Then, like a dance, all three lift their faces high to the sky in perfect unison. The voice sings on. Trancelike, my attackers raise their blades.
Each to their own throat.
It happens so quickly, I don’t even know to scream—not until they all drop to the ground with scarlet smiles carved into their necks. Dark pools of blood creep across the stone toward me, illuminated by golden light, which is spilling through the Playhouse doors.
Doors that are now open. Between them, a long, dark figure. His shadow stretches over the landing as he steps through the entrance.
“Ah, a latecomer. Welcome!”
Not much is known about the Players, only that the first ones came from a well on top of Mount Eleutherae, a peak that overlooks North Theatron like a beacon. But even less is known about the man who pulled them out of it.
Silenus Darstellar. Director of the Playhouse.
He’s not the sort of man you’d expect from the likes of the Playhouse. He doesn’t have the golden eyes or the monstrously exaggerated features of a Player. His eyes are a soft blue, hidden behind a pair of silver spectacles. In fact, he looks altogethernormal, wearing a suit as black as his hair is white and a smile that glimmers with pride.
He’ssmiling.Doesn’t he see the blood?
My breaths come in pitiful wheezes, each one an icicle piercing my lungs.
“For your sake,” Silenus says on his way down the stairs,fartoo spry for an old man. “I hope this late entrance is no indication of your onstage timing.”
Gods, he thinks I’m here toaudition.
The ridiculous notion of making a run for it flies across my mind as the director approaches, stepping cleanly over the dead bodies like they aren’t there. I slam my palms to the stone, wincing as I push onto my knees, holding my side and bending low at my waist. I think I’ll break in half if I straighten any more.
“Please, please, none of that!” Silenus says a little too kindly. “My Players don’t mind such displays of admiration, but it isn’t necessary for an old director.”
The assumption sends my hands into tight fists. I consider the odds of strangling an immortal director and winning.
He thinks I’mbowingto him.
That anger will be the death of you, Galen’s voice reminds me.
The gates may be only a few feet behind me, but I’m on Playhouse grounds now. I’ll die right here if I’m discovered.
I clear my throat and slowly, agonizingly, force my spine straight.
RIVEN: “Hello.” I don’t mean for the word to come out like a gasp.
The director tilts his head, curious. For a horrifying moment, I wonder if he recognizes me. Sees my father’s face in mine, like so many do. I’ve read that Players rarely recognize the faces of mortals, too tied up in their own vanity. I wonder—hope—whether the same applies to their director. Whatever he is…human or deity or perhaps some unholy mix of the two.
SILENUS: “Apologies for the inconvenience.” His eyes drop to the bodies behind us. “Nuisance, the lot of them. They tried the same thing inside only an hour ago. Slaughtered four auditionees before Titus threw them out! Nasty business, the whole thing.”
My eyes widen at the casual reference to Player Titus. Could he have been the voice I heard? Silenus is not a Player, so I doubt it could’ve been his. Though whatever power he wields must be unfathomable.
A power that may very well rest in the book he casually pulls from his suit pocket. My breath freezes in my chest at the sight.The Script.
The director makes an amusedhmmsound in the back of his throat as he consults the book, while I gawk at its gold-rimmed edges, at the ethereal glow that flickers from its pages like a sunrise.
A mortal cannot fix what an immortal broke.The healer’s words ring in my ears.
As the director plucks a pen from his suit pocket, a notion of immeasurable foolishness hits me.
If that book has the power to control the Players, surely it can undo the curse of one.
SILENUS: “Well, you might as well come in.” He looks up, his smile a little too generous. “The show’s just about to start, you know.”
No!I think, panicked. I can’t go in. He doesn’t know I’m marked. What happened to my attackers would bemercifulby comparison to what they’ll do to me inside.
