Shoving the paper back into my sleeve, I exit the stall in a haze. I don’t even see the other Rawbonds passing around me, washing away the blood and sweat as they ready themselves for bed.
My reflection in the mirror is pale and horrible. There’s blood on my face and in my hair. The crimson lipstick is smudged, my eyes deeply shadowed.
I can see the weakness there. The loneliness. The loss.
Ironically, I wish Lee was here—the one person I could always count on to help me, to take care of me. In another life, I could go to my friends, but I couldn’t possibly expose myself tothese people I barely know, not when my life hangs on the line. Not even to Izabel and Venna, whom I’m starting to trust.
I stare at myself in the mirror, wishing it could talk back to me. What should I do?
Blindly, I reach out for the connection to Anassa in my head, hoping that she’ll choose this moment to lower the wall, to offer me counsel. But there’s nothing except my own echoing, spiraling thoughts.
I’m well and truly alone.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Eventually I get back into the baths, scrubbing the blood off my skin for so long and so hard that it begins to hurt, a comfortable sort of pain that I let flood my senses. It gives me something to focus on other than the cavernous hole in my chest where my heart used to be.
After a while, the bathroom quiets and I realize I’m the only one left. I get out and dry myself in those ludicrously fluffy towels, and then pull on undergarments and a clean set of nightclothes: a starchy white button-down nightshirt and some unbelievably soft white nightpants that cling to my body like a second layer.
When I get back into the bunk room, though, I realize it’s quiet, nearly empty. That’s fine by me; right now, I’m operating through a fog, and I can’t make niceties with the people who celebrated that gory scene in the arena so passionately.
I keep seeing flashes of the Kryptos boy behind my eyes. Hearing his horrible screams. His death hangs over me like a cloud, leaving a bitter, metallic taste in my mouth.
And when I’m not thinking about him, my mind is on the prince wearing my lover’s face. I still haven’t decided what I’m going to do, his note now tucked into the pocket of mynightpants, frayed from the amount of times I’ve opened and closed it.
But I still want to check on Izabel and Venna and say goodnight to them. They, too, seemed shaken by the boy’s death, even if they’re used to this world and knew that tonight held the possibility of violence.
Following the sounds of voices, I head to the Strategos anteroom but that’s empty too. Then I push open the door to the Rawbond common lounge.
And my mouth drops open in disgust.
Rawbonds from all the packs are here and they’re… partying. Commoner servants circle the rooms with trays of deep red emberwine, so close to the color of blood that I just washed from my skin. Platters of meats and cheeses are set out on the dining tables and people are draped sensually over the couches, the chairs, and each other.
The mood in the lounge is heady, as if everyone has taken their pent-up aggression from tonight and they’re channeling it into something hedonic. Many people are plainly drunk already—talking loudly, laughing, shooting sultry glances across the room.
Rawbonds have coupled off, too. In more than one corner, I spot tall, beautiful people locked in erotic embraces. One couple is making out in plain sight on a chair in the central area; the woman is straddling the man’s lap, grinding against him while he tongues her neck, his hand up her shirt and obviously massaging her breast.
My face flushes hot at the sight. I’m no prude, but I can’t believe people are behaving that way out in the open, and after everything we’ve gone through tonight.
Finally, I spot Izabel and Venna seated on a couch with several other Rawbonds I don’t recognize.
“Hey, you made it!” Izabel exclaims when I reach them, her eyes bright. “D’you want a drink?” She holds up her glass of emberwine, the ruby liquid sloshing over the rim.
“Can I talk to you for a second?” I hiss.
She follows me to the edge of the room, and I gesture at the scene before me. “What the fuck is going on here?”
“Hmm?” Izabel looks around the room, dazed, wavering slightly where she stands. Great, she’s just as drunk as the rest of them. “Oh, it’s a celebration. We survived Presentation. Hooray!” She lifts her glass again, more liquid spilling out of it and onto the floor.
I scoff. “And watching a man get torn apart puts people in the mood?” I ask, looking pointedly at the couple on the chair. The man has now pushed the woman’s shirt over her chest and her high, pert breasts are exposed to the whole room as he laves her nipples with his tongue.
Izabel shrugs, the color high on her cheeks. “It’s as good of a stress reliever as any. Plus, you might help your wolf find their mate.”
I blink. “Mate?”
“Yeah, direwolves have mates. Or they do sometimes. Well, not that often, actually,” Izabel babbles. “But it’s a thing that used to be more common, wolves would have a mate bond with another wolf, and it would give them extra powers, like they could talk to each other even if they weren’t in the same pack, and the riders would feel their heightened emotions. I’m not sure how it works, really, but when riders have sex, it can help their wolves figure out if they’re mated or not. So ofcourseeveryone uses the Trials to try to find their direwolf’s mate. Cool, right?”
“Cool,” I deadpan, turning away from the party and heading back toward the Strategos quarters, my mind reeling.
