“I’m Agamemnon now, Ezra,” he says, his voice loose and distant. He kicks him in the ribs, and Ezra is somehow able to pull himself together enough to grab on to Bode’s ankle. The stunted force of the kick is enough to take Bode to the ground, where Ezra crawls on top of him and aims a series of hard punches at his face. “Who’s going to be valedictorian now, bastard?”
It goes on for longer than it should. In between each hit, Ezra growls, “Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.” Eventually, his punches slow, as do his words, until each hit becomes a languished, lazy slap, and “Fuck you” becomes strange, stifled grunts.
“Is he breathing?” Claudia finally asks.
Slowly, Ezra stands up with a loud groan, shaking the tension—and Bode’s blood—from his fist.
Bode doesn’t get up. Claudia takes a step back.
“Ezra, is he breathing?” she repeats.
“Don’t look at him. Look atme.” Ezra’s voice is wet with blood. He closes in. His face is red and swollen. Claudia is pressed to the oak tree, the rough bark stabbing into her bare arms and shoulders.
“Give me what I’m owed,” he commands.
There is something deeply unsettling in his eyes, like he burned through all his humanity while he was slinging those punches, and now, only a monster is left.
“Here,” Claudia says, hurriedly offering him the strip of fabric so that he’ll leave.
He doesn’t take it. He doesn’t step back. “You look so frightened.”
Dread pools in her stomach. She swallows, trying to keep her voice steady. “The game is over, Ezra. You’ve won. Take your prize and go.” As she speaks, he only comes closer, caging her with his arms against the tree.
“What if I want a different prize? What if I want you?”
“You can’t have me.”
He’s so close that every breath pushes her chest into his. Blood from his mouth drips onto her chest, down the white front of her dress.
Leaving kisses of blood on her neck, Ezra says, “Who will stop me?”
A rush of cold air comes between them as someone—it’s too dark to see who—pulls Ezra off her. Ezra bellows out a war cry and tries to tackle the man, but he’s not strong enough. With one quick punch aimed with perfect precision, Ezra is knocked unconscious, next to Bode.
When it’s done, the world goes silent, save for Claudia fighting to catch her breath. “Cas, is that you?”
Her savior releases an audible breath and steps out of the darkness, beneath the orb that glows above her.
It’s not Cassius.
It’s the man in the white mask. Claudia can’t speak. Her mouth goes completely dry.
Towering over her, the game master says, “He broke the rules. He had to be punished.” He leans against the tree with one hand pressed above her. With his gloved thumb, he wipes away a smear of Ezra’s blood from Claudia’s bare chest, and then another from her neck. “I am always watching. Remember that.”
Before she can move, before she can even speak, he turns away and disappears into the dark.
IPHIGENIA
When wine, lascivious discourse, night, and the intercourse of the sexes had extinguished every sentiment of modesty, then debaucheries of every kind began to be practiced.
Titus Livius (Livy),Ab Urbe Condita39
The game master is gone. The two Agamemnons are unconscious. Others are coming for her, but Claudia cannot move. Ice and fear have settled into the marrow of her bones.
Was it real? Was that Dorian? Or is this just another symptom of the high from the opera? Stilled by the shock, Claudia does nothing to fight the Artemis who charges toward her. They take hold of the white fabric, and it slips out of her grip.
“You’re done,” the Artemis says, running back toward the school with a false flag in their hand. They’ll try to claim victorywith it, and everyone will laugh in their face. The real ribbon remains threaded in Claudia’s hair, and the game is only just getting started.
A gust of wind wakes her up, telling her which way to run. She pushes off the tree and darts farther into the forest, weaving gracefully through the woods.
