The overwhelming darkness that had been her constant companion relented, and shapes and shadows formed. Fresh, cool air swept across her skin. She inhaled deeply, taking in the wonderful aroma of growing things and the crisp scent of water. Her sluggish mind took longer than it should have to interpret the message her eyes sent to her brain. The lid of her coffin had been opened. The end—her end—was near.
Overhead, a dainty splinter of moon pierced the predawn sky. A lone bird began to sing a morning song. A beautiful song. A funeral song. It was silly, but she wished she could thank that sweet little bird for its kindness at her last sunrise.
“Behold, the Dragon still lives.” The voice boomed through the stillness.
Her heart gave a sad slap against her rib cage. Not because she feared the voice, but because the sudden glaring sound of it had startled her. She was used to her father’s low praying and singing.
A murmur of male assent came from all sides of her box. Cloaked figures wearing monk-like hoods looked down on her. Each man wore a large, squared-off cross around his neck. One of them was her father. Dark circles ringed each of his eyes, and his skin sagged from his skull as if he wore a mask of devastation and destruction that was too large for his face.
She almost felt sorry for him. He had kept his word and stayed with her—at least every time she was conscious, she heard him outside her coffin. But it seemed traitorous to admit that she’d found comfort in his voice and constant presence.
“Witness the beguiling innocence of the Dragon’s form. Do not be fooled by the outward appearance of virtue and purity and weakness. Evil lives in its heart and has devoured its soul. Six days have passed in the summer sun with no food or water and see how it survives? A mortal would’ve perished.”
She stared at her father. His hair was the same color as hers. She recognized herself in his features. How had she not seen it in her dream of him killing Gran?
“No one man can kill it. Brother King has tried. He has since removed the ancestor, suspecting their power may have been linked. So today, together, it will be our sacred duty as the Faithful to end this evil.”
“Sounds good to me.” Her throat and mouth were gritty as desert sand and no sound came out.
“The first light of dawn is but thirty minutes away. Remove her from the demon box.”
She possessed no fear. The only emotion that existed for her was longing for this life to be over. She’d suffered enough.
Her father reached into the coffin, sliding his hands beneath her body and lifting her out. His hold on her was gentle—he even tried to avoid jarring her broken arm—and he held her like a revered possession, cradled close to his chest. She was too weak to move, but if she could have, she just might’ve hugged him. Just once. Just briefly. And only because she wanted to feel what it would be like to pretend to have a loving father.
He laid her on the ground and smoothed her hair back from where it had caught on her cracked lips. His gaze upon her was tender and sad, and tears welled in his eyes. He arranged her left arm straight out to her side but didn’t touch her broken arm. Then he arranged her legs—spreading them obscenely wide.
Were they going to rape her? She couldn’t dredge up any horror at the thought. The worst had already happened. Nothing they could do to her would hurt as bad as Xander’s death.
A man moved to stand at each of her limbs, and one stood at her head—the Chosen One. Her grandfather. She didn’t look at him.
Her father was her right-hand man. Her lips twitched at the pun.
“Lord, we, your Faithful, pray for strength and courage to fulfill our scared duty.” Chosen One’s voice boomed with authority. “We ask that you bless us and our actions as we wash away this stain of evil with our blood.”
The urge to fight and resist flickered inside her, but the flame was too weak to catch.
“Brother King—”
How fitting his name was—King. A perfect match to Queen. She should’ve seen that one coming.
“—are you faithful to the Lord?”
Morning birds began to sing—one and then another, then five more—until it seemed hundreds of birds chirped, their choruses uncoordinated and yet soothing and majestic.
Her father swallowed, tears racing down his cheeks. He sniffled and wiped his eyes on the sleeve of his cloak.
It was strange… He was trying to kill her and yet he felt so sad about it. She swallowed, cleared her throat, dug deep to find the energy to speak. “It’s okay.”
His gaze snapped to hers, searching her face.
She didn’t know what he was looking for, what answer he hoped to find. “I want to die.”
He turned his attention to Chosen One. “I am faithful to the Lord,” he whispered, the words sounding less than confident.
“Demonstrate your faith.” Chosen One passed a knife to King. The hilt of it was in the shape of the cross each of them wore.
She watched King, expecting to feel the pressure of the blade against her flesh, but he didn’t move toward her.
Instead he sliced a line across his palm, squeezed his hand into a shaking fist, and let his blood weep onto her chest. Each drop against her skin an inferno. Each drop a death knell.
“Thy will be done.” King’s voice was heavy.
He passed the knife back to Chosen One.