But I did. I broke four fingers that never healed correctly, but I beat him in a fight. Once.
This is, apparently, enough to fuel the unhinged confidence that has my hands running over the selection of blades and axes hanging in the wings.
Now that I think about it, though, I’m pretty sure Galen let me win.
Oh gods. Hedefinitelylet me win.
Jude speeds up, hot on my heels, whispering, “Alistaire, you’ve made your wish for deathabundantlyclear. But let me speak plainly: Parrish’s bodyis dead, butshewill be fine. You can’tdo that—to suspend your reality, you have to be able toleaveyourself.” He reaches for my wrist before I can grab the dory spear, and I jerk it away, offering him a scathing look instead. He goes on. “That markis like a lock.On you.You can’t escape. Your body will die, and so will you.”
My stomach turns, and I force a shrug.
RIVEN: “You heard them. This is practice for stage combat as much as it is your atrocious Player magic—Reality Suspension—whatever it is.” I select a dagger from the armory, my voice shaking. “What makes you think Mattia’ll win?”
“What makes me think she’ll—” he repeats, as if unsure he’s heard correctly, staring at me with a sort of beseeching horror. My knees snap as I charge back onto the stage. “A dagger?” he scream-whispers after me. “Grab a damn sword, at least, Alistaire!”
I don’t announce that my arms aren’t strong enough to swing a Player’s sword. This will have to do.
Mattia’s brow falls as she takes in my dagger. She levels a look at Jude that seems to read,Really?while I head for the center of the circular platform and turn, silent. Waiting. The whispers of auditionees hush as Mattia approaches me the way one might approach a gravely injured animal that needs to be put down. Cautious but pitying.
The realization of my mistake arrows through me. Up close, it’s easy to tell how much bigger Mattia is. Her shoulders are corded with lean muscle from years of training—and that cut on her arm already seems to be healing rapidly. A tooth the size of my palm dangles at her neck. Legend claims Mattia ripped that tooth from a beast sent by Artemis herself.
I look to her blade, wet with blood. This Player wrangled a beast sent by the gods with her bare hands. A mortal with a dagger and a big mouth must be an insult of a challenge by comparison.
Mattia closes the remaining space with a rudimentary swing, as if testing to see if I’ll move or if I really am suicidal.
She looks mildly surprised when I dodge her blade and mimic the counterstrike I’ve watched Galen do about a thousand times. But I miss her entirely, clumsily swinging at her torso.
Turning, Mattia slashes the blade down toward my armed hand. I throw the dagger up, just barely shifting to catch it before it can clatter to the ground. That singular movement leaves me exhausted, cold gripping at my bones.
“You’ve taught her well in a short time, Jude,” Mattia remarks.
I glance in Jude’s direction, out of breath and annoyed that he should get any credit. But he isn’t watching the fight at all. His eyes are focused above. I track his gaze past the golden box seats and over the highest balconies, where a spindly series of bridges crisscrosses along the theatre in a maze.
Then I see what he sees. A wisp of white, racing over us on the catwalk at otherworldly speed, like a—
Like a ghost.
When I look back down, Jude is on the move, sprinting backstage.
Something strikes the back of my knee, sends me toppling forward with a shout of pain.
“Ali, get up!” shouts an auditionee who seems to think we’re on a nickname basis.
I vaguely register that the sole of Mattia’s boot has granted me this surprise trip to the floor. My vision spins. She’s advancing on me, clearly bored with pretense.
Pain pinches the bones in my fingers as I grip the dagger for dear life. I can’t do this.
“Getup, Alistaire!” someone shouts. I don’t know who. “Do you want to die?”
Anger beats in my pulse.Do I?I won’t survive this stage trick, this Reality Suspension,if I lose this fight. Not with this mark. Not without whatever “Craft binding”is. The others will.
No,I decide. I don’t. I don’t want to die.
My eyes flash up at Mattia advancing on me. Icertainlydon’t want to die at the hands of a Player.
Galen’s voice shouts in my head.No big movements. When someone comes at you, it doesn’t matter how strong they are.
I shoot an ankle out and snag her shin, swearing at the pressure on my knees. My defenses aren’t impressive by any stretch. Just quick and clumsily unpredictable. Maybe because I don’t know what my next move will be, either.
