The torches in the underground hall flickered as Hilda led the two men deeper into the Son’s haven. She wanted to hit Billy over the head with a vase, but there wasn’t one handy. The halls were strangely empty. The guard at the entrance said Marc was gathering the available Sons for a grand assembly. He’d be in the audience chamber.

Hilda led the way there through the quiet until the murmur of voices could be heard in the distance.

“What do ye think the bastard is doing?” Billy asked

Hilda shrugged. “Something dramatic.”

The murmur grew louder until she turned the corner to see the huge double doors, leading into the chamber. She pushed them open and the murmur turned into a roar. There had to be over a thousand Sons assembled in the vast room. The walls were formed from rough-hewn stone and at the stage at the far end was a simple, raised platform carved from the rock beneath her feet. Hilda’s eyes widened as she sighted a half dozen men carrying an altar onto the stage. The rusty color of it make her skin crawl. It had been years since she’d seen one of those. Could it be real?

She spotted Melna on the stage and all doubt fled her. Marc managed to convince the old bat to help him after all. Hilda pushed her way through the crowd to the stage as the men reverently set the altar on the ground. Marc leaned against the wall at the rear of the stage, looking nonchalant about the whole affair. As if this were all a common occurrence. After a great deal of shoving, Hilda reached the stage and hopped up as if she were supposed to be there. Marc grinned when he saw her.

“You’re back earlier than expected,” he greeted as she approached with Billy and Kid in tow.

“Ran into complications. Billy took it upon himself to relieve the Marshal of a vase by dashing it over the Earl’s head.”

Marc’s eyebrows raised, and he looked to Billy. “Divines below man. Why?”

Billy shifted uneasily and glanced at Kid. “I saw him grab the boy. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

Marc shrugged. “What’s done is done, though I wish I could’ve borne witness to that.” He grinned and looked to Kid. “You deliver the letter?” Kid nodded. “Good. Now what did you tell the Earl?”

Kid paled, and all eyes locked on him. The boy looked like he wanted to run. Marc chuckled. “Everything you knew eh? Good.”

Kid blinked. “Good? You wanted me to tell him?”

Marc nodded. “It’s why I wanted you to deliver the letter. He caught you in the castle and gave you that extra Hart I found on you. I know you boy. You’re a greedy, craven little shit. You’d go to him if he didn’t find you. In a way, it’s good he caught you tonight. The fact you’re all alive means I have my answer.”

Hilda narrowed her eyes at him. “Your answer? You didn’t mention this to me.”

“My question was whether he would try to stop what’s coming. My answer is that he doesn’t want to get involved. We’ll know for sure tomorrow.”

Hilda walked close to him and spoke in a low voice. “You didn’t already know that?”

Marc grinned.

“Someday you’re going to get us all killed Marc.”

“But not today.” He stepped around her and looked at Kid.

“I planned for it, but you still betrayed me boy.” His gaze drifted to the altar. I thought about tying you to it and making you my sacrifice. There are many ways to make one a willing participant.”

Kid stepped back from Marc, looking over his shoulder at the crowd. He wilted as he realized there was nowhere to run.

She put a hand on Marc’s sholder. “Marc-”

He cut her off with an upraised hand. Her instinct was to snap at him, but she didn’t want to anger him. Not now. In the corner of her eye she noticed Billy reaching for the kitchen knife at his waist.

Marc knelt to Kid’s level, looking into his eyes. To his credit, the boy met his gaze. “However.”

Billy’s hand moved from the knife.

“You’re not strong, you look like the product of an invalid fucking a goat and you’re not even particularly clever.” Marc smirked. “But you’re fucking lucky and that is something that nobody in Bleakridge ever is. You live in the home of the Reaper and If she refuses to take you, then who am I to object?”

Marc patted Kid on the shoulder. “I’ve inflicted a hundred fates worse than death Kid. Don’t make me have to think up another.”

The boy looked as if he were ready to faint as Marc rose to his feet. “Melna,” he called, “Are you ready?”

The old, withered woman nodded and walked closer to their group. “You act all high and mighty, talking about your respect for the Reaper. Is there anybody you won’t use like a tool? The reason he’s alive is that you know I wouldn’t help you otherwise. Don’t play the fool.”

Marc scowled, but didn’t contradict her. He turned to the crowd, put his hand to his mouth and whistled. A pair of Sons wearing their masks pushed a man forward. Carver. Hilda had to fight the urge to kick the man in the face as he climbed onto the stage. If he’d actually managed to hurt Lissa- She quashed the fire welling up in her heart.

