RIVEN: “For a seat at the table.” I raise my chin. “A Player hurt me when I was young.Cursedme, you might have heard. Like many of you, I heard no music growing up, read no story, lived in fear of the Playhouse’s return. And I am tired of being afraid.”
I gesture at Jude with my bound hands.
RIVEN: “Their Lead Player isn’t guilty of breaking his contract.I amfor forcing him to leave the Playhouse. To show him the world outside. And look how he’s returned without a soul harmed.” It’s a miracle Jude doesn’t snort at the blatant lie.
I angle my body outward, appealing to the crowd, silently unleashing my Craft, reaching for their heartstrings and giving them a gentle tug. Testing if Ican.
RIVEN: “My father died at the hands of the Playhouse, for his desire to seek peace between two worlds at each other’s throats.” My Craft flows through me, warming behind my eyes. “But my brother died at the hands of the North, the result of their fear.” My voice climbs, higher and louder, as I shout to the crowd. “The Playhouse is not going anywhere. So why shouldn’t the North have a seat at the table? Whyshouldn’tyou have your voices heard?”
Their glassy eyes focus on me, captivated. I wonder if my speech has sought out true sympathy from them. Or if it’s my own Craft looking back at me, if their tear-stained faces are wet with faux griefIhave imposed.
Maybe their marks can’t protect them from me.
I walk the platform, eyes up and chin high.
RIVEN: “I seek to become the first marked Player,” I say, laying it on thick. “To represent truth and trust as a voice from North of the Cut in the Playhouse. To watch over their efforts and uses of Craft and to bridge the gap between Theatron’s people that too many lives have fallen into already.”Go on. Believe me.
My feet move downstage, to the front of the platform.
RIVEN: “Not only will I become the first marked Player.” I stop and steady myself, gathering my breath. “But their Lead Player.”
I can’t strip the Playhouse of its power until it’smypower to yield. As Lead Player.
RIVEN: “I challenge Jude Stepharros to the Great Dionysia.”
Act III: Scene V
They cheer.
Theycheer.They cheer until the magistrate raises her arms and demands order and Augustus stands from his seat. “The council calls for a brief recess—to discuss these most unusual circumstances,” he announces.
SIL: “There is nothing to discuss.” He points a finger at me. “Riven is accused of the illegal misuse of Craft. Your laws guide the actions of Players, not a marked. No such laws exist.”
The magistrate straightens, jaw tight. “I’ll admit, Silenus, it is an extremely rare situation—”
SIL: “With all due respect, her crimes no longer fall under the council’s jurisdiction.” I feel his eyes on my face. “They fall under mine.”
I think for a moment he’ll order Jude to kill me right then and there and brace myself for a fight.
SIL: “She is a marked who entered the Playhouse under false pretenses and illegally enrolled in the Great Dionysia!” He paces toward me, waving off the magistrate when she moves to stop him. “She stole my Player’s Craft for her own use. Lied to me. Endangered my Lead Player and stole him from his home. And tell me,Riven.” Sil stops about two inches from my face. “Is it true? Did you kill my dear little monster Marigold?”
There’s no use in denying it.
RIVEN: “I did.”
“Silenus, perhaps we can—” interrupts Augustus.
SIL: “She gave up her right to your defense when she came to my Playhouse.” Sil takes one breath, two. Nods to the council, then turns to appeal to the crowd. “What would you have me do with her?” he calls. “After all, she’s one ofyou.”
The audience stirs in response, hesitant and indecipherable calls popping up at the prospect of not only oneof their own being executed before them but the Peacemaker’s heir, their one and only voice in the Playhouse during its reentry.
It’s quiet. Too quiet. Until, near the front, someone calls out, “Let her perform.”
Conspiratorial whispers stir at the suggestion as Sil makes a display of guiding Jude and me to the front of the platform, grandly gesturing.
SIL: “I won’t grant her freedom.” He shakes his head and sighs. “She enrolled in the competition, and she will see it through. Riven’s crimes are forgiven. And the Playhouse welcomes this most unusual prospect of the North’s first Player.” He grins, all pretense of sadness gone, but there’s something in that smile that unsettles me. “Perhaps, the first step toward the mending of this broken land once and for all.”
Then: the words I dread and anticipate.
