“Thedeadone?” I offer helpfully, then stomp around the divider, trying and failing to button the tiny wrist cuffs on my sleeves.
Jude looks me up and down, pausing at the boots and the cords I opted to wrap across my knees. “Did you eventryto lace them? You’ll trip over your feet onstage.” His own (properly laced) boots clack sharply across the floor. With a shake of his head, Jude sweeps one foot back and swiftly kneels. I yelp and nearly fall over when he tugs my leg up and sets my boot on his knee, undoing whatIthought was a very nice bow.
I ignore the way my pulse trips as he steadies my calf with one hand to undo my clumsy lacework with the other. I’m nervous about going onstage, that’s all. And half shocked he isn’t complaining about dirtying his costume with the heel of my boot.
JUDE: “I should leave these untied. Maybe it would slow your scheming.”
RIVEN: “Are you trying to get kicked in the face? I have a great angle here.”
Jude smirks up at me and mouths,“Dare you,”while pulling the boot laces taut.
My heart stumbles over itself again as Sil calls out, “Ten minutes!” from somewhere in the hall.
“You’ll be fine out there,” Jude says, mistaking my nervousness for stage fright. “Three deep breaths, right?” He peers over his shoulder before continuing, lowering his voice. “Rehearsals are different—those are done cold, without much Craft. It’s too demanding on us to cast those sorts of illusions without an audience during run-throughs.” I cringe. I forget this is what theyfeedoff of. “The auditorium may seem larger, too.”
“What, it’s grown since rehearsal?” I ask with an incredulous laugh.
“The Playhouse draws its strength from its audience. A theatre grows weak without them,” he says, avoiding the question. “It’s going to feel more…intense out there.”
“If I didn’t know you any better, I’d say you were worried.” I try to sound careless, but I don’t believe me, either. He snaps the buckle in place at my knee and sets my foot back on solid ground.
“You should be. This is a hell of a role for Sil to throw you into.” Jude reaches for the other boot and looks up at me. “My character will take the brunt of what happens out there, but it isn’t going to be pleasant. Hold close to your bridge, yes? Just in case.”
“Fine.” I cross my arms. “Wouldn’t want to make youburst into tearsagain.”
I never did learn what made him so upset the other day. For someone determined I learn all this Craft, he seemed awfully emotional over my making progress with it.
He stills, pausing his work. Breathes once, then quips, “Not all of us are terrified of emotions, Alistaire.” He buckles the other boot and sets it down before standing and heading for his place in the wings, calling over his shoulder, “And cover up those purple circles under your eyes before going out. You’ll frighten the children.”
I ignore him as he stalks off but still grapple with a pod of creamy, pale liquid on one of the vanities, making awkward attempts to smear it under my eyes without the help of a mirror.
“No, no! Not like that,” Parrish’s young voice calls, accompanied by the jingle of anklets as she passes through with perfectly lined eyes and carefully painted lips. “Don’t smear it; you’ll get streaks all over your face! Youdabthe color on. Like this, see?”
Parrish taps below her eye and gestures for me to imitate, hiding her chuckle when I poke myself in the eye instead and reconsider suffering a look in the mirror. “Didn’t anyone teach you how to do this?”
“I—I, uh,” I stammer as she picks up a pinkish powder and begins swiping it over my cheekbones. With so few mirrors North of the Cut, cosmetics require a second set of eyes to apply. The idea of asking my mother for help, of asking her to look directly at me, was out of the question. Besides that, there isn’t much pigment in such things outside the Playhouse anyway. “No, not really.”
“Well then, I’ll have to do. Jude’s no use at this. Lines his eyes like a sailor,” she mutters. “There! Beautiful.”
Parrish offers an encouraging smile before vanishing down the corridor, leaving me to puzzle out the idea ofbeautifulandmy facein the same thought. I turn the slightest glance to the mirror to examine her work—and gasp.
Not at the makeup but at the scrawl of amber gold that crawls beneath the ochre of my irises, there and gone in an instant. The makeup palette in my grip clatters to the floor, and I clap a hand over my mouth. Craft. Player magic.
Not only that but—my reflection. For a moment, I don’t recognize it. There’scolorin my face. My shoulder bones aren’t sticking out like my skin is a sheer curtain anymore. And something looks…different.I can’t put my finger on why. Something has changed.
The Craft binding is responsible, no doubt.
“Five minutes!”Sil’s voice.
“Don’t worry yourself, Alistaire!” Arius calls, interpreting my panic for stage fright. A funny expression falls across his face as he pulls that throat spray from his pocket on his way to the wings. “You look different.”
“I— Parrish helped me…” I gesture vaguely at the makeup but don’t dare look at myself in the mirror again.
He shakes his head once. “No, not that, I think.”
“Places!”Sil shouts.
Moments later, I’m sipping shallow breaths of dread as Arius leads me backstage, where murmurs from the audience stir on the other side of the curtain.Thousands of Revelers, I think nervously.How did I end up here?
