❝ 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐈𝐌𝐄,
𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐋 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄. ❞
Saskia Vrana knows what to do when the Nights of Smoke come: Close the windows and doors. Don't look out into the darkness. Sacrifice and pray. And never dare to leave the co...
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HOW THE SHADOWS FEAST xi. those who dance in embers
sixth to eleventh night
❅ ❅ ❅
THE INFANT DAY FAVORED THEM WITH BLINDING SUNLIGHT AND A FRESH CORPSE.
Saskia greeted it in the chapel, after recreating the runes even before morn touched the highest crests on the horizon. With each symbol drawn, she heard the creatures of the dark hiss and slowly crawl back to the world outside, repenting of choosing to find a home on these blessed grounds.
Today, she was the first to see the sun illuminate the stained glass. In the reddish light, Goldenhorn's white fur appeared bloodied.
Silvan was the second.
"Praying?" he asked, somehow calmer now as if last night's frenzy had burned itself out, cooled down by the chilling air and a newborn sun that cast the shadows away again.
For the first time, Saskia could not quite see the man in him who preyed on young priestesses at the market and willfully drenched his hands in gore. Not the brutal murderer he was.
Saskia nodded. "For our hunt to be successful and safe."
"We will need all of the Bright Mother's blessings." Whatever the prince intended to say next, it was cut off by one of his men storming into the chapel, eyes filled with pure shock. Enough to melt even Silvan's annoyance away.
"What happened?"
A tight knot formed in Saskia's throat. What could horrify soldiers like them?
"It's Vitus ..." the other answered. "He ..."
Silvan was the first to rush out of the chapel, forgetting even to speak a last prayer to the Bright Mother.
❅
Vitus was granted a peacefulness in death that was denied to him while dying. In his sleep eternal, winter had paid its last respect to him beautifully, bestowing upon him a shroud of virgin snow and a sunrise that made the ice crystals on his frozen cheeks glisten like small diamonds.
The weapons, clean, rested beside him untouched. In his stiff hands still lay the crimson petal.
Not even the priestesses dared to utter a prayer, lest disturbing something too holy even to them. Silent tears rolled down Philomena's cheeks.
Prince Anyan squatted down next to the dead boy and when his fingers touched Vitus, anger seemed to smolder in Silvan's stomach. It felt like a profanity in the face of something sacral.
"Demons," the hunter broke the silence.
Is this my fault?
"Foolish poor boy. He must have strayed too far beyond the circle," Radovan breathed, swallowing hard to fight back the tears in his eyes, not fit for a soldier perhaps, but for a mourning brother.
