Gabe unfreezes, shaking his head as he releases me from his perplexing stare. “What have you done?”
“Excuse us for a moment.” Chancellor Bren pulls his son further from the microphone and out of the spotlight entirely.
They’re no longer within earshot, yet Gabe’s vigorous arm movements speak enough about his anger. I turn away when he points at me, not waiting to see the chancellor’s reaction.
Gem leans around the woman between us and arches her brows.
I shake my head.
Gabe’s strained relationship with his father is no longer my business, and he’d do well to remember I’m no longer his. What heshouldconcern himself with is what his wife and children think about his public outburst.
My neck prickles with awareness, but I ignore the unwelcome attention, keeping my back to the stage even as Coraline returns to the podium.
“Sorry for that, folks. I got so swept up in all this excitement that I completely forgot that immediate family members of elected officials are disqualified from participating in the Hunt.”
Her voice is raised, as if the increase in volume will make the words any truer. Anyone who’s bothered to read the rules of eligibility outlined in our constitution will know that it makes no mention of exemptions for elected officials or their family members. Fortunately for the chancellor, most haven’t bothered learning that, because they haven’t had to face the fear of eligibility.
With no one calling bullshit on her capitulation, Coraline goes on. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for implying that the future leader of our great city would entertain breaking such a rule. Now, let us wrap up?—”
“I’d like to volunteer.”
The declaration comes from my left, where a man is hoisting himself above the concrete barrier separating the exempts in the front row from the arena floor. He’s missing his ceremonial cloak, and the hem of his too-tight trousers hits an inch or two below the kneecap—details that are easily overlooked, considering the way the silver spotlight illuminates smoldering gold irises, full lips tugging into a stern line, and a familiar brown shirt that clings to the manycontours of his upper body.
Why is the stranger who saved us, then stole Gem’s clothes as repayment, jogging through the parted crowd of unselected eligibles towards the stage with the intent to join the Hunt? Surely, he can’t be volunteering on my behalf.
On the off chance that he recognizes me as the haggard woman from the tunnels, it’s not like I left a flattering impression. He’d met me with dirt on my cheeks, soot in my hair, and blood on my ass. Not to mention, I can’t write off the possibility that he saw my glowing veins.
Don’t be so self-absorbed.
The few times he’d interacted with me during our illicit excursion, he was curt, louring like I was a nuisance purposefully sent to distract him. His gaze held no fondness, no attraction.
Whatever his reasoning for volunteering, it doesn’t involve me.
Two guards descend from the stage to grab the man by each arm and force him to his knees.
“I’d like to participate in the Hunt,” the stranger insists. “Or has the chancellor ratified an amendment to disqualify all men from volunteering?”
“Watch your mouth,” warns the older of the two henchmen, veins protruding from his forehead like the question was a personal insult.
The stranger’s molten gold irises almost seem to glow with the challenge. Considering he’s nearly as tall as the two men while on his knees, those eyes alone hold more of a threat than any spewed words from the guard.
Chancellor Bren squints down over the ledge and gestures for the brazen stranger to be released. “What is your name, son?”
“Kalden Tonalli,” he answers, voice carrying even without the microphone’s aid.
“Tonalli,” the chancellor repeats. “I’m unfamiliar with that surname.”
Kalden just blinks at him, as if to say that isn’t his problem.
The chancellor’s lips thin. “Why do you wish to volunteer, Kalden?”
“I question whether this current group is fit for the Hunt.” His eerily bright gaze travels from the still-trembling Twilynn to Gem to me. The implication might offend me if it weren’t so painfully true. “If I’m there, we’ll stand a better chance against the enemy.”
I scoff under my breath. Leave it to this overgrown man to think a few extra inches of height and a pair of toned arms are all it takes to defeat the Sols.
The chancellor sucks his teeth, mulling it over. “Our constitution is clear. Only ten are allowed in the Hunt.”
“So, let me take the place of another,” Kalden suggests, like it’s an obvious solution.
