BRYONY

ATINY MARK. That’s all it takes to destroy a life.

All these years, I’ve bled for the Shroud—died hundreds of deaths for it. Laid myself on that altar, over and over, and felt my heart stop long before I even understood the meaning of sacrifice.

Memories flicker of a little girl, confused and terrified, tears streaming down her cheeks as she pleads with them to stop. Begs them not to hurt her again. But the ceremonial blade splits her skin, the world goes dark at the edges, and the Void rises to claim her. No one listens. No one cares.

The gods don’t answer prayers. Monsters seldom do.

“I’ve never missed a tithe,” I say faintly, staring down at that damning symbol. “Not once.”

The Head Oracle regards me in silence. “For months, the people in this city have been tossing roses at your feet instead of spilling their blood for the Eternal. He’s given them more grace than most. These are the consequences.”

My face heats. I never asked for their worship. I only ever did what Theodora needed me to do—put on a united front when our uncle abandoned the throne. Offered the public some small reassurance that House Devaliant wasn’t crumbling.

But I watched their tentative questions turn to admiration and then twist into something far more dangerous: reverence. Every offering and prayer whispered in my name gave the Eternal more reasons to despise me. I should have recognized the warning signs when the crowds swelled outside the palace walls.

The child today begged for my blessing.

“You can’t be serious,” Theodora says, eyes blazing. “They love her because she dies for them. Because she’s the one out there showing them we give a damn. Maybe if Alexios dragged his ass across the Shroud to reassure his Claimed instead of sending his rabid dogs to slaughter the masses, people wouldn’t be so damned eager to break their oaths.”

Scandalized gasps rise from the cluster of Oracles.

“Watch that mouth, girl,” the Head Oracle hisses. “Or the Eternal might decide your tongue would look better decorating his wall.”

Theo steps forward. “Then he can come down here and cut it out himself.”

I have to fix this. He can’t just mark me for execution after a life of service. “Let me make the offering now. There’s still time—”

“No.” The Head Oracle cuts me off. “The Eternal’s judgment is final. It won’t be overturned by an arrogant girl who doesn’t know her place.”

And there it is. I’m nothing. Worse than an Unclaimed. Someone to be shunned, hunted down, and butchered in the streets. Because since when have the gods been fair to those they subjugate? Those they own? I’m only a tool that’s outlived its use.

My hands shake as I slide my cuff on my wrist and cover up the mark. I turn and stride out of the temple, Theodora and Silas falling into step behind me. My guard shoots a furtive glance my way. I wonder what he’s thinking, knowing the princess he’s sworn to protect is a pariah.

It doesn’t matter, I suppose. When the Enforcers come, his opinion will be less than worthless.

The courtyard sunlight is too bright. I pause before the largest statue of Alexios, studying the perfect features of the god who sentenced me to death. He towers over us in obsidian and marble, with red gems glinting in the carved folds of his raiment, meant to depict droplets of blood.

“Bry.” Theodora’s voice is soft. “What are you doing?”

“Just having a moment with my executioner.” I blink back the sting of tears. “Seems only polite.”

My gaze catches on the fresco painted across the back wall of the courtyard. It illustrates Alexios’ six Enforcers soaring above the smoke and rubble of a broken city, their swords bared and their wings spread wide. Savage and terrifying. Beautiful and cruel.

And him.

The Wolf is front and center. His gilded armor is splashed with gore, his irises blazing like molten gold. I remember the weight of his stare. The suffocating pressure of his power, old and unfathomably vast.

Never give me a reason to come for you.

Well. Here we are. I guess he’ll be collecting soon.

I should give him no cause. Let him look me in the face and know this isn’t my fault.

“Silas.” I extend my palm without looking away from the painting. “Let me borrow your knife.”

A beat. “Princess?”

“That pretty blade you love so much. Hand it over.”

I can see him wondering if his charge has finally cracked. If I’ve given in to the madness that runs in Devaliant blood like a bomb waiting for the right moment to detonate.

It’s not an unreasonable fear. My family isn’t exactly known for our sterling mental health after dying and coming back so often. We hide it well by staging the deaths and changing the stories, but suicide has become something of a family tradition.

“I’m not going to off myself,” I mutter, my lips twisting. “Not permanently, anyway.”

Another moment of hesitation. Then he draws the weapon from his belt and places it in my palm. Such a paltry thing to wager against a god’s wrath, but it’ll have to do.

“Tell me you’re not about to do what I think you are,” Theo hisses. “Tell me you aren’t about to defy the Eternal’s direct orders at his own temple.”

“I’m just performing a Devaliant’s duty,” I say with a shrug. “One last tithe for old times’ sake.”

“This isn’t the altar, you reckless idiot. They can’t resurrect you if you bleed out here!”

“Alexios’ power flows through every inch of this sanctum. So either he accepts this offering and gives me back my Claim, or he sends his dogs to finish me off. I’ll give him something to chew on while he mulls it over.”

The Eternal bound our lineage to the Shroud, with the blood of citizens across Vartena as a sympathetic link. But he never said where on the temple grounds we had to bleed. Let’s see how he likes that little loophole.

Theo’s mouth tightens, and she jerks her chin. “Fine. Lie down.”

I move to the base of the steps and settle on my back on the warm flagstones. It’s now or never.

“Your Highness,” Silas says, “I don’t think you should—”

“Quiet,” Theodora tells him, her voice brooking no argument. “Go get the Oracles.”

Silas curses under his breath, but he spins on his heel, hurrying toward the temple entrance. Probably trying to figure out how to salvage this mess.

I’d pity him if I had any left to spare. But monstrous kings and sacrifices don’t deal in tender mercies. We barter in the hard currencies of blood.

Theodora sinks to her knees beside me. “Want me to do the honors?”

Forcing a smile, I tell her, “Tempting, but no. I’ll see to my own stabbing today.”

I focus on the knife, on the hammering of my heart against my ribs, on the sick swoop of my stomach as I raise the blade. I inhale through my nose. Hold it.

And slam six inches of steel through my chest.

Pain explodes through me. I can’t breathe. Can’t scream. Every muscle locks up.

How do you like this tithe, you bastard? I think as my gaze finds Alexios’ stone face once more. Is it sweet enough for you? Loud enough? I hope you choke on it.

Someone screams—the Oracles are here. Tugging, pulling at me. A veiled face blocks my view of the statue. “What have you done, you foolish child?” she snarls. Ah, the Head Oracle.

I laugh—or try to. “I thought… it was… obvious. I’m making… a fucking point.”

“Bring her back.” Theodora’s voice cracks out. Through my dimming vision, I see her grab the Head Oracle’s arm. “The instant her heart stops, you’ll perform the rite, or I swear by all the gods, I’ll have my loyalists sack this temple and tear you apart with their bare hands.”

Darkness spreads, reaching for me, eager to drag me down into the Void. Strange how after so many deaths, I still manage to forget this part—the inexorable slide into the abyss, the helpless feeling of being pulled against my will as all the light fades. Under, under, under. No air, no sound, just a crushing pressure like I’m being buried alive.