I knew everything would be fine. This is my life. Nobody controls it except for me.
Then the priest stops in the middle of his prayer.
I lift my head. The priest’s wide eyes are fixed on something over my shoulder. Slowly, I realize that a strange hush has fallen over the crowd. No one is coughing. No one is shifting in the pews. Even Ale’s mamma has stopped sniffling, and when I turn around, I see why.
The watercrea has left her pew. She’s standing in the middle of the aisle, and her eyes are on me.
TWO
WHEN THE WATERCREA STANDS, EVERYONE ELSE BOWS.
They don’t use the kneelers in the pews, because those are for praying to God, and God can’t do what the watercrea does. Everybody in the cathedral drops to the stone floor. They disappear behind the pews, and abruptly, it looks like the building is empty.
For a moment, I’m mesmerized. With one move, the woman in the red gown has the entire city at her feet.
It must be nice.
I’m vaguely aware that Ale is already on his knees, tugging on my hand, and that the watercrea is gliding toward us. She stops a few paces away. In the shadows of the candlelight, her face is unreadable.
There’s a distant little voice in my head, and it’s screaming at me that I’m the only one still standing. I should kneel. I should run. I should do something. Anything.
The watercrea lifts a pale hand and beckons over her shoulder, and one of her guards crawls out of his pew and runs forward.
“The bride,” the watercrea says in a soft voice.
It feels inevitable. It feels like I’ve been holding a fine crystal glass that’s slipped out of my fingers, and all I can do is watch it fall and wait for the explosion of shards.
The guard walks toward me. In his outstretched hand is something small and glinting, and when I realize it’s a knife, I take a clumsy step back. Ale’s grip on my hand tightens. But the guard stops an arm’s length away, and for a long moment, he just stares at me. His face is expectant.
He’s waiting for me to confess, I realize dimly. At this point, in front of God and everyone, any other Occhian would confess.
I lift my chin and regard him with disdain.
He lunges forward. He grabs my arm and yanks me away from Ale.
Obviously, I know how this is supposed to go. I’m Emanuela Ragno, and this is my wedding day. If a guard dares to interrupt and pull me around like he owns me, he regrets it.
It’s just that I can’t seem to wrap my head around the fact that he actually came after me. I can’t comprehend his hands, heavy and foreign, on my arm. On my shoulders.
I can’t let this happen. I have to do something.
The cold knife touches my back. It shocks me into action, and I leap away.
Or I try to.
But everything… stops. My legs stop. My arms stop. I don’t know what’s happening to me. All I know is that I’m desperate for my body to move, and it’s not going anywhere. I try to scream, but my throat is squeezed shut.
Then my eyes focus on the woman in front of me.
It’s the watercrea. She’s using her magic on me. She’s taken control of my blood.
Something is roaring in my ears, but over the noise, I hear the snick of the guard’s knife cutting into my gown and my corset. He starts to wrestle them off.
I try to look away from the watercrea, but I can’t. She’s even taken control of my eyes.
I hear my clothes hitting the floor. I feel the cold air on my skin, and then the guard is cutting off my underpants. They fall away, and nearby, Ale’s mamma stifles a gasp. I know exactly what she’s seeing. I know what they’re all seeing.
The mark on my hip doesn’t look like much. It’s just a small red smudge. But to the people of Occhia, it’s everything.
“Quickly,” the watercrea says. “Before it spreads.”
No. It’s not going to spread. They have to let me go. They have to let me explain.
The guard slides off the gold engagement ring I’ve been wearing since I could fit it on my finger. He tries to pull the crown of roses from my head, but Paola pinned it within an inch of her life, and it doesn’t budge. A moment later, I feel his knife sawing through my hair, and clumps are ghosting down my back.
He’s ruining my hair. He’s not allowed to do that.
And then my feet aren’t on the floor anymore. They slide out of my silk slippers as I hover a breath above the carpet, and I’m gliding down the aisle toward the watercrea.
They say the watercrea’s power comes from her eyes. As I feel myself drift past her and continue toward the back of the cathedral, I know her gaze is following me.
It feels like nobody in this whole huge room is breathing. I’m not sure if I’m breathing. I can’t see Ale or my family and I can’t blink and all I know is that everything is happening too quickly and too quietly.
It’s not like I haven’t had nightmares about this. But the nightmares were different. In the nightmares, I could talk. I could fight. I was dragged to the tower kicking and screaming, defiant and alive.
But I’m already at the double doors of the cathedral. There are guards on either side of me, pushing them open, and we’re
