Act II Scene II #2
JUDE: “It was a gift. From Syrene’s ruler to yours truly. A promise of sorts, you might say.” He chuckles under his breath. “Would’ve been outright rude if I hadn’t sent him something back.”
RIVEN: “What did you…” Syrene is perhaps the North’s most hostile territory to the Playhouse. Three Players were executed there before the Cut was completed. “Uh, send?”
JUDE: “My regards and my knife in the hands of his mistress.” He smirks. “You’d think those in such high rank would bother checking where their loved ones spend their time. She was a fan.”
I close my jaw, which had fallen open. I remember learning of the sudden death of Syrene’s ruler in school not too long ago. He was succeeded by his daughter under suspicious circumstances. “You convinced his mistress to…kill him?”
“I asked nicely.” Jude’s eyes glow, as if to emphasize how he managed that. “Anyway, we have a deal, Alistaire. You’ve garnered Sil’s attention now, and we need to talk.”
I stare at the poison. Too bad Jude is no use as a bargaining chip if he’s dead. Otherwise, it might be handy. “I don’t want to talk. And I’m definitely not going to train with you.”
Whatever endless supply of patience that runs in Jude has apparently, at last, been exhausted. His boots hit the floor in quick succession as he stalks toward me. And with each step, I’m almost certain the room shrinks.
I whirl, steeling myself and whatever nerves haven’t been fried by the past twenty-four hours as Jude swiftly closes the distance between us, a look on his face that makes me think my cooperation is no longer a cute, optional bonus.
The box is plucked out of my hand.
“Hey,” I snap, temper flaring as Jude reaches over my head.
I glance up in time to see him place the poison on a ledge out of my reach.
My back digs into the hard edge of the bookshelf, but there’s no more room to move as Jude braces his free hands on either side of me, close enough to notice the warmth that radiates through his costume.
“Sil’s attention is a good thing,” he says. My gaze darts away from his, focusing instead on the green jewel hanging from his ear. “Sil may let us choose our contenders, but he’s the one who chooses who stays. If he dislikes you or, worse, gets bored with you, your stay here will end.”
Warnings shout through my mind, but I press my shoulders back.
I’ve despised being so tall most of my life, feeling like my existence takes up too much space in any given room.
But craning my neck to meet Jude’s eyes, I find myself wishing I were taller.
“What, that old man will kill me?” I challenge.
“He’ll make me do it,” he returns bluntly. I grind my teeth together before opening my mouth, about to snap that I’d like to see him try when he adds, “And I fear I may even begin to miss your vicious mouth and incomprehensible need to reorganize my room.”
My brow pinches, my mind scrambling to analyze whatever I misheard. That almost sounded like a…compliment? No, not quite. But my mouth opens and nothing comes out.
A slow, knowing grin widens on Jude’s mouth. “Alistaire, love, I don’t think I’ve ever seen so much color in your face.”
The entire room is suddenly deprived of air, and what’s left of it is scented with whatever citrus and hyacinth perfume Jude probably dunks his clothes in. “What do you—” No, don’t ask that. “You aren’t mad?”
He glances down at the carcass of what used to be a silk throw pillow and the scattered feathers trailing across the floor.
Lightly kicks at the ones between us. “I’ve learned not to get attached to things,” he says dully, then turns that gaze, which is starting to feel like one of the stage lights, back on mine.
“What are you—” Apparently, there are no clever words to be found in the shrinking space between us. “What are you staring at?”
“I was trying to work out if a creature like you has ever admired someone in her entire life.” Jude tilts his head, amused, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to vanish into walls. “Do you fancy me, Alistaire? Go on, answer. We need to make sure you can lie.”
My defenses shoot high, right hand going protectively to my throat. To my horror, no words find my tongue. My mark is long gone, and still, the simple deception of no feels like pushing a boulder uphill. “I think you’re heartless and spoiled and violent—and have far too much power for one person.”
Jude’s smile stays perfectly in place. Widens, even. “That isn’t the question I asked.”
He’s mocking me. This must be entertaining to him.
“Lie to me,” he presses.
My lips glue themselves shut while I wish him a slow, painful death with my eyes. “Not until you tell me where my knife is.”
“Long gone,” he sneers, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Fine. Something easy. How about we start with something true.”
“There will be nothing left when I am through with you.”
The words come so fast, they startle me. Jude straightens, even takes a step back. In the candlelight, something that almost looks like hurt flickers behind his eyes. It’s gone too quickly to tell. “And now,” he says, the words strained. “A lie.”
I open my mouth. “My name is Alistaire Hunt.”
Jude’s eyes light up with relief as he shouts, “Ha!” and claps. I choke on the deception. My blood feels like it’s on fire. The room opens up, cooler as more space carves between us.
“I’m going now,” I say weakly and head for the door.
“Alistaire,” Jude says. I turn. “You got the Reality Suspension you were so curious about. And a taste of the Craft you so love to loathe. How do you feel?”
My mouth drops open, and I clamp it shut before I can tell him the honest truth.
Because I feel…better. Like some of the weight has lifted off my shoulders.
But it’s not enough. Not nearly. Not while that familiar ice still seeps into my bones. It hits me with a devastating note of finality: Reality Suspension, a tentative death or not, failed to banish the poison from my veins.
I turn to leave.
“Wait,” he calls, and I pause again. “If you—if you hear anything strange tonight, stay inside, all right? Don’t leave your room.”
I don’t bother asking why. I doubt he’ll tell me. “Good night, Jude,” I say warily.
“We can make it through this, Alistaire,” he says, like we’re allies. This competition may pit me against the other auditionees, but I’m certain we both know who the real battle is between.
My eyes lock on to the quiver of arrows he laid on the floor. Props. Normal arrows. Useless against a Player.
I hide my grin and the plan forming behind it.
That Eleutheraen arrow that was shot at the Playhouse is still here somewhere.
And suddenly, I know exactly how I will deliver Jude to the council, and how I will escape the Playhouse.