Because if that chain can hold Marigold, I’ll bet it can hold Jude.
Act II: Scene V
No one mentions Thyone’s absence in the dining hall the next morning. I glance more than once in the direction of her brother, wondering at the relaxed way he eats his breakfast, like his sister wasn’t brutally murdered a mere twelve hours ago.
Huddled at my private table in the corner, I fight to keep my eyes open. I’m not even sure how I dressed myself this morning. After discovering a myriad of costumes miraculously sized to me in my closet, I ripped the least offensive one from the rack: a white chiffon contraption with a high collar that I personally think is more ribbon than dress. But at least it covers the bandage at the base of my throat. Cicero apparently works fast.
I’d say the dress feels abitmuchfor breakfast, but Mattia is draped across a wingchair in a floor-length ballgown embroidered with rubies. A jeweled diadem is pinned into her blue-black hair. Her bright eyes fly across the heavy book in her hands, her skin gleaming more luminous with golden light when she reads, red lips mouthing the words silently.
She plops the play on the table, resigned.
MATTIA: “Sil is going to kill me. I can never remember my lines for this one.”
TITUS: “Don’t worry over it. I don’t even remember yesterday’s rehearsal!”
MATTIA: “That’s because you wereroaring drunk.” She emphasizes the point with a disapproving frown.
TITUS: “Better roaring drunk than murderously sober.” He blows her a mocking kiss.
I yawn again from my lonely table, reaching for my cup of tea. I may be dead on my feet, but I have the first piece I need for my plan: The arrowhead is stashed behind the old clock in my dressing room.
Once I figure out how to retrieve that golden chain, I’m out of here the moment the Playhouse lands in Syrene. And so is Jude, whether he likes it or not. I have a trade to make.
Exhausted from my little excursion last night, I rest my head on my palm and twist my waist to gaze out the windows in the dining hall. The Playhouse is hedged on a cliffside overlooking crumbling sandstone buildings overgrown with ivy and cracked gray streets below, which means we must have moved again.
I heard an auditionee say we’re in Diazoma now, which is yet another area of the map I didnothave on my bucket list.
A shock of copper hair flutters in the corner of my vision. I pull my gaze from the window as two overly full plates are set on the table. I don’t bother to lift my head from my palm.
JUDE: “Alistaire, do you know the mostpeculiarthing happened this morning when I went to pick up my prop box for this evening’s show from darling Marigold?”
Jude slides the food I didn’t ask for in my direction with two fingers and invites himself to sit down across from me, dressed head to toe in black today, several thin gold necklaces layered across his collarbone.
I pluck a grape from the fruit on the plate and pop it into my mouth. “Oh?” I inquire, innocent.
JUDE: “It would seem I am to be wed. She’s understandably very excited about the whole thing. But as I’m sure you can imagine, breaking off an engagement with one of Theatron’s most feared creatures was not first on my list this morning.” He leans forward, burnished hair falling into his eyes. “You wouldn’t know where she got my ring, now would you?”
“Ring? Oh, I don’t know,” I say virtuously, plucking a pastry from my plate. “Maybe I dropped it somewhere.”
“Mm-hmm. Well, don’t you worry. I’ve explained to her that you and I aremadlyin love and that I shall never love another. Unless, say, something terrible were to happen to you.” He gives me a deadpan look and weaves his fingers together on the table—it would appear the signet ring has in fact found its way back to his own hand. “I don’t recommend venturing down there again. I can’t imagine she’ll take so kindly to you twice.”
I mutter a curse and mentally cross out tonight’s plan to use a lock of his hair as a bargaining chip. Not that I had a plan on how I was to acquirethat, either.
“Have you slept since yesterday, Alistaire?” He asks the question like he already knows the answer.
Ever since Reality Suspension—sincedeathtore that birdlike thing from my chest—I haven’t dared to sleep.
The pastry turns bitter in my mouth, and I place the rest back on my plate. Jude reaches over, shaking his head at me and placing it back in my hand.
We both seem to notice it at once, that touching doesn’t hurt anymore. That shock my mark sent through both of us at the slightest brush feels more like a faint skitter of electricity, new and strange but not unpleasant.
I pull back and drop the pastry on the plate again.
The sleeplessness must be written under my eyes, because Jude clears his throat and says, “Your life isn’t going to escape you while you sleep. Reality Suspension doesn’t happen by accident.”
I lift my tea, which has gone cold. “Reality Suspension, it’s—” I search for words but come up empty-handed. “Wrong.”
“I agree, but some of us would rather be wrong than dead.” I roll my eyes, and he goes on. “Anyway, eat. We don’t have much time.”
