“Will I be saved from my fate?” I ask the dagger, trying it out.

Nothing happens. There’s no resultant shiver, and I frown and shove it into my bodice, tucking the sheath into my cleavage. Stupid knife. It doesn’t know anything. Erynne probably just gave it to me to make me feel better.

The thing shivers between my breasts, and I clutch the front of my bodice.

Okay, so the knife can pick up my thoughts. Good to know. Certainly not unnerving at all.

The hated tower comes into sight the next morning, just shortly after dawn. Now, when I look out to the crystalline blue waters of the sea, I see something large and menacing rising up from the waters themselves, like a hand reaching towards the heavens. That’s the tower, situated on a tiny island where nothing dwells. The reality of my fate sinks in and I take frantic, shallow breaths as I stare out at the detested spire that blots the horizon. Soon, we’ll board a ferry and make our way to the island, where we’ll meet the contingent from Darkfell and the ceremony will begin.

Is it too late to escape?

The knife between my breasts shivers and I choke back a sob. I won’t cry now. I’ll cry when I’m locked in the tower.

Years of court intrigue have enabled me to keep a cool demeanor as we make it to the edge of Lios’s lands. For as long as I can see, the waters along the shore are empty and calm, gently brushing against the tall cliffs. I know just to the north, though, the beaches are covered with ships being loaded with supplies. Armored men practice drills, and sailors ready the sails for the upcoming departure. All waits upon me, and the moment I cross the threshold of the Tower of Balance, the war will begin.

But for now, all is peaceful, and I enjoy the sight of the beaches, as this is the last day I will spend outside for the next seven years.

I watch in silence as a nearby ferry is loaded with my trunks and cask after cask of dried foodstuffs. I have a list that Riza made for me of all the things they have brought for me, along with meal suggestions to make my supplies last. She’s truly tried to make this easy on me, and I should be grateful. I know she’s as anxious as I am because she loves me, but right now she’s with my sister back at Castle Lios and I’m staring down the Tower of Balance, which is a spindly, menacing finger on the horizon.

It’s hard to feel grateful for anything right now.

When the ferry is finally loaded, one of the knights helps me onto it. I’m immediately surrounded by guards—I suppose so I can’t fling myself into the waters—and kept carefully in the middle of the raft as several men take their places at the sides of the flat boat and pole it across the shallow, wide waters of the channel.

The Tower of Balance rises before us, menacing and dark.

I thought it would look more like the Alabaster Citadel, which is made entirely of pale brick and marble. It has gilt edges on all the windows and stained glass everywhere, and it’s a square, solid building of beauty that priests from other countries flock to in order to pay their respects. Or I thought perhaps it’d be like Lios Castle, old and stately, with large, rounded turrets, a heavy wall surrounding the keep, and an austere interior covered in banners and made important by the presence of the royal family and their retinue.

Nope. This tower is positively menacing. It rises up with no windows or visible brick, thick and twisting. Four spaced out, tall battlements protrude from the squared-off top of the tower, and it makes it look as if the tower itself is trying to claw the Golden Moon from the skies.

I hate it. Of course I do. But I keep myself composed. I’ll have seven years inside to crumble and fall apart at my leisure. For now, I have to be a Vestalin and bring honor to myself and my sister.

Honor is really annoying me at the moment, though. I’d much rather be a craven coward, because then at least I’d be a coward in the sunlight.

I squint up at the tower, trying to figure out how many rooms the tower must be. Funny how all the legends say nothing about the living quarters inside the tower itself. Most don’t care, I suppose, as they’ll never live here. Lucky me. I put a hand to my eyes, shielding them from the sunlight that I’m going to dearly miss, and try to assess the tower as we slowly pole our way across the waters. The base of the tower looks much wider the closer we get, and I suspect that this tower could have several rooms to each floor. It’s surprisingly huge, with only a tiny bit of beach skirting it and nothing else on the island, not even a tree.

Not that trees matter since we aren’t supposed to go outside, but it’s just an odd structure. Legend says that the gods themselves pulled it from the ground, and I always thought that was rubbish. Now, looking up at the massive column of it rising up to the skies, I’m not so sure.

The moment our raft touches shore, I suck in a breath. The men file off immediately, the raft bobbing, and then one of the knights offers me his hand. I take it, letting him guide me out to shore, and my shoes sink into the sand. For a moment, everyone seems to forget about me. The men are busy loading a sled with my trunks, so it can be pulled to the entrance. The priests accompanying me to say the ritual over my “sacrifice” are busy praying, and I’m left to my own devices. The wind rips at my skirts as I walk up and down our small strip of shore. I get bored watching the men load my things so I turn and head down the beach.

There’s a door in the distance, large and square, made of heavy wood and covered with swirling iron reinforcements. Nearby is a pile of bricks and one of the men is mixing what looks like cement. My tongue glues itself to the roof of my mouth once I realize that he’s going to brick the door up after I’m inside so I can’t get out.

Nausea surges in my throat. Breathe, I remind myself. Breathe. Be dignified. You can have a breakdown once you’re inside and no one can see. I straighten my spine and keep walking, and as I do, I see them.

Strange figures stand on the far shore. They’ve come from the opposite direction we have, and while I stand out in the sunlight with my hair loose and my gown swirling around my legs, they’re heavily cloaked in dark colors, hoods pulled over their faces. They look like ominous specters, looming in the lone shadow of the tower.

Darkfell.

For a moment I panic, and then I realize why they’re here.

Of course. Their sacrifice must be given to the tower, as well. I scan the large, broad-shouldered figures, trying to see if I can make out which one is the person that will be their sacrifice, but it’s impossible to tell. One of the figures pauses and turns towards me, and catlike green eyes gleam under the darkened hood.

With a terrified squeak, I turn and head back towards my people. I remember Erynne’s words. After you go into the tower, Lionel’s ships are going to sail for Darkfell. And if their person has a way to get information from outside, they might come seeking revenge on you.

Do they know Lionel and his army are waiting to sail even now? Biting my lip, I head back to my group, where the knights stand on shore, watching everything with bored expressions. Part of me wants to tell them that I just saw Darkfell’s people, but it seems a foolish thing to report on. Of course I saw them. They’re here to deliver their Royal Offering to the tower, just as we are.

The massive sled is finally loaded, and several men take it by rope pulls and drag it towards the main door. I follow behind them, frowning at the mountain of crates and barrels loaded atop it. “You do know I won’t be able to pull that into the tower on my own?”

The knight next to me considers, rubbing his bearded chin. “We’ll get it up to the door and push it through. Once it’s inside, you can unload it slowly at your leisure. Unless you’d like to leave some of this behind?”