The others didn’t hesitate, either. They were all eager to get their hands on whatever weapon they could find.
When I stepped back, I had two big knives in the pockets of the suit on the sides of my ribcage, like they were made exactly for them. I had another smaller one in a tiny pocket on my outer thigh, and I strapped the bow and arrows across my chest, too.
Half the fear, if not more, disappeared by the time I double-checked that everything was secured on my person. I had weapons, even if I’d only ever sparred with my father and Jinx. Fake fights, but fights, nonetheless. Father never held back. That’s what he always said.
Eyes on the side of my face.
March’s attention was still physical, even through the chaos going on in my head. He’d stood up, too, and theothers were still going through the boxes. He had a spear in one hand—long and wooden, just like that rod that had been spinning in that strange visual I’d seen in my head. In the other he held a blade that was too big to be called a knife, and too short to be considered a sword. A dagger with a handle decorated with rhinestones.
His eyes looked almost completely black under the night sky, but in my mind I saw his colors. Words burned the tip of my tongue—get more weapons. A bow and arrows. Safer to use from a distance,I wanted to say—and this was what made me curious.
I didn’t really care about whether he got hurt or not, yet a part of me insisted that I should and that I did and that Iwould.It was all very strange, and even more confusing. There must have been a disease hiding in my mind—just like one had hidden in Jinx’s heart all her life.
Would I find out too late, too?
A bell rang.
The others fell back in line, all armed to their teeth. Agility and the ability to wield at least one weapon was a must in the trial application process, so it made sense that they knew weapons, too. They’d filled their pockets with as many as they could carry.
I itched to do the same. Five knives were better than three, but Father’s voice was in my head:carry what you use in battle, not what confuses you and slows you down.
“Hear, hear!” said a voice that came from nowhere and everywhere all at once.
And the crowd was standing, screaming, cheering, clapping.
It was like someone had grabbed me by the shoulders and shaken me until I could no longer tell up from down, left from right. They were cheering so loudly, and the night became even brighter, and the voice continued:
“Welcome, Your Excellencies, and you, ladies and gentlemen, and the Hands of the Turning Trials—welcome back to where it all ended!”
I couldn’t see who was speaking, or from where, but the voice was undeniably male, and the crowd lost their minds over it.
I was almost certain I hadn’t heard that voice before, but the more he spoke the more some part of me thought it knew exactly how irritating it could be.
“To our queens—thank you,Your Royal Clocklinesses, for hosting these trials, and for always giving us, the people, the show of our lives!”
The White Queen looked like she was about to melt where she stood as she peered over at the audience and slowly bowed her head a little bit. Even her cheeks had become slightly pink.
“To our spectators—feast your eyes during these one-of-a-kind backward trials!” the speaker continued.
More screams.So loud. More applause.
The soldiers were already retreating with their near empty boxes, and we were alone there with the queen on that grass. With those dark trees just ahead.
Blood, blood, blood,my mind whispered to me.
“And to our dearest Hands—welcome, welcome! Lucky you, you get to undoeverythingyou worked so hard to do, I’m sure. Such great, great luck!” the speaker screamed on whatever magic he was using to amplify his voice.
My stomach twisted. I squeezed the handles of the knives to remind myself that I wasn’t helpless.
This was happening.
This isreallyhappening?
How in Time’s Temper was thisactuallyhappening?
Wake up, Ora. Now’s your last chance to get out of this dream—wake up!
I didn’t.
