The chant pushes its way to the edge of my tongue. I dig my teeth into my bottom lip, keeping the words restrained knowing they’d send me on a one-way trip to the Abyss.
Before I can revisit the notion of us eligibles banding together, another guard rushes to the stage to mumble something in Coraline’s ear.
She clears her throat. “Um, it seems Novah is no longer aviable candidate.”
Confusion sweeps through the arena. Since the Hunt’s origin, not once has an ineligible name been called.
Why now?
I tense as Chancellor Bren rises from his seat and reclaims the microphone.
“Apologies for the disruption. We have been informed that Novah was found deceased in her cabin.” The chancellor raises his hands to silence the outcry spreading through the rows of flustered spectators. “I’m told Novah was an upstanding citizen of Caligo. A young woman who longed to start a family of her own and believed in our vision of freedom. As such, I wholeheartedly believe the best way to honor her memory is to carry on with the selection, don’t you agree?”
No.
My internal rebuttal is nothing compared to the shouts of concurrence carrying down to the arena floor.
Coraline shifts closer to the drafting drum, ready to follow orders, but the chancellor halts her while asking the crowd, “Is it all right with you if I select our tenth and final Huntress myself?”
Men and women alike clap their approval.
Chancellor Bren waves his palms in a“you’re too kind”gesture before grabbing onto the barrel’s lever. He rotates it ten times—drawing out the suspense, no doubt. Because this truly is a show to him. And despite myself, I played right into his hand.
I close my eyes and await my fate.
On cue, the chancellor declares, “Orelle Bren.”
CHAPTER NINE
My face isa neutral mask as I lower my hood and break from the line of eligibles to claim my place among the selected. The earthy musk from the packed clay floor of the arena combines with the pungent scent of perspiration emanating from my fellow Huntresses.
My eyes lock onto Gem’s.
At least I won’t be facing death alone. Her presence is both an unwelcome tragedy and a balm to my battered heart.
I’m so focused on Gem that it takes a few seconds to note the stifled reaction to my selection. In place of applause, hushed whispers travel across the stadium. Thousands of faces shift between my direction and the stage.
My brows pinch together.
I’ve done everything right. Lowered my hood. Joined the selected at the base of the circular platform. Kept my mouth shut. Has the evidence of my sun exposure returned? My heart threatens to punch through my rib cage. I clasp my hands in front of my abdomen in what I hope is a casual waiting stance. The billowing sleeve of myblack cloak inches down my forearm. The damning glow is nowhere to be seen, thank the shadows.
Coraline’s nervous chuckle brings me out of myself. I turn, angling to look up at the stage—and my thundering heart stops altogether.
Gabe stands halfway between his vacated chair and the platform’s ledge. His jaw hangs open, and the whites of his eyes frame deep blue irises fixed directly on me.
I gape back.
What in the night’s mercy is he doing? Why is my ex-husband looking at me like that? Like he cares?
The spotlight reflects off Coraline’s wrinkled forehead as she asks what we’re all wondering. “Surely, you aren’t attempting to volunteer.. . are you, Mr. Bren?”
Though the chancellor holds the microphone, Coraline is close enough for her words to echo through the cavernous walls of the arena.
Chancellor Bren turns away from the podium to cut a glare at Gabe before retraining his expression to one of sympathy. “Don’t be absurd, Mrs. Lunam. You must understand that the sight of my son’s ex-wife is still upsetting for him. One doesn’t forget that pain so easily, even if it’s been ten years.”
There’s a barely concealed bite in his undertone that implies that the chancellor disagrees with his own words.
He’s not the only one.