The two guards walked back into the crowd, leaving Carver standing on the stage. “Are you ready?” Marc asked.

Carver didn’t answer. Melna looked to Marc. “A sacrifice has to be willing. And I’m not going to do your dirty work for you Marc. If you want him dead, do it yourself.”

She turned from the altar, as if about to leave the stage. Carver grabbed her by the elbow. There were tears in his eyes. He blinked them away. “Please. You have to.”

Marc nodded. “I assure you. He’s very willing.”

Hilda couldn’t find pity in her heart for the man but Melna was visibly upset. She looked to Carver. “Are you sure? It’s not an easy way to go.”

The man gave an unconvincing nod. Melna frowned. “I’ll make sure Ghretta is okay for you.”

Carver didn’t answer, looking to the altar. “Do I just lay there?”

Melna followed his gaze. “Best to close your eyes.”

Carver walked to the altar and laid his hands along smooth surface. Marc clapped his hands. “Excellent work everyone. Now, all of you, get the fuck off my stage.”

Hilda, Billy and Kid followed his instruction, joining the crowd below. Above them, Marc stepped to the edge of the platform and raised his hands. Silence washed over the room like a wave. Marc stood above, watching them, letting his gaze drift over the crowd in such a way that every man thought they locked eyes. The silence lingered. The only sound was the shifting of men and their breath.

Marc spoke, “Today is a dark day in our history. The day our country fell. But as with the darkness of every night, there comes a dawn. Tomorrow we will rise. The fires that burn in our heart will be the spark to the kindling of our revolution. The blood we spill will be the fuel for the flame and it starts with one man.”

Marc turned to Carver who still leaned against the rusty stone. He put a hand on the man’s shoulder. “Carver. My friend, you have been with us almost as long as I have. For that you have my eternal gratitude. And for your sacrifice, the thanks of our nation.”

Marc hugged the man. Carver tensed in his grasp, but the crowd cheered. Marc released him and gestured to the altar. Carver stared at it for a long moment before lowering himself to its surface. The room was deathly quiet as Melna walked to the altar. She held out a hand to Marc. The man drew the dagger at his belt and handed it to her hilt first.

Melna’s fingers curled around the blade and she took it. She pricked her thumb with the point of the blade and held her hand out over the altar, letting droplets of blood fall into the stone. The altar pulsed red as the droplets hit it. Then, Melna spoke in a language Hilda hadn’t heard since she was a girl. The harsh tones of the Old Rillish language chilled her and the room seemed to grow darker as Melna spoke. One by one, the people around her fell to their knees. She knew that for many of the younger Sons, this was the first human sacrifice they’d seen.

She joined them on her knees, looking up at the proceedings. When Melna finished her prayer, she grabbed Carver’s arm and lifted it into the air. She drew the blade along the veins of his wrist, cleanly splitting them. The man’s jaw tightened as blood flowed down his exposed arm. Hilda watched the flow, waiting for it to touch the altar. A mixed feeling of excitement and dread welled up in her. Dread for what she was about to see, excitement for what it would wrought.

The blood flowed onto the altar and the stone pulsed red, then turned black as night. The air chilled and Hilda’s breath began to frost. The darkness from the altar seeped into the blood flowing from Carver’s arm. The liquid turned black, the color red fleeing up his arm to the wound. When the darkness touched the wound, Carver screamed. The noise rent the air, a noise of primal terror. He began to shake, trying to thrash but the altar held him down. Carver’s veins turned black, spider webbing from his wound which no longer bled. Hilda could tell when it reached his heart because the black exploded outwards into his other arm and into his face, ringing his brow like a crown of thorns. His screams cut off.

Hilda knew what to look for. She watched his eyes. The dark seeped in from the edges, slowly enveloping the whites, then the iris and finally joining his pupil. Then he began to sink. The stone dragged him downwards, consuming him. As he faded from sight, he raised an arm. His fingers twitched as they disappeared into the altar.

All was quiet as the black swirls ran across the altar. Melna handed the dagger back to Marc. “Finish it,” she said.

Marc took the blade, unwrapped the bandage around his hand and reopened the wound. He placed his bloody palm on the altar. As with Carver, the darkness of the altar rushed into his wound, up his arm and exploded across his body when it reached his heart. Marc’s expression was one of ecstasy. He moaned as his eyes slowly turned black. When the darkness reached his pupils, the altar pulsed and the dark seeped into the air, billowing over the crowd like a wave.

