For hundreds of years the gods have demanded exorbitant amounts of sacrifice from humanity, causing floods, earthquakes and other natural disasters when they don’t get what they want. Only the cantelli, women with power in their voices, are able to save sacrifice from the gods’ clutches and keep them from wreaking havoc.
A prophecy foretelling a time of blood and horror names the world’s hope for survival: the Spesa Unum, the only cantella who has the power to fight the coming darkness.
Mavelle, a powerful cantella, struggles to find acceptance and moments of joy after a terrible loss. When she is swept up in a myriad of forces beyond her control, she must decide if becoming the Spesa Unum is her destiny or if she should walk away from the cantelli, the gods and her song forever.
Sneak peek after the jump!
Mavelle told her stomach to settle down and strode to the center of the sacrifice chamber, where she stationed herself before the altar. She fluffed out her cloak so Bronis would be sure to see the ribbons lining the inside when he arrived. Unlike anyone else, Bronis had the ability to distract her from her duty as a cantella, to save sacrifice from the gods, but she hoped her ribbons would serve as a reminder of her power.
Mavelle grimaced, not sure if she wanted to remind her former lover or herself.
Bronis pushed past the embroidered cloth panel hanging over the entrance and scowled when he saw her waiting for him. “You’re early.”
Mavelle clenched the edges of her cloak and straightened. She would not let him disturb her, no matter his manner. She needed calm focus to face a god. “It’s an important singing.”
Bronis stalked around her to the altar. “All singings are important.”
Mavelle breathed deeply. Of course, every singing was important—any god could cause terrible destruction if not appeased or conquered—but not every singing required some of the richest and most powerful people in the city to risk losing their jewels.
Bronis opened one of the three pouches in his hands and spread ten emeralds across the altar. They varied in size, but the biggest was about the size of the tip of her thumb.
“Only ten?” she asked, stepping up onto the altar platform to study them more closely. The last time she had sung against Smarag, god of emeralds, twenty-five emeralds had been on the altar.
Bronis shot her a disdainful glance. “The whims of the gods are unfathomable.”