The ceiling of the sanctuary towered over our heads, adorned with gold etchings. Huge windows on either side spilled the last of the daylight onto the wooden floors, and I followed Auria to a chair a few rows from the front.
Glancing behind me, I looked for Tibris but couldn’t see him anywhere. The skin on the back of my neck tingled, and I turned back around to find one of the king’s assessors sweeping his gaze over the crowd. His black robes swished around his feet as he turned to the priestess.
I sucked in a breath. The High Priestess. She wore a long blue-and-gold gown, a plain gold diadem on her head. I wanted to rip it off her and slam it into her face.
“Are you well, Setella?” Auria asked.
“Yes. Merely excited to worship.” Did the assessors know what the king did with our stolen magic? Did the priestesses know?
The crowd quieted, and the High Priestess launched into her prayers. Most of them were the same as those that were said during Giftings and Takings in the villages, and I followed along automatically.
I turned my attention to the assessor, watching him beneath my lashes. Even disguised as I was, I had to fight the urge to duck lower, hiding myself within the crowd. This assessor was an older man, tall and lean. A permanent frown line was etched between his brows, and his mouth turned down with displeasure. He angled his head, revealing a long scar across his neck.
I drew in a slow breath as nausea swept through my body.
I was eight winters, and we were preparing to move once more. I would miss my friends, but Papa said it was an adventure, and Tibris had promised he would make enough friends for both of us.
One of our neighbors had insisted we attend a party at her house. Ovida was one of the wealthiest women in our village and had become friends with my mother. Her son Ardaric was Tibris’s age. He and Tibris would sometimes let me play by the river with them.
“Come, Prisca. Have something to eat.” Ovida smiled down at me.
The door crashed open. Ovida whirled, her smile disappearing. My father grabbed my hand and pulled me away, holding me close. “Tibris,” he called, and I’d never heard his voice sound like that before.
Papa was scared.
Tibris stood next to Ardaric, both of them staring at the doorway.
I turned my head, dread rippling through my body.
A man dressed in black robes stalked into the room, guards behind him. “Ardaric Narayon,” he called, and Tibris went rigid, shoving his friend behind him. Papa let out a desperate, choked sound that made my chest hurt.
The assessor strolled toward Tibris, and all I could see was my brother’s face, so pale, his lower lip trembling. But he stood his ground.
I launched myself toward him. Papa scooped me up, holding me against his chest and covering my mouth with his huge hand. I twisted in his arms until I could see the assessor looming over Tibris, his hand inches away from his chest. The assessor angled his head and then pushed Tibris away. Mama darted forward and grabbed Tibris’s arm, pulling him toward us.
Ardaric faced the assessor. His chin stuck out, but his eyes were wide and glassy. I kept my gaze on his face as Mama took me from Papa’s arms. Ovida was struggling in the arms of one of the guards,
“Please, please don’t hurt him. Please!” Ovida screamed. “He’s just a little boy.”
Why would Ardaric be hurt? He’d never hurt anyone in this village. He always shared his toys.
Mama leaned close until her lips were pressed against my ear.
“Watch, Prisca. Watch closely. See what happens when a child is caught using forbidden magic.”
The assessor was smiling now, his hand hovering above Ovida’s chest.
“One of the corrupt, here in this very village,” he announced.
“Ardaric!” a voice roared. Matous was here. Ardaric’s father was a bear of a man, and he carried his sword. He sliced through one of the guards holding his wife. The assessor ducked, but Matous caught his neck with the edge of his sword. Blood sprayed.
Black spots danced in front of me, and the world suddenly seemed far away. Voices had turned to echoes, but I could hear my father.
“Cover her eyes,” Papa hissed, holding Tibris back. Mama ignored him.
Matous fought like a man possessed, but more guards were streaming into the house, the crowd of villagers pressed against the walls with nowhere to go.
One of the guards ran Matous through. The big man fell to his knees, the light already dimming in his eyes. The eyes that had crinkled each time he smiled at us, handing out sweet treats whenever we visited.
Ardaric’s scream was haunting. Ovida echoed that scream, falling to her knees.