Hilda held her eyes wide open and breathed deeply. The older Sons in the crowd did the same. The young recoiled, not understanding. They would soon. On the stage Marc began to laugh, mania taking hold of him. Hilda felt it enter her veins, a rush of power running into her. It exhilarated her, filled her with life, with Carver’s life. She felt lighter, more lithe in body and clearer in mind than ever before. Her eyes began to itch.

Next to her, Kid rubbed at his eyes. She grabbed his hands, stopping him. He looked to her. The veins in his eyes had turned pitch black, making it look as if the whites of his eyes had shattered. Hilda grinned at him as he stared into her eyes.

Shouts and joyous laughter sounded around the room. Hilda joined in it. The horror of moments before, faded into foggy memory. A smile split Kid’s face. “What it this?” he asked.

“The Reaper’s blessing. She accepted our offering.” Celebration broke out around them as Marc leapt from the stage and began clasping hands and embracing his people. The white of his grin at odds with the pitch black of his eyes. “How long will I feel like this?”

“A day. A week.” Hilda shrugged. “Depends on your blood.” She sighed contentedly. Marc walked up to her and embraced her. She knew she should hate his touch, but couldn’t find it in herself. He released her and whispered in her ear. “James is in my office. He asked to see you.”

Hilda smiled, the mania running through her veins overwhelming.

James.

Her smile faltered. “What does he want?”

“He asked a favor of me, and asked for a moment to speak with you,” he answered.

The fear running through her warred with the blessing, dulling it’s cutting edge. “I don't know,” she whispered.

“Go,” he said with a sense of command.

Hilda felt the compulsion wash over her, and before she knew it, she was walking from the room, all doubt washed away.

The crowd of Sons around her roared in cacophonic glee, madness in their eyes. Reaper below, it was comforting. She made it through the writing mass of humanity to the doors. It felt like a physical loss as she passed their threshold. The torches in the long halls flickered and there were eyes in the shadows, watching her as she glided down the halls. Energy coursed through her, spurring her to move faster until she raced down the halls at a reckless pace.

She reached the door and threw it open. James looked up at her from Marc’s bed. She froze, seemingly stuck in place.”

James frowned at her as he rose to his feet and crossed the room to her. “Hild,” he whispered as he took her hands.

She averted her eyes from him. She didn’t know why. His hand touched her cheek and gently turned her head to face him. “Marc said he would send you here as soon as you got back. I guess you got here during the blessing?”

“Right when it started.” She didn’t know why she lied. Her eyes widened. “Wait, where’s Lissa?”

James frowned. “I keep asking myself that lately. I found her at Melna’s house earlier today, but you know that story.” He shook his head. “Marc gave Melna a room and I left Lissa in there. I didn’t want her at the blessing, and I wanted to talk to you alone.”

“Talk? I thought you cut ties with Marc.”

James frowned, and she could see his pride warring with his heart. He grimaced as if in pain. “I swallowed my pride and came to him, asking for forgiveness. My daughter is in danger and he can protect her.” James took her by the hand. “And I miss my wife. Come home Hild.”

The scars on his face were a storybook of pain. She stroked a hand along his face, his hurt, like a knife running through her heart. She knew what she had to say, what she should have said years ago. What she never had the courage to say aloud without the darkness running through her veins. “I love you, but I can’t give you what you want.”

James frowned more deeply, tears appearing in the corners of his eyes. “I know. I’ve known for a long time. I’ve just kept hoping you’d change your mind” He chuckled darkly. “It sounds foolish, saying it aloud.”

She took his hand in hers.”It’s not foolish. It’s noble.” She hesitated, her breath catching. “You’ve been everything a woman could ever hope for in a husband, and I ruined you.”

James shook his head. “That’s not true. I-”

She put a hand against his chest, silencing him. “I can’t wait this out. I can’t weather the storm and be happy with the scraps we have left.” She took a deep breath. “I think of the life we used to have before the war, and gods, I would give up anything for Lissa to have a chance at that.”

“Even me?” James asked.

Hilda felt the tears dripping down her face. James reached out to her and wiped them from her face. His hand came away, black as night. She forced out the single hardest word of her life. “Yes.”

Without another word, he slipped past her and left through the doorway. It clicked shut behind him. Hilda didn't know how long she stood in that room willing the blessing to drown out the gaping wound in her heart. She knew it never could.