My mind is still my own, and it’s saying,Fuckingrun.
I bolt along the corridor and up the steps, gripping the door handle and flying through the opening. And smack into—
Jude.
I realize I’m staring, but I can’t help it. For the first time, I recognize him, all of him. Not only the arch of his brow, the curve of his lips, the spirited gleam in his eyes.
It’s something more now. Something that makes my heart drop.
JUDE: “Awful hurry you’re in, Riven. Did you miss me that much?”
The line I’m supposed to say surfaces on my tongue. It reaches up my throat, the snarky comeback that leads us into our next scene, where we prepare for the show.
RIVEN: “I—”
I swallow the words, then choke out my own. “I remember you.”
Jude freezes, his expression cracking at the edges. I see it in the raise of his brow.
“And I know you remember me,” I say, suddenly seeing past the royal-blue theatrical garb, the metallic leaves sewn into his hair, the kohl smudged under his lashes. He’s always been there.
“You have to help me stop this,” I say.“Please—”
“Stop,” he whispers, shaking his head. “Stop it, Riven. Stop—” His eyes dart past me and then back. A slit in his neck gapes farther open when he looks over his shoulder, gold seeping out. A nick in his peeling costume.
His character is breaking. Cracking right here, right now, over his skin. But I see recognition there. I hear the words wrestling in the air between us.
He grabs my shoulder, the other cradling the back of my head like he’s about to kiss me.
Then something happens.
His face clears, his posture eases, the actor inside pulling Jude back into line. He drops the hand from behind my head and lets it fall to grip my arm.
And just like that, he’s gone.
He turns and charges down the hall, dragging me along by my elbow.
JUDE: “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about.”
Cicero and Sil don’t look surprised when Jude hauls me into the costume wing.
“Get her in costume,” Jude says, emotionless. His death grip releases me onto a small platform surrounded by three gold-encrusted mirrors. I bolt off it for the door, thrashing and cursing when Jude pins my arms over my waist and tosses me back. But he struggles, too. I’m stronger now.
“I’m not going out there,” I hiss, fighting. “I won’t go through with the Great Dionysia.”
“You’ve already missed your call time,” Sil says, annoyed. “Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be, Riven.”
Jude clamps his hands down on my shoulders and leans too close to my ear.
JUDE: “The whole world is waiting for you out there.” A cold rage is festering beneath his words. It doesn’t sound like Jude. I don’t think it’s him at all.
I catch his eye, and there’s nothing there. Just hollow gold irises. Maybe there’s too little left of Jude to wrangle the monster that plays him.
The costume designer peeks his head out from behind a rack, his arms heavy with a long onyx gown. Though I know Cicero isn’t a costume designer at all now.
He’s a Player, just like me. Playing the role of Cicero.
“The gold hairpiece, not the silver,” Sil instructs, stripping off my embroidered vest like I’m a doll to dress up.
