A lot of things are shouted, but I only care about one phrase.
“Eleutheraen gold—to hold her—”
Fear grips my spine as instinct sends me reaching for my bridge, riling my anger and tugging desperately on the Craft there—
But before I can do anything with it, I’m thrust back into my chair, and something heavy loops over my arms, pulling tight. Chains. One of the Eleutheraen links is jagged and scratches the skin of my shoulder, a violent burning sensation left in its wake.
Do something!I think furiously at myself.Figure this out—
But the yelling around me, the calls for Eleutheraen gold, the weight of chains cinched around my shoulders…
My world slows, my body too heavy, like it desperately wants to go to sleep and never wake up. Nausea whirls in the pit of my stomach as I pull in a breath.
Help.The word is a shout in my head, useless. I’m alone. I’m alone, and I need to get out of this—
“I don’twantto harm you, Riven,” Dorian growls, leaning down to face me when I’m at last restrained. “Were it simpler, I would gladly return you to your brother. I wishthat I could.”
“Then why don’t you?” I challenge, but my voice is strained. “He’lltellyou I’m marked. That I donotbelong to the Playhouse—” I rail against the chains but feel weaker each time I try.
To my horror, a thought crosses my mind:What if Dorian is right?Look at where I am. What it takes to hold me.
What if Iamno better than a Player?
I have no idea what I am anymore. But whatever it is, it feels lonely.
“And when the world learns whoyou are?” Dorian says, catching his breath. I grip the armrests of the chair and grit my teeth until my jaw aches. “Daughterof the murderedPeacemaker! Ifshecan trust the Playhouse—joinit!—why shouldn’t everyone?” He shows me the bottle again. “This is not about you. Think of your people, Riven. Yourfamily.Surely you must see this is the best thing you can do for them?”
I breathe hard, exhausted. I don’t want to believe him. But his words…they start to sound right, to make horrible sense.
Dorian approaches me with caution, watching my hands like they’re claws. Suddenly, it’s not that I’m too tired to fight him, to fight all of them.
I’m just not sure Ishould.
I stop pulling on my chains.
Dorian leans down, bracing an arm on his knee and staring deep into my eyes, like he’ll find every lie I’ve ever told there. Slowly, my gaze drops to the poison in his hand.
The door flies open again, the wind howling through. I shiver harder.
“Sir!”
A boy, no older than fifteen with a freckled face, stands there with a worried look. “Sir, you need to see something—it’s urgent.” His voice is frail and panicked, eyes bouncing between my situation and something happening outside.
Dorian stills a moment, patience thinning as he says, “I’m sure it can wait—”
“Itcan’t, sir.”
There’s a shift in the room as Dorian’s people exchange concerned looks.
“Watch her,” Dorian orders to my army of babysitters and stalks out after the boy, calling for the man named Basel to follow. The one built like a granite statue lumbers out after them, enormous gilded axe in hand. In their absence, Eleni—his obvious second-in-command—and another woman who might have more muscles in her neck than I have in my entire body stand by the door, eyes on me. As if waiting for me to try and make another grand escape.
I don’t.
If I expected commotion to follow, none does. Nothing. Even the howl of the wind falls eerily silent. I tune in to the careful breathing of those around me.
As fate would have it, I am sorely out of luck, because when the door creaks open, Dorian stalks back in, unbothered by whatever situation awaited him outside. He stares at me and stills, shaking his head. “Where were we?”
I brace myself for the poison as Eleni steps aside to let him through.
