I watch, my stomach tightening, as Fiadh sits stiffly next to him, her hands clasped in her lap like she’s bracing for impact. With the darkness enveloping them, it feels as if they’re the only two people in the world, and I can’t shake the feeling that we’re all teetering on the edge of something unfathomable.
Revelin’s fingers grace the ivory keys, and a melody curls into the air like a wisp of smoke, haunting and beautiful. Fiadh sits rigidly by his side, her stillness betraying the turmoil I know is churning inside her. My eyes narrow as the first words fall from Revelin’s lips, each syllable a velvet hammer nailing the truth into the open.
“Through shadows and whispers, she dances alone,” he croons, and I can’t help but hiss under my breath to Tiernan standing beside me.
“That idiot’s made her a target now,” I mutter.
Tiernan’s frown deepens, his gaze flickering between Fiadh and Revelin, then to the masses in the seats and on the lawn. “Hopefully, it’s just a song to them,” he says, though we both know better.
Dezi, on my other side, drops his head into his hands, his frustration tangible. I know he thinks young supes are reckless, and Revelin’s actions keep splintering our carefully laid plans.
He’s not wrong—the Prince is impetuous at best and unpredictable at worst.
The audience, however, remains oblivious to our silent discord, swept up in the ballad's rapture. Their enraptured ‘oohs and ahhs’ reverberate through the hall, a chorus of admiration for the spectacle before them. Even amidst my concern, there’s no denying the power in Revelin’s voice, the allure of his presence.
I steal a glance at Sassy, catching a subtle shift in her posture, a softening as she listens. She’s nervous, yes, but also moved by the music, by Revelin’s audacity to bare such emotions in front of this massive crowd. I’d bet her hidden hand is fondling the knife on her thigh, not his leg. Stabbing him isn’t an option on stage, but she’s definitely thinking about it.
As the final chords die away, and Revelin’s voice fades into silence, the audience erupts. The applause is thunderous, a tidal wave of adoration crashing over us. Revelin stands, bowing gracefully, and Fiadh rises hesitantly beside him. Their eyes meet for a fleeting moment, sharing something unsaid, something profound.
No mistaking that expression; we’re gonna have real problems tomorrow.
Fiadh turns and makes her way back to the wings, her steps more confident than when she went out. That makes me happy, but what doesn’t is what else I see as I watch the scene. From my vantage point, I spot Amethyst and Khorinea lurking in the shadows, their faces twisted in fury. They emanate malice, their glare sharp enough to slice through steel. It’s clear they’re not pleased with this unexpected turn of events, and I file this away—another piece in an increasingly dangerous puzzle.
“Watch them,” I whisper to Dezi, nodding subtly toward the malevolent duo. He nods, understanding flashing in his eyes.
Revelin joins us soon after he finishes a few more songs, using the short intermission to escape the echo of the crowd’s adulation. Despite everything, despite the potential fallout, I can’t help but respect the raw nerve it took to do what he did. But admiration doesn’t stifle the unease coiling in my gut.
That’s when everything goes haywire.
The euphoria of the crowd’s cheers shatters into a cacophony of terror. I spin around, adrenaline surging, as screams pierce the charged air. The stadium, once alight with excitement, now trembles with panic—people pushing, trampling over one another in blind fear. We’re away from the fallout in our backstage privilege, but that’s a minor comfort.
Tiernan’s team and local security are already pushing through the mass of bodies, their authoritative shouts vying for control over the pandemonium. It takes a long time—far too long with our mate gripping my arm as she watches the bodyguards dispersing the fans as quickly as they can. Once they get control of it, the leopard meets our gaze, beckoning us to the spot where he’s grimacing at the ground.
We reach the epicenter of horror quickly, and I’m surprised by the gruesome scene that unfolds before us. Five bodies lay strewn across the ground, torn apart, charred. The smell of burnt flesh assaults my nostrils, and I cover my nose in disgust. Among them, four silhouettes I recognize despite the destruction—the underground fighters we saw.
How the fuck did they get these bodies here without being seen?
“Fucking hell,” Fiadh murmurs beside me, her voice full of bewilderment. “This is… What does this get them? I don’t fucking understand.”
I grasp her hand, needing the contact to anchor me. “I don’t know, either, but it’s not random and putting them here during the concert sure as fuck is a message.”
There’s movement at my side, and Revelin steps closer, his face a mask of shock. His usual aloof composure slips away as he stares at the devastation. “This... this is insane. Why the fighters? Why here?”
“Revelin,” I say sharply, pulling him back from the edge of the scene. “Keep it together and watch what you’re saying, man.” I jerk my head toward the remaining crowd, some still huddled in corners, others peering on with morbid curiosity.
“Right. Yes.” He straightens up, taking a deep breath and composing himself with visible effort.
Dezi joins our grim assembly, his gaze flitting between the dead and the living. “This seems to tell us not to worry about the council and their little corrupt schemes...” He trails off, shaking his head, frustration etched into every line of his face.
“Obviously, we’re up against more than just political games,” I finish for him, anger boiling beneath my skin. There's foul play at work, and it’s spreading its shadow over everything we know.
Tiernan gestures to the stage where the bus is waiting near a side exit. “We need to talk. And we need to plan.”
And get the hell out of this fucking town before anything else dead falls in our laps.
Eyelids fluttering open, I’m immediately assaulted by the sterile gleam of dawn cutting through the bus’s enchanted windows. The others are stirring too, groggy and disoriented. But before we can even rub the sleep from our eyes, there’s a sharp rap on the door, followed by stern voices demanding attention.
Mother of Zeus, I amnotin the mood for this shit.
