Jude blinks up at me with Cora’s face. “Are you asking if I’ve skinned a woman in less than thirty seconds? That would take me atleastten minutes to do.” Finding no humor in my face, he rolls his eyes in a distinctly Jude-expression. “No, Alistaire, I did not skin anyone. It’s called Mimicry. You’ll learn it, too, if you survive today. Which you won’t, at this rate.”
I’ve read of Mimicry, but like Reality Suspension, the North doesn’t have an inkling of what it entails. From the stories, I was inclined to believe the worst.
RIVEN: “Jude, what is…” I throw a suspicious glance at Thyone, paranoid someone will hear. “What is Craftbinding?”
Jude raises an eyebrow. “Something youcannotdo with that mark of yours. Oh! That reminds me.” He reaches into his back pocket and places an item in my palm. “A gift.”
I examine the small silver blade between my fingers as he goes on. “I asked Sil to shift the assessments. You don’t stand a chance if Reality Suspension is first, which it is, since he refused me. So, when you slash the seal of your mark, do so withthat—it’s prop metal. Shouldn’t hurt as badly, and certainly better than that atrocious gold blade you were waving around—”
He snatches his foot away from my aim, barely in time as the blade comes down hard, spearing through the wooden pedestal. I straighten, lean forward, and whisper, “Make another mention of slashing my mark, and I’m taking one of those pretty golden eyes.”
“So you think they’re pretty?” Jude asks wryly. I frown. “If you get yourself killed, it’s on you, then. If not only for your sake, but for—”
RIVEN: “For what? Yours?” I restrain the laughter catching in my throat. “Let me be clear, Jude. We might have a bargain, but I don’t care what happens to you.”
I startle, confused by the twinge in my throat.
JUDE: “You know? I’m starting to think you don’t like me much. And everyone likes me. I’mdelightful.”
RIVEN: “I hate you.”
Jude’s costume slips, gold bleeding through the gray eyes. Abruptly, he goes back to measuring, and a brush of skin draws a yelp from both of us. “Whydoes your skin always feel as though it’s been dunked in ice chips?”
“Why doesyoursalways feel like hellfire?” I spit back.
He stares hard at me for a moment, then at my mark. “Youdon’thate me.”
Gods above. He’s so used to being adored, he can’t handle this.
RIVEN: “Jude, I’m not sure how many times we have to go through this, but I can’t lie to you. I do hate you. I hate this place. I hate all of it.” There again—that strange twinge.
Jude shakes his head at me, smile recovering, with too many teeth this time. “What is the difference between love and hate? Just that one is the sweeter of passions. It’s a fine line in the theatre.” He allows me no time to respond before vanishing back into the tunnels of clothing racks, leaving me to gather my jacket.
But when he’s gone and my anger cools, I peer at the blade and press a hand to my mark, starting to suspect only one of us will make it through the day.
Act I: Scene XVIII
Already I know this will end badly.
Unbearable layers of leather cling to my skin, laced up my back. I blame Jude for the clumsy measurements as the buckles on my gloves catch again. We march to the tune of Arius’s heavy boots as my eyes search for an exit that doesn’t exist, on our way to a challenge that Jude insists I won’t survive.
They usher all five of us auditionees down a dimly lit hall, through a narrow door, and up some steps. “This is the right wing of the stage,” explains Arius ahead.
I can see the stage clearly from here, a massive white platter that rounds in front of the audience, melding into a secondary rectangular platform near the back. A brilliant red curtain is held at bay by golden rings on either side. Beyond the stage, a sea of empty velvet seats stretches farther than my eyes can see. There must be thousands.
TITUS: “Welcome!” His voice booms throughout the auditorium as he and Parrish enter from the opposite wing, met with a thunderous greeting from the other auditionees.
Titus looks excited, which I decide is not a good thing.
TITUS: “Come now, gather round!”
My foot hits the stage, and a shock like lightning cuts through my ankle. It isn’t necessarily unpleasant; rather, an almost effervescent feeling shivering up my calf. I shake my ankle until it goes away.
Mattia charges across the platform, a merciless double-ended blade in her grip. She tosses it to Titus as if it weighs nothing.
TITUS: “Stage combat often ends in Reality Suspension. You won’t use it for all combat on the stage. But when you need it—” He swings the blade over his head, the sound slicing through the air and raking along my nerves. “You’ll want to know what the hell you’re doing.”
“Think of this as a trust exercise,” Parrish says. “You’ve all had the chance to do a Craft binding now, so follow the rules, and you’ll be just fine.”
