Act II Scene XVI
Jude’s eyes never leave the point of my arrow. “Alistaire,” he says politely. “You know, I’ve thought it over, and maybe we should institute a knocking-before-entering rule.”
“Put a shirt on,” I order, praying my face hasn’t turned the same shade as the stage curtain at the sight of him half-dressed. His arms are webbed with glimmering veins that thread corded muscle down to the bracelets at his wrists. Intricate gold symbols swirl across his shoulders.
“And—” I breathe, getting a grip. “And grab that cloak on the hook. It might be cold outside.”
“Outside.” Jude raises a dark eyebrow, amused. “And where are we going?”
“Hands where I can see them,” I snap, and he defensively raises both. “We’re leaving the Playhouse.”
In spite of the hearty laugh he lets out, I see the tension in his jaw, the way his eyes still haven’t left my arrow. “Why would I do that, Alistaire?”
“Fair is fair. You kidnapped me. I’m kidnapping you back.”
He tilts his head. “You and what army?”
He’s purposely leaning his right shoulder forward, but I can see what he’s trying to conceal in the mirror behind him.
RIVEN: “What is that? That gash on your left shoulder you keep trying to hide.”
JUDE: “Oh? Looking, were you?” I feel my face heat, annoyed as he evades the question. “As you well know, I can’t leave the Playhouse, Alistaire. Even if I wanted to.”
Liar.
RIVEN: “You can. And you have.” My eyes move to the deep white scar across his right palm and stay there. Something about it has bothered me since I noticed it in the Archives.
I know how he got that scar.
I know it because I gave it to him.
My mind races back to the memory of that day in the courthouse with the Player, the woman who spoke to me. The Player who cursed me. How she’d screamed and wailed when I raked the blade through her hand.
“You just looked a little different at the time,” I whisper.
Jude goes still.
RIVEN: “We’ve met before.” I raise the arrow higher. “And you’re going to tell me why.”