

Choices, choices.

I look around the room, at the crowd of women. Their merriment seems to have a hard edge to it, and I realize some of the laughter is forced. In the corner, there’s a girl weeping though she’s doing her best to conceal it. Another one’s staring at the fountain so intently I’d swear she wants to drown herself in it.

“We have to get out of here,” I whisper to Avalla. “I need to get home.”