Chapter 5 - THE TRAITOR IN SILK
"Clara?" Evelyn’s voice cracked. "You... you were asleep. I put the sleeping draught in your tea!"
Clara chuckled, stepping into the chapel. Her soft linen dress was gone, replaced by a tight leather riding garment beneath a velvet cloak. "Do you really think I drank that pathetic little potion, Evie? I slipped it into the dog's bowl the second you turned your back to fetch the tray."
Evelyn felt as though she had been struck in the chest. "Why? Clara, what is happening? Why do you have that knife?"
"Because you were always the favorite, Evelyn," Clara spat, her eyes flashing with a terrifying, bitter malice. "All my life, it was 'Evelyn works so hard,' 'Evelyn pays the bills,' 'Evelyn is so noble.' You played the martyr so well that you never even noticed what Father and Mother were building in the dark."
"I did everything to protect you!" Evelyn yelled, tears brimming in her eyes. "I gave up my life for you!"
"You didn't give up anything—you were sold!" Clara snapped, advancing toward the altar with the ritual knife held high. "Eighteen years ago, Father pledged your blood to the Warden of the Pit in exchange for absolute power over these lands. But you had to come to the altar willingly to activate the sacrifice. If we forced you, the contract would fail."
Clara smiled wickedly, glancing at Alaric. "And Father knew that your pathetic, bleeding heart wouldn't hesitate to play the hero if you thought your sweet little sister was going to die."
Alaric stepped in front of Evelyn, his clawed hand extending as dark magic surged around his arm. "Stand down, Clara. You have no idea what horror your family is about to unleash."
"Oh, I know exactly what is behind that gate, Lord Thorne," Clara sneered. "And once Evelyn’s blood touches the lock, the Warden will grant my family eternal dominion over the entire northern realm. No more begging for pennies. No more rotting in Briar Glen!"
With terrifying speed, Clara raised her left hand and threw a small clay vial onto the floor between them.
The vial shattered, releasing a dense cloud of blinding, suffocating red smoke.
Alaric lunged forward, but the smoke acted like acid against his cursed skin. He roared in agony as the red mist hit his silver mask, forcing him to his knees as his dark magic sputtered out.
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"Alaric!" Evelyn screamed.
Out of the red fog, Clara leaped forward with superhuman speed. She grabbed Evelyn by her black veil, yanking her head back, and slammed the silver ritual knife down toward Evelyn’s exposed collarbone—right where the golden mark burned.
