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I can’t contain the bewildered laugh that falls out of my mouth, turning to my parents who are beaming with pride, my mother smiling wide while my father nods beside her.
“Vainglory,” the Oracle says, calling my attention back to her. “By your hand, a Vorovsky must die. Please declare your sacrifice.”
My smile falls, gaze swiveling to Aleksandr. All I find is quiet resolve. He knew this moment was coming just as I did. The chosen must always select their sacrifice from the past rulingfamily. I can’t deny that I’ve deliberated who I would choose, especially considering our close relationship. It leaves me questioning if friendships can ever thrive in the city of Pravitia.
Whose death would cause the least ripples between us?
I look past my friend, to his family behind him. His parents are out of the question, my gaze skating over them to finally fall on one of his estranged cousins.
I lock eyes with the eldest. He must be in his forties with a bowl cut that should be worthy of a mercy killing in the first place.
“Boris Vorovsky,” I declare loudly.
The last vowel has barely passed my lips when Boris’ head whips backward, Mercy’s dagger lodged deep into his left eye. Shocked gasps rise from the crowd as his family disperses around him, his body crumbling to the ground.
Dead.
15
MERCY
Even from across the room, my aim is perfect. My trusted dagger, which I refused to take off even here, sinks into Boris Vorovsky’s eye like warm butter. I can feel death’s cold embrace wrap itself around his body even before he has time to collapse to the floor.
I might have not known which family was next in line, but one thing Ididknow was who would be sacrificed. I felt the call as soon as I walked into the grand hall. Death swam around my head, whispering the fate of the Vorovsky cousin, like it had done my entire life.
His death didn’t need to be by my hand—I answer the call as I please—but Boris’ fate was as inevitable as the Lottery.
However, the sacrificeneededto be mine. I was ready to betray whichever family was chosen next, the only thing that mattered was gaining control of Pravitia for myself. It just so happened that the gods chose the most execrable of us all.
Wolfgang whips around to find me smirking. His blue-gray eyes narrow into slits. His naked chest rising quickly, breathing hard like a bull at an inane rodeo.
For a long loaded beat, everyone is frozen in place.
Until Wolfgang breaks the spell.
“Youbitch!” he growls, charging toward me with surprising speed until he lunges forward and tackles me to the ground.
Even with the wind knocked out of me, I manage to fight back while Wolfgang hisses like an aggrieved street cat as he tries to wrap his hand around my neck. Curses fly out from his lips but they barely register as I struggle to wrestle him off me, my nails leaving scratch marks on his cheek and neck.
The scuffle doesn’t last long until Wolfgang is finally dragged off me, but not before he grabs a handful of my hair pulling me up with him. “Bonafide ape, let go of me!” I shout while I try to get out of his grasp.
The Oracle’s voice rises high up above the commotion. “Cease your childish squabblesimmediately.” Her tone is measured but the warning is unmistakable.
Once again, everyone freezes. Wolfgang releases my hair from his grasp as we both look over to where the Oracle is standing.
Her lips are pinched, hands clasped tightly together in front of her while her disapproving glare surveys the crowd. “Everyone out except the six servants.” There's a small ripple of protest coming mostly from the Vainglory family. The Oracle’s stern gaze slices to their faction. “I saidout.”
While we wait for everyone to file out, I distance myself from Wolfgang. My scratch marks, red and swollen on his left cheek, send a victorious thrill through my veins.
Pretending that his seething glare isn’t sizzling through me, I rake my fingers through my hair and straighten my white dress. I ignore any Crèvecoeur looking my way—uninterested in the judgment of distant family members who never visit.
When the heavy double doors have closed, and we’re left standing in a semi-circle around the Oracle, it’s Aleksandr who speaks first. “What in all six gods wasthat?”
“Count your fucking days, Crèvecoeur,” Wolfgang adds with a hiss, hands in tight fists, his knuckles turning white.
I scoff, unperturbed. “You can’t touch me, Vainglory. I would have killed you long ago if that was the case.”
The ruling families don’t follow many laws but even this one has us all staying in line. Calleddamnatio memoriaeor damnation of memory, the six heirs are forbidden to kill each other. The disgraced servant, along with the entire family, is wiped out and eliminated from all records if this law is broken.
