I stare at our hands and then up at him.
“Remember what I told you?” he whispers, and finally, I catch it. Recognition, however brief. It creeps through his exterior for just a moment, breaking past.“Three deep breaths.”
My eyes find the coin hanging at his collarbone, winking back at me in the moonlight.
Jude was right all that time ago, I decide. We are the same.
Two sides of a shiny coin used to purchase terrible things.
Act III: Scene XV
Sincerely, I hoped never to see The First Act Theatre again after my trial. At least I’m not being led into it by chains this time, though Jude’s grip could probably give those shackles a run for their money.
It’s as I remember: an outdoor amphitheatre nestled at the bottom of a hill, filled with seats that climb up to the rim—though the seats are mostly full already. At its base sprawls a platform with a massive skene of white pillars lined up behind it. Stars cluster overhead, as if arranged to produce the most light directly above the stage.
Smart of Sil to move the first performance of the Great Dionysia here. Some in the North may be eager, curious, but not enough to risk setting foot in the Playhouse. He’ll win them slowly first. In an open-air stage, where spectators can observe from the seats, watch from the stands, or just listen from the safety of their homes miles away.
I’m led through the crowd and around back, up a flight of stairs and into the skene at the back of the stage. I register little, if any, of it as I’m ushered through a curtained entrance and onto the stage behind Jude.
My ears pop as the audience jumps to their feet at the sight of us.
SIL: “Welcome, welcome—to theGreat Dionysia!” His voice booms, carries over the applause.
He nods at Jude, and the Lead Player raises his eyes to the sky. A whispered word falls from his mouth.
The entire world falls dark, like a curtain closing, a set being prepared. Chants turn to excited whispers. The crowd stirs with unease, frightened by the dark illusion.
Then the world blazes gold, a burst of Craft seeping into the ground and shooting across the District. The moon shines like a spotlight, illuminating a different city than the one we stood in a moment ago, adorned in the fashion of every Great Dionysia, past and present.
My eyes track maroon flowers encircling the platform, blooming through emerald ivy. The dusty, cracked stage shines in luminous gold beneath my feet. Warmth coats Theatron’s chilly air, replaced by a silky breeze that seems to hum sweetly when it passes you by.
The realization pierces me like an arrow. It’s decorated as our lost home on the mountain, Eleutherae.
The audience seems to notice all at once—some with shock, others with delight—that the colors of their own clothing have brightened into vivid shades of red, gold, and purple. Most of them return a roaring wave of applause. This is more color than many of them have ever seen, much less worn.
Even I have to pause to take it in—seeing the world outside illuminated in beauty that we hoard all to ourselves.
My mind flashes briefly to the Archives, to every story ever written. Stolen away by us.
SIL: “Tonight!” His diction cuts clean through the last of their cheers as Jude and I exit the stage. “We are proud to present abrand-newshow based on old events. As we know, those who do not learn from their histories—”
TITUS: “Have better things to do?” His heckling receives a fit of laughter as he exits.
Sil shakes his head, smiling, and turns back to the audience.
SIL: “In honor of the upcoming renegotiation of the Playhouse’s home in Theatron and apeacefulreturn to the North, the cast feels a responsibility to remind the world of conflicts not so long ago, if only to avoid their recurrence. We must learnfrom our pasts, yes?”
The crowd stirs, uneasy. Meanwhile, we take our places offstage. As we wait, the audience stirs with anticipation, Revelers eagerly claiming the best views while those with marks take hesitant positions near the edges of the theatre until the last seat is occupied.
From backstage, I peek and catch a glance of Theatron’s council being escorted into the front row. Sil’s voice rings in my head:I want you to change the tide.
All my ideas of bringing the Playhouse to its knees shake, uneasy. Not because I’m frightened I can’t beat Jude in the arena. I can. I’m designed to.
But because the thing I am beneath this skin is stronger than me, and my own nature will, I am certain, come to claim back her vessel.
You are the bridge between the Playhouse and Theatron.
I want to be. Iwantto be, I realize. And I hate that I do. I want to be here, before an audience, beloved. Home. Would it be so bad to be that bridge? Would it be so wrong—
