They come for the next auditionee minutes before curfew; the lights in my room have already begun to dim, flickering and dying.
They’re coming for me this time. I hear the approach of Sil’s step, closer to my dressing room with each stride. He knew it was me who messed up onstage.
I whirl, search my room, and dive for the Eleutheraen arrowhead I stashed behind the old clock. I’m atleasttaking one of them down with me.
The steps freeze right outside my door, two polished black shoes. Sil’s familiar old sigh.
The dead bolt slides into place.
The shoes leave.
They take Linos instead.
Act II: Scene IX
“Something’s different about you.” Cassia’s eyes scrutinize me from the other side of the glass as I sway in front of the mirror, hanging on to the edge of it for balance. I’ve managed to communicate with her through my mirror every few days, the process a bit easier each time I try it. Which is unsettling in and of itself.
“Well, for starters, I haven’t slept in…” I count on my fingers. “Six-ish days?” I try to joke, but my aunt doesn’t smile back. I can’t sleep. When Idodrift off, I’m harassed by dreams full of golden eyes and red curtains. Sometimes worse.
“And your voice…” Her brow falls; the distinct crackle of my voice has been sawed down, its rough edges vanishing almost entirely. “What’s happened?”
“Nothing,” I lie. It’s wildly easy now. “Have you heard from the council?” I ask.
“Your message was delivered. Galen refused to tell them where the information came from, though.” Cassia clears her throat. “Syrene’s ruler has agreed to assist in the trade. If they succeed in crossing the Cut.”
And somehow, someway,Iwill have to turn Jude over myself.
I will, though.I have to.I have to stop the Great Dionysia—stop the slaughter the Players are planning.
“I’ll bring him,” I repeat. “The council will have all the leverage they need to strike a new deal with Silenus and force the Playhouse back out before the Great Dionysia. I just need something to restrain him.” Like that chain around Marigold’s foot.
“Riven,” she begins. “I went to the Dionysian Records after we spoke. There isn’t muchinformation on him. Whoever he was when he was mortal is…murky.” She takes a breath, looking uneasy. “But one source suggests he hails from Thymele.”
The name immediately rings a bell. I stare silently back at Cass, a picture beginning to paint itself. “Oh.”
Thymele doesn’t exist anymore, a small territory at the border swallowed by Syrene’s army years ago, so that the wall could be sealed.
Several Players were killed during its fall, publicly executed during the ambush.
And now what was once Thymele is just part of Syrene.
“Jude would have been a child at the time,” Cassia says, looking down at the tome in her hands, as if to confirm. “How he managed to escape is anyone’s guess.”
“So he has a vendetta against the North,” I conclude, blunt.
“Wouldn’t you?” She meets my eyes. “War is an ugly thing. Our side of the Cut is far from innocent.”
We stare at each other for a moment. A confusing twinge of sympathy clashes with my anger. I shove it away.
Jude might not just be on an ego trip, and it only confirms my worst suspicions. He’s too proud, too calculated to simply wantoutof the Great Dionysia. He’s lying. He’s planning something.
He’s after vengeance. And he’s going to make the Great Dionysia his stage for it.
And somehow, this involves me. There’s something here I’m not seeing.
“Have you heard from Galen?” I press. “You didn’t tell him about—”
“No, of course not.” Cassia’s voice hushes, and we don’t say the rest out loud. That my mark is ruined. Useless. Cassia expected as much but was nevertheless devastated when I admitted it to her several days ago. “Your brother has gone for help,” she admits.
