Then, to my horror, Titus’s gaze flicks down to me. “Unlessthatone wins. More complicated that way.”
I’m about to open my mouth to ask whatexactly happens ifthis onewins—but Sil answers before I need to.
SIL: “Yes, if…Alistaire—” He clears his throat, like he still can’t fathom that I’m here. “Should Alistaire be our winning contender andnotwish to challenge her own mentor, she may challenge a different Player for their place instead.”
I almost turn to shout at Jude and ask why the hell he wouldn’t choose someone who might stand achancein this competition,if his contender could just challenge a different Player anyway.
But I answer my own question first.
If his contender is strong enough to win, they’re not going to want just any role. They’ll want the Lead Player’s role.
And he wants out of this.
When the chuckles in my direction dissipate, Sil delivers the last of his speech: “You can all worry about what’s ahead later. For now, I suggest you get acquainted with your castmates. Let the show begin!”
Act I: Scene XIII
The Playhouse departs at midnight.
According to the clock, that gives me two hours to convince Jude to let me out of his bargain before the Playhouse vanishes from the District and takes me gods know where.
“You’ll be expected at the cast party,” he says flatly as I emerge from the arena, leaving me to ponder how the hell he changed clothes so quickly, exchanging the tailored black suit for a wide-sleeve shirt and wine-colored vest, dramatic flairs of gold at the neckline to match the ring through his nose.
I watch the gilded walls longingly as we go, eyes peeled for an indicator of where we are, of where anexitmight be. Didn’t I already pass through this way? Part of me suspects the Playhouse is teasingly shuffling and rearranging itself. Like it knows I’m scheming a grand escape and has taken to taunting me with its labyrinth of winding corridors.
JUDE: “Let’s play a game: I’ll talk and you nod, yes? We can make you the quiet, mysterious type.”
RIVEN: “I don’t like parties.” At least, I don’t think I do. I’ve never actually been to one.
JUDE: “Shocking! You seem like such a social butterfly.”
SIL: “Jude!” The director turns the sharp corner ahead, his gait too young for his age. My eyes lock onto his left suit pocket, imagining the Script beneath it and weighing how I might snatch it on my way out. Jude seems to think I’ll combust into ash if I touch it, but Players are liars.
“There’s been a situation.” Sil’s eyes flicker my way as he approaches. “A word with my Lead Player, please. Privately.”
Perfect! I’ll slip away while they’re talking—
A second thought slices through the first.
Unless I’m the situation he’s referring to.
“Nonsense! There are no secrets between Alistaire and me.” Jude tosses a meaningful look my way that conveys he isn’t foolish enough to let me out of his sight.“What’s the trouble?”
Sil sets his jaw. Arguing with Jude must be commonly regarded as pointless, since the director doesn’t bother trying. “Someone slipped into the casting call earlier tonight—a pretender.”
My heart drops to the floor. I’d bolt if Jude didn’t right then clamp an iron hand around the back of my jacket. The heat of his palm feels like it might singe the fabric. “A pretender, you say.”
SIL: “It would seem our old friend Dorian sent one of his imposters in again.”
Just barely, the tension eases from my chest. He doesn’t mean me.
Jude twists his lips, his humor gone. “Of course he did.”
Dorian. The name clicks at once. Dorian is a myth of a man, a bounty hunter of Players, probably funded by the Players’ richest enemies. A vigilante legend North of the Cut and a disgraced god killer South of it.
SIL: “I’ve sent Parrish to deal with it, but—”
Jude barks a laugh. “That’sa nasty way to go. Poor soul.”
