I imagine that’s why no healer has any idea how to help me.
A mortal cannot fix what an immortal broke, a healer once said. But this hasn’t deterred me from scouring every book I can get my hands on for solutions.
I figured long ago, if I want answers on how to reverse whatever is happening to me, I’ll need to find them myself.
With another shake of his head, Sebastian disappears into the back of the store with my letter.
A bell dings over the door, and I turn to spot two girls entering the store. I swallow, averting my gaze. They bustle between narrow walkways beneath wall-to-wall oak shelves, and I turn away, spotting several other patrons I hadn’t noticed huddling in a corner, comparing quills.
“Yes, the dead Peacemaker’s daughter…”one of them whispers, eyes flashing up at me, then darting back to their companion. I tense, shoving away the sinking feeling in my chest. Apparently, even the imminent return of the Players isn’t enough to entirely drop interest in one of the victims of their work. Gritting my teeth, I focus hard on the wood paneling of the floor, pulling in slow breaths like Galen always tells me.
“Cursed, I heard—”someone else utters.“By that Player who broke free and attacked the…”
“Taller than I thought. Did you know her brother…”
“Gods, she’s ugly. Why do her eyes look like that?”
Anger ignites like a match in my chest as I touch the tips of my fingers to the half-moon creases that ring my eyes, wondering what theydolook like. And deciding it’s probably best I don’t know.
“You pay first.” Sebastian returns with an armful of books that will probably fracture my spine to carry home. I dump the money my brother sent on the counter and pile them into my bag, turning to leave.
“Do you think they’ll give her a roommate?”My eyes flicker to the whispers of another group of students, who seem to be putting as much distance as possible between themselves and me without leaving the shop. But I have a sharp ear.
“Gods help whoever that is. I heard—”
“…looks like a godsdamned corpse.”
My blood heats as I track the speaker of the insult—a boy with rusty-brown hair and glasses. An Eleutheraen mark glitters on his collarbone.
He’s marked, like me. Which means he can’t lie. No marked can.
North of the Cut, we all bear identical symbols of protection, burned into our skin with the same Eleutheraen gold that can kill Players. A vow to truth and a shield against the lure of the Playhouse. It protects our bodies from Players and their lies. But likewise, anyone with an Eleutheraen mark cannot speak an untruth of theirown, either.
He means what he said. That I look like a corpse.
But it isn’t the distaste flashing across his face that makes my blood roar in my ears.
It’s the flash of fear in his eyes when I stare back a beat too long. Like the magic that Player poisoned me with makes me just as dangerous as them.
As I shove the door open to leave, a familiar ice seeps over my bones, and the Player’s whispered promise plays across my mind.
Come with me, she said.Come with me or you will suffer.
Leave it to me to find the only Player true to their word.
Act I: Scene III
By the time I reach the Dionysian Records, my lungs feel like they’re full of pine cones. Aunt Cassia will be inside the archive temple—but at the moment, I’d prefer to sulk peacefully alone.
I drop onto the lowest step of the temple to rest, dragging in sharp breaths. From here, the slope spills out into the District below, washed gold by the last sliver of sun.
Stretching my legs, I peer over my shoulder and up the steps at the statue of Dionysus towering from the top of the temple. I nod at the dead god politely. He doesn’t nod back. Statues rarely do.
Some people still pray to the gods for rescue. I stopped doing that a long time ago.
Dionysus is dead. I don’t think help is coming.
At best, I think, the gods are cruel for not intervening. At worst, they’re cowards for abandoning us with the Players. Though I’ve heard rumor of places far across the sea that found themselves plagued by monsters even worse than ours.
