Faces. Countless faces fill the earth below me like the River Styx.
Every character I have ever played, every costume I have ever worn. All of them reaching for me. Riven is just another that will be tossed into the pit when I shed her.
“Methexis,”I breathe again, and the bridge is gone just as Sil stands before me again. “Okay,” I acquiesce. “Okay.”
Act III: Scene XIV
When we enter the lobby, all five Players wait by the door, Jude at the front. By the confused looks on their faces, they’ve been waiting awhile.
TITUS: “Don’t worry about it. Stage fright gets the best of us all.”
He stands beside Mattia, who stares like I’m a ghost she can see through. Then, ever so slightly, she shakes her head.Forget what we saw.
But I see it already. A rip in the skin there at the corner of her eye, bleeding. The first tear in her costume. It’ll only spread, now that she knows what she is. Mine will spread, too, like Jude’s.
At Sil’s command, Jude throws the doors open and steps into the night, slowing only to offer me his hand.
JUDE: “Ready, Riven? Your first Great Dionysia will be a sight to remember.”
I want to refuse,insist that I won’t be a part of this, that I’m done with this role. That I won’t see it through to the finale and won’t allow the Playhouse to reclaim the world with tricks and lies. That what we’ve already done to half of Theatron is unforgivable.
But my lines burn on my tongue, and Sil’s threats ring in my ears.
So I answer, “I’m ready,” and don’t correct that this isn’t either of our first Great Dionysia. We’ve seen all of them.
Impatient, Sil shoves me forward. I stumble, catching Jude’s hand for balance as he leads us down the steps and into a path carved from the crowds. Jude’s eyes flicker to the bandage wrapped around my thumb, where Sil ripped the nail from its bed moments ago. A question forms on his mouth that he doesn’t ask; he just squeezes my hand a little tighter.
And traitor or ally, Player or Jude, I can’t seem to let go.
The clock over the Playhouse foyer sings the song of our freedom: midnight. The beginning of the Great Dionysia, allowing the Players to walk freely for five days’ time. Like dogs given extra lead on a leash. At the end of it, our roles will be completed, our contracts will reset, and the gates will seal. Sil will have his way, and even Jude and I won’t have leeway to leave anymore.
We’ll be trapped, just like the others. Like we’ve always been.
We’re only being let out of our enclosure to lure everyone else in.
Our gilded cage shrieks open to raucous applause. The gates are clotted with watchful eyes, filled with awe. Gifts of flimsy jewelry, expensive fabrics, and love letters litter our path. We don’t pick them up.
Whispers ofthe Player from the Northtaunt my ears. I tense when someone is bold enough to reach out and graze my dress.
I register nothing of the eager faces or praises. Just a distorted sea of people bordering my peripheral vision, my eyes focused on my hand in Jude’s as he leads us forward.
I wanted this, didn’t I?I can’t help but wonder as I’m guided through with my cast. Watched. Wanted. Belonging.
Not like this,my mind counters, even as thatthingdeep under my skin shifts, filled with pride. An actor who played her role perfectly.
“Lookup. Look at their faces, Riven.” Sil speaks over my shoulder, quiet enough that the rest of my cast won’t hear. “Refuse your role, and the Player you are under this pathetic exterior will paint the streets with their blood. Look up. Look at their eyes.”
My will thins with each step. On all sides, we’re surrounded by crowds so thick, I can’t see where they end or begin, but I see their faces tracking my every move. I notice the mixture of unguarded grins and hesitant, pinched lips. Open palms that offer flowers, notes, silver.
Worst of all, though, are the marks—so many displayed, their golden seals broken, like mine. The disturbing display of loyalty stops me in my tracks. I surrendered my mark under the threat of death, and these people have recklessly surrendered theirs under the promise of hope.
I can’t do this. This is wrong.
But if I refuse, this Player will shed me like a costume, and she’ll do worse.
My breaths quicken, freezing and drying in my throat. Jude’s arm goes taut as space stretches between us, and I don’t move forward with him. Sil urges me onward from behind, but I can’t move.
My hand hurts, and I realize it’s because Jude is squeezing it, the edge of his Finders Keepers ring pressing into my index finger.
