What Lies Beyond the Veil (Of Flesh & Bone, #1)(21)
Another breath, and I took my first step forward toward my death.
“Estrella,” Brann said, his voice oddly calm as he began to understand my movements. Another step, and the eyes of the villagers focused on me as whispers broke out. It was unheard of for two generations of one family line to be chosen by The Father. “Estrella!” my brother repeated as I took the third step.
I moved through the people gathered, allowing them to part and reveal a direct path for me to approach the Veil. No one wanted to get in the way of the sacrifice. No one wanted to risk drawing attention to themselves.
“No! Not my baby girl!” my mother cried out behind me. Her voice trembled, her words shaking just like her hands as I squeezed my eyes closed and kept walking forward. This was never the fate any of us had seen in store for me, but as I moved through the foggy details of the crowd surrounding, my father’s last words to me rang in my ears.
Fly free, Little Bird.
I never had. I’d never escaped the life that he’d hated with every part of his being, but something in me felt freedom waiting just beyond.
I stepped in front of the High Priest, bowing my head forward in submission as my mother sobbed behind me. Her wails echoed through the gardens, each one striking against my heart.
“Kneel,” the High Priest said, the order a murmur between the two of us as he guided me forward. The Veil swayed just in front of me, close enough to touch, and for just one moment I pictured reaching out to touch it.
I wondered what would happen if I did, then watched my fingers stretching forward as if compelled. The magic pulsing off of it touched my skin, sliding over my fingers as the curtain swayed toward me in perfect unison. The High Priest pressed his hand to the top of my shoulder, guiding me to my knees. The movement pulled my hand away from the magic that covered my skin before I could touch the Veil itself, tearing away the warmth I’d almost known.
In a world filled with nothing but cold, bitter half-truths, the Veil beckoned like a warm embrace, welcoming me into a place where I would be protected at all costs.
My hands dropped to my thighs as my knees hit the sandy soil beneath me, my palms facing the sky as I tipped my head up to stare into the eyes of the High Priest. He stood just to the side of me, his body close enough that he could stop me from falling into the Veil itself when I died, but out of the way so that my blood would stain the soil and not him.
“We thank you for your sacrifice, Estrella Barlowe of Mistfell. May you find peace in your next existence, wrapped in the arms of The Mother.” He sank his hand into the hair at the back of my head, gripping the strands tightly to pull me to the angle he needed. The tip of that dagger pressed into the side of my throat, digging into the flesh as the warmth of blood trickled down my skin. “Close your eyes now, child.”
His eyes bore into mine, willing me to do as commanded. I understood at that moment that he didn’t want to watch the life fade from my eyes as he slit my throat—that he took no pleasure in doing the will of The Father.
I did, letting them drift closed. Ringing filled my ears, drowning out my mother’s hoarse cries and the sound of Brann trying to console her. My body filled with warmth despite the cool ocean breeze against my face, like the press of a warm hearth on a cold winter’s night, the stars shimmering outside the window as I cuddled up with a book.
It was the first moment of contentment I’d felt, the first moment when there wasn’t any pain. I didn’t want to hurt anymore. I didn’t want to be afraid of what was to come.
I drew in a breath, feeling the High Priest dig his knife deeper into my skin and begin to drag it to the side. Sudden awareness burst through my contentment, the impression of someone banging on the other side of a doorway, though there was none to be found.
The world shook as an animalistic roar came from the other side of the Veil in front of me, raising the hair on my arms, and making the back of my neck tingle.
My eyes sprang open to watch a streak of black surge through the fabric of the Veil. “Did you see that?” Lord Byron asked, stepping forward and closing the distance between us. I turned my attention back to him, following his line of sight to where a ripple of bright light followed the black surge.
Behind me, everyone froze as a collective unit as we stared in awe-filled horror at the Veil. The Mist Guards approached the boundary, their hands on the hilts of their swords as they prepared for the worst.
“What do we do?” Lord Byron asked, staring at the curtain of magic as it pulsed and throbbed as if it was being battered against from the other side. Sounds of tearing and wordless anger crossed through the barrier, while silence reigned on our side.
Another shock of inky darkness spread through it, throbbing in time with the beating of my heart in my chest. I couldn’t breathe, didn’t dare to close my eyes as I rose to my feet. “We need to strengthen the Veil,” the High Priest said, turning to me once again.
He touched my shoulder, shoving me to my knees in a way that was far less graceful than I’d managed the first time. I sprawled forward, landing on my hands and knees with my face only a breath from the shimmering and pulsing magic. Blood dripped from my throat and landed upon the soil, trickling over the grains as if in slow motion.
The ground convulsed as if the world itself was angry, quaking beneath me as another wave of black rippled through the wavering white at the edge of the boundary. The High Priest moved toward me, his knife coming straight for my throat in a way that I knew would kill me without delay.