Hopefully.
I spy Arius’s long golden hair first, and relief washes over my very bones as Parrish pokes her head out from behind him while Mattia and Titus wander in from the opposite side.
“For the record,” Titus calls at me as I tear into the lobby. He cracks his knuckles. “Opening all the mirrors at once is a fucking nightmare.”
I fly into his arms with a hug before doing a brief head count. Not just of Titus, Arius, Mattia, and Parrish—but of Cicero and Cora from the costume wing. And of the ten nameless crew members dressed in black and masked with deliberately plain faces, five of whom played the roles of my fellow auditionees only weeks ago and have been resting in the temporary, unnamed roles of stage crew ever since.
All of whom I paid a visit to last night after my attempt to get Jude on board failed miserably.
At my confession, I watched as the memories of their lives, of who they were, who they are, and who they will be next crashed over their eyes, as the shared ache for home shimmered in their faces.
Each made an agreement with me, and for a moment, the victory of that was enough.
But Jude’s absence might as well be a presence in and of itself.
“All here?” I take notice of the clump of hair missing from the side of Titus’s scalp. Gold swells beneath it. He took the fourth wall break first, and maybe the hardest.
Parrish’s palms are lined with ripples of gold. There’s a chip in Arius’s nose.
“All who matter…and then some.” Titus nods at Parrish and the obscure jar of trinkets, rehearsal room keys, and what might be a live grasshopper resting in her hands. She shakes the jar at Titus and murmurs that she can take whatever props of hers she wants, then turns to me.
“Where is Jude?” Parrish asks, shifting anxiously from one foot to the other. “I thought he’d come.”
My eyes burn. I thought he’d be with me, too. I felt certain he would change his mind. With a small shake of my head, I say, “Let’s get out of here.”
I cast a fleeting glance at the clockface hanging grimly over us, its hands taunting me and indicating ten minutes until midnight, which marks the end of the Great Dionysia. My heart outpaces its ticking as the window on our freedom narrows. Our contracts will seal the gates once more at the stroke of twelve, keep our feet from crossing the threshold until the next one. Sil’s leash on us, ready to tighten.
Hurrying toward the grand entryway, I throw open the Playhouse doors. They crash loudly into the night as I descend the steps. A waiting crowd outside screams their surprise, gathered at the gates and anticipating the celebration of a victor—not the chaos of thousands flooding back through the mirrors in desperate escape as cracks climb the sides of the Playhouse. No one understands what the last few hours have meant for the Playhouse, for Theatron.
Only that something has gone deeply wrong.
Taking my place at the front, I turn to watch my cast file down the steps. Arius throws me a smile. I nod back, remembering our hushed conversation from the night before.I followed you out of the well, Arius said.I will follow you back in.He took to the idea fastest, keen to mend all we’ve broken. I can’t help but think his short fables of wisdom and consequence will return to find eager ears. He tells them so well.
Parrish, whose tales I expect children have missed dearly, hops down the steps, filing off to my left.You know,she said last night, stroking a stuffed animal as if it were alive,I’ve grown sick of this place. A little cage-like, don’t you think?
Titus grins at me, though gold has torn through the left side of his smile. His stories make me laugh the most.Well, Riven,he said.It’s been a pleasure performing with you. Now, let’s get the hell out of here.
Mattia gives me a resolute nod on her way down. I have no doubt the world will once again fall in love with the sagas I’ve heard her craft—epic and sweeping adventures that keep even me on the edge of my seat after all this time.
I expected her to fight me, to be the hardest to bring back to the reality of what we are. But ever since her run-in with our scripts hidden in Gene’s portrait, her skin has thinned, her costume becoming heavy and worn after hundreds of years wearing it.
She only looked at me and said,He won’t go, you know. Jude.
We move to the landing under the watchful eyes of a baffled audience screaming for our attention, the moon high and bright as I raise my face to the sky. Gold sinks over my vision as my cast readies to move the Playhouse one last time.
The ground rumbles violently as the theatre sinks into the ground, black mist billowing over us and obscuring the world beyond the gates. The air strains taut as the wails of the audience fade. Above, the sky darkens until we’re fully immersed, left with nothing but the golden light streaming from the Playhouse windows.
At the sound of the doors opening, I turn and freeze at the figure tearing from the doors like a hellhound. Jude.
For a moment, a weight releases from my chest. He’s changed his mind. He’s here. We can all—
“Riven,stop,” Jude shouts, his voice like a crack of thunder as he races down the steps.
At that word, at the fury that sharpens it, my hope gutters and slips away. Something between fear and dread takes its place as he closes in, the angles of his face morphing monstrously.
But the theatre is already rising up again, the ground rumbling and snapping as the Playhouse reaches its final resting place. Around us, the shapes of hills and burned trenches materialize, the sky a dusty gray.
All that remains of the real Eleutherae. Home.
