The mortals made a treaty, to keep the Players South.
Eleni stares at me, dumbfounded.
My mouth opens again, and a singsong voice comes out. “Eleni steps forward.”
And when the treaty ended, a wall to keep them out.
The toe of her boot inches forward, and that’s when fear ignites in her eyes, when her hand darts to the mark thatshouldbe protecting her from this. From me. The pitch of my voice engulfs the eruption of whispers in the crowd around us.
At the edge of my vision, Jude watches from his chains, his mouth hanging open.
“Eleni falls to her knees.” My voice again, but not.
I am nothelpless.
And if the wall should crumble, then marks will keep us safe.
She tries to spring forward. Toward me. She falls to her knees at the marble steps instead, her hands clasping onto the ledge of one.
And if our marks should fail us, gods have mercy on our fate.
“Eleni hits her head. Very hard.” I raise my eyes and meet hers. My mouth opens one more time, voice rigid as stone and sweet as honey. “Over and over again.”
Eleni obeys.
Intermission: Scene XIV
Two bodies mar the Playhouse steps.
I’m vaguely aware of the collective mania breaking out at the sight of dark blood washing over the marble, because the ringing in my ears isn’t loud enough to drown out all the screaming. Eleni’s body lies face down on the steps, limp, hands still clutching the ledge of the terrace. Crimson oozes into her blond hair.
A stampede pushes away from the Playhouse. Somewhere, Sil yells for the other Players to go inside.
I don’t care.“Methexis.”The word warms my throat.
The ground beneath me clears into a glassy ocean only I can see. Tendrils of brilliant Craft lock and weave deep below it. Summoned by my anger, they ascend to the surface with a violence I only draw from, as my bridge to that strange power bonds stronger. I grip hold of that darkness, that anger. Pull it inward, center it, because it hasn’t just come from me. Itisme. It’s a rage so hungry, it has to devour something.
But that something will not be me.
I banish the image of my bridge and focus on the mania beyond it, but hold fast to that Craft—thatpower.It courses through me like a live flame.
A word rattles from my lips in a pitch so low, my own ears can’t distinguish it. I don’t evenunderstandit.
Where is this coming from?
This isn’t me.
Jude shouts something. I turn, and his eyes widen, frightened. Like he sees something I can’t. The men holding him abandon their post, scattering and leaving Jude to struggle against his bindings.
Not to get away from the crowds, but to get away from me.
All I can think is that I want all of these intruders out—faraway from me, from Jude, from the Players, and from the Playhouse. The thought consumes me as an illusion builds on my lips and escapes my mouth like a curse.
In response, shadows slink from the clouds overhead and fall like dead leaves to the ground. They crawl over the marble like living creatures, chasing away the spectators.
At my command, they seep outside the Playhouse gates, where shrieks erupt like banshees as the dark illusion stretches over the crowd.
Then, one by one, every last torch in this godsforsaken crowd quiets to an ember, to smoke, and finally: to nothing. My illusion smothers the light, swallows it whole.
