Betrayer: (The Cursed Bloodstone Book 1)
Betrayer: Chapter 13

If I was home, the sounds of drums would fill the air. People would line the streets, throwing flower petals as the newly married couple walks past. A progression of young girls would follow with grass baskets laden with rice, wheat, and barley—their gifts an offering for Olah to bless our marriage.

Here, there are no sounds of drums. No flowers. No young girls. There’s only Gabriel, Luc, Kassandra, and one of the council members standing in a small tent. Thankfully, Cenric is absent. There’s something unsettling about the long-haired man. Something dangerous.

Or maybe that’s the way all Bloodstone warriors are, but he strikes me as being different because of how he killed those Malachites.

I return my attention to the ceremony and the tent we stand in. A brazier burns herbs I don’t recognize, and Kassandra stands with a terracotta bowl filled with soot and brown dyes.

I wear the same surcoat Kassandra gave me on the day she ordered me to bathe in the river. Gabriel wears a marked gray surcoat over dark pants.

I try to not breathe in too deeply. If I do, I’ll smell the cardamon. I’ll remember touching Gabriel and clawing him earlier. My cheeks heat as I still a sideways glance at him, taking in his stiff jaw, as though he grinds his teeth together. He probably does. I cannot blame him for not being happy about wedding me. After all, people from our tribes rarely wed.

Apprehension settles deep within my bones as the ceremony continues binding me to Gabriel. He’s simply a fork in my path, and I learned a long time ago to approach every fork with a smile. So, I smile until my mouth aches.

At the conclusion of the ceremony, the councilman’s last words send ice shards against my heart. “As the rivers Johita and Wocorra join the ocean, so you two have united. Let no man pull asunder what Olah has destined.”

The moment the ceremony finishes, Kassandra grins, grabs my hand, and leads me to a nearby table.

As I sit, she places the bowl with soot on the table. “It’s time for your binding tattoo.”

Knots tighten in my throat as an older man with wrinkled skin and long white hair approaches. He sits across from me holding a sharp pelican bone tied to a stick, which he lowers to the table.

“This is Alf. He will tattoo your skin with a binding engraving.”

My breath shudders at the thought. Not because I fear pain. I have endured enough in my lifetime to not fear a tattoo. It’s the thought of it being forever etched into my skin. No matter where I run or hide, the mark will always be there—proof that I wed a Bloodstone barbarian.

“It will only hurt for a short bit,” Kassandra says, her tone encouraging. She jerks her chin to the left as Gabriel walks past us, heading to a nearby tent. “Gabriel will receive one too.”

My brow lifts as I consider the implication behind her words. These Bloodstone people tattoo the men with a binding engraving too?

Kyanite women simply change the color of surcoat they wear when they wed. They don’t mutilate their bodies. I’d do anything for that tradition right now.

You can do this.

I stiffen my back and place my right hand against the table.

“No, the left,” the white-haired man says.

I look up, pinning my gaze to the ornament hanging from his neck. In the center of the pendant is an empty socket, where a stone once rested. Giant knots form in my stomach. He might have had Bloodstone magic once. He’s old enough.

It’s only been forty summers. There’s probably plenty of them still alive who once had great magic. Dark magic. The kind capable of touching a well full of water and turning it dark and murky. As well as flinging curses at people.

I do as Alf indicated, offering my left arm to him. He picks up his stick and stabs the pelican bone into my wrist, sinking it enough to carve into my flesh. I grimace and curl my toes, tightening them as he continues etching swirls and lines.

Every time he pierces my skin, I remind myself of my obligation to Mother. This is worth it. This mutilation. This binding.

The white-haired man flips my arm over and continues jabbing my skin until the tattoo wraps around my wrist like a thick bracelet. Ancient words mingle with the lines and swirls. Words that have no meaning to me. They might as well be jumbled gibberish. To them, it must mean everything.

Knowing I wanted this, and I plan to dive completely into their world, I ask Alf a question. “What do the words say?”

He traces them one at a time as he speaks. “Love. Commitment. Honor. Cherish.”

I touch the last two words. “And these?”

He lowers murky brown eyes to the engravings. “Bind. Soul.”

Does he consider my soul now bound with Gabriel’s? It takes everything in me to not laugh feverishly.

This is foolish. All of this is so foolish. I have tied myself to a Bloodstone warrior.

Mother would be appalled. She would tell me to run and never look back.

Mother, please forgive me for this path.

I didn’t know what else to offer, to bargain with.

I swallow and muster a smile. “Thank you.”

It’s probably a sin to encourage this marriage with no intentions of committing to any of the words engraved on my arm. After I fulfill my mission, I’ll leave. In the meantime, I have every intention of acting like a good wife. Otherwise, the Bloodstone people might see through me, and I will never get close to my mark.

Alf places the bone on the table and dips his fingers into the soot and dyes. He smears the mixture into the engravings, dying his carving forever into my skin.

My fingers tingle with the urge to scrub at it, to make it all go away. Instead, I bolster my resolve and straighten my shoulders.

After Alf wipes the excess soot away, Kassandra tugs on my arm. “Come with me.”

I obey, following her numbly down the pathway to the row of tents until she stops by one with a campfire nearby. Four women with surcoats like hers sit next to the flames, keeping watch over fish cooking on hot rocks.

Kassandra steps inside the same tent that she brushed my hair in. With a wave of her hand, she motions for me to follow her. I trail her inside the tiny interior. It boasts just enough room for a small bed and a table. On top of the table sits a large satchel. Kassandra rummages around with the clothes inside and pulls free a nightdress.

She turns and offers it to me. “You’re welcome to have it.”

I shake my head. “I couldn’t.”

“Psh.” She places it in my hands. “I want you to have it.”

I accept the kind offering and clutch it to my chest. Tonight is my wedding night with a barbarian warrior—the type of man who will climb on top of me, force himself inside me, and pant until he reaches completion.

I blink and try to force away the memories I always try to forget. They will not be suppressed. They crash over me. Each one stronger, more vivid. Each one raising hesitation against my skin.

The men were always the same that came to Father’s brothel. They didn’t care if the door was open, or if their loud breathing pierced the thin walls. I saw everything. Heard everything.

Gabriel is no different than those men. He’s Bloodstone. He’s used to taking what he wants. He won’t care about going slow because it’s my first time.

I raise a fist to my mouth, fighting the powerful urge to voice my dismay. The last thing I want is Gabriel’s invasion.

Mother, help me.

Give me strength.

The memory of her smile calms my mind.

There’s nothing that could happen tonight that is worse than what she endured at the hand of that savage Roland.

I’ll give her the peace she deserves. I’ll vindicate her.

First, I must get through tonight.