The hall froze. It was as if someone had stopped time. The magical wall of water and fire hesitated for a second, the flames dimmed, the water lost its shape and threatened to fall. The priest's jaw dropped. Friedrich stared at her as if she had spoken in a foreign language.
Then time resumed. Friedrich crushed her hand in his grip with such force that she felt the small bones in her palm cracking. The pain was sharp, but Ema didn't even blink. "What are you doing?!" he hissed at her.
The priest quickly recovered. Trying to maintain decorum, he offered a stiff, nervous smile to the guests, who were beginning to murmur.
"Love can be confusing, can't it?" he laughed forcedly. "The bride is merely nervous. So many eyes, such grandeur... It's natural. I will ask again, to be sure." He fixed a stern gaze on Ema. "Ema, I ask you once more. Do you take the man standing before you...?"
Ema looked at him. Her smile did not fade. "I said NO," she repeated, and this time her voice rang with such force that it bounced off the vaulted ceiling. "I will not marry Friedrich of the House of von Riese. I will not become part of your Family. Never."
"What outrage!" the priest roared, his face turning red with anger. "This is blasphemy! An insult to a sacred ritual!"
Friedrich's nerves snapped. The mask of the perfect nobleman shattered into a thousand pieces. Right before the altar, before the eyes of the entire elite, he swung and punched her in the face. The blow was so hard it knocked Ema to her knees. She tasted blood in her mouth, saw stars.
"Say YES!" Friedrich roared at her, kicking her in the ribs, in the stomach. "Do it! Say it!" The guests behind the wall of water gasped; some covered their mouths, but no one moved. No one intervened. Ema lay on the cold stone, her dress stained with blood. She lifted her head, looking at him through an eye that was already beginning to swell shut. "Never," she coughed blood onto the white petals.
Friedrich stopped. His chest heaved with rage. He looked at the priest, then at the hall, and finally at her. He snorted. "We'll do it differently, then," he said coldly.
He dragged her by her hair, like a piece of meat, the few meters to the altar. In the brutality of it, Ema dropped Azriel's bouquet, which rolled under the podium into the shadows. Friedrich hoisted Ema up and, with inhuman strength, slammed her onto the stone slab of the altar. A dull thud echoed—the sound of a body hitting hard granite. Ema cried out, the air knocked from her lungs. She felt her back crack, the skin on her bare arms scraped bloody.
She lay on her back, unable to move, staring at the dark ceiling of the cathedral, which spun above her. She felt warm blood flowing from her nose and a split eyebrow, running down her temple and mingling with her perfect hairstyle. At least I'll die free, flashed through her mind in a spark of defiance. Without anyone dictating who I am. Without a ring.
Friedrich stood over her. He adjusted his suit cuffs as if he had just finished a strenuous chore and turned to the crowd behind the water wall. His face was calm, terrifyingly composed. "I apologize for this... minor theatrical interruption," he announced, his voice carrying through the hall. "The wedding is off. But do not leave. Please, remain in your seats. You are about to witness something far more interesting. You will see a process that is a rarity in our circles, and which you may never see with your own eyes again."
He gestured to the priest. The old man in robes understood immediately. He stepped back from the altar and raised his hands. The water from the nearest ice vases obeyed his will. It rose into the air, coalesced into one massive, transparent block, and shaped itself directly above the altar. It formed a gigantic, perfect magnifying glass. The lens of water hung over Ema and Friedrich, magnifying every detail of what was happening on the altar, projecting the image for the back rows. Every drop of blood, every twitch of Ema's face was now visible to the entire hall like on a giant screen. It was a twisted spectacle.
Friedrich leaned over Ema again. His face, magnified by the water lens, looked like the face of a monster. It was contorted with concentration. He placed his hand on her chest, right on the center of her sternum, right where Ema felt that warmth. And he began to push.
At first, she felt nothing but the weight of his palm. But then it happened. It wasn't pressure on her bones. It was as if invisible, icy hooks had sunk into her flesh. They pierced through the skin, through the muscles, slipped between her ribs without breaking them, and dug straight into the core of her being. Into her soul.
Friedrich's fingers clenched convulsively, and the hooks caught hold. They began to pull. Tearing the life out of her. Tearing out that foreign, raw energy that had settled within her, taking pieces of her own self with it.
The pain was indescribable. It wasn't the pain of an injury she knew. It was the pain of non-existence. It went beyond the limits of nerves, resonating in every cell of her body, in every memory. It felt as if someone were flaying her alive, pouring acid over her, and simultaneously sucking the marrow from her bones. She wanted to scream. She wanted to scream her lungs out, to beg for death, but she couldn't. She couldn't control a single muscle. She lay there, paralyzed, her mouth open in a silent scream, her eyes wide with terror, while her body arched in spasms.
She felt the light draining from her. Her consciousness shattering into pieces like a broken mirror. She saw the world through a red mist. Occasionally, she caught glimpses through the magical lens of the people in the hall—she saw the hungry excitement in the eyes of some older Architects who leaned forward, fascinated by the technique; she saw sheer horror in Hanna's eyes; she saw the indifference of the guards.
This wasn't murder. It was a vivisection of the soul. It was an extraction.
The end, Ema thought, feeling herself sinking into a darkness where there was no more pain, only silence.
"THAT IS ENOUGH, FRIEDRICH!"
"Hilda?" Friedrich gasped, his voice cracking. He paled as if his heart had stopped. "That... that is impossible."
Hilda laughed, a quiet, cold sound. "What is it, darling? You look as if you've seen a ghost."
Friedrich's eyes darted over her figure, unable to accept reality. "How can you be standing on your feet?" he asked in disbelief. "After everything? After how you wronged me? Wronged the family? The betrayal should have broken you, torn you to pieces!"
"You mean this?" she asked calmly. With a jerk, she tore away her cloak and the dress beneath it, revealing her left shoulder and a portion of her chest. A murmur ran through the hall, but it wasn't just fear; it was deep, instinctive revulsion. People in the front rows swallowed hard.
The skin there was not smooth. It was disfigured by black-purple energy that twisted and pulsed beneath the surface like a tangle of venom-filled veins. It was rot. It was the brand of a broken magical bond, the brutal aftermath of tearing the soul tie that should have killed her. But she had survived.
"I did not come here with ill intent," she declared, her voice carrying through the silent hall. She covered her shoulder again. "I do not wish to shed blood unless forced to do so. We only want the woman on the altar. Surrender her, hand her over to us, and we will leave. We want nothing else."
Friedrich looked at her, then darted a glance at Ema, his face twisting into a scornful sneer. "The woman?" he laughed until it echoed off the vaulted ceiling. "She belongs to no one. She is the property of the House of von Riese! She is a tool, and her power will be used to do good, whether you like it or not."
"What good?!" Hilda snapped angrily, causing some guests to flinch. "You are blind! Your obsession with order, your constant interventions... The Architects are not just destroying freedom with their actions; you are destroying the very balance of the world! You are leading us all to ruin!"
"Lies! Vile lies!" voices began to rise from the crowd. Politicians and courtiers recovered from their shock, their piety turning to wrath. "Blasphemy! We are the servants of God! We are His remaining will on earth!"
Hilda looked at them with pity mixed with disgust. "Can't you see what your will is causing?" She reached into the folds of her clothing and hurled something into the crowd in the aisle. The object hit the marble with a dull, wooden sound. It was a piece of a bush. But it was neither green nor dry. It was unnaturally twisted, black as coal.