Intermission Scene I
I’m not sure I’ve ever been so cold in my life, and that’s saying something.
But then, I’ve never been to Paraskenia. Or in this particular tent, staring at this particular family.
I count an older woman and man and what I assume are their two grown daughters. Judging by their faces, I think they must be surprised to see us, too, until the older woman cries out something to the effect of, “Our prayers—they’ve been answered!” and falls to her knees.
“Aren’t you all lucky? I don’t usually make house calls,” says Jude casually, but he’s stiff as one of the costume mannequins, and I’m guessing he’s also noticed how cold it is out here.
We’re in a canvas tent with four sleeping rolls and a single mirror, from which we’ve barged through. The air smells of smoke, I think from the remainders of a fire I spot burning to its last coals through the slit of the tent.
“Are you alone?” I demand.
“Alistaire, darling, that’s no way to ask—”
This, of course, is when the lot of them notice the arrow I’m pointing at Jude’s back. Their expressions fall, shifting rapidly. Before rage can manifest on their tongues, I whisper to Jude, “Make them forget.”
He turns and rolls his eyes at me. “I’m a Player, Alistaire, not a magician. Players can put things into your heads, but we can’t take them out.” He turns back to the family. “You’ll hold this meeting dear to your hearts, yes?”
Their eyes glaze over, gold and filmy, all at once. I shiver.
“So dear to your hearts that you wish to share none of it,” he drawls. “You know how greedy people can be. Would be a shame for someone to come try to take this beautiful mirror from which a Player came, now, wouldn’t it?”
“No, never, I wouldn’t think of it,” the man babbles.
“Lovely,” Jude says with a nod. “And with that, we bid you farewell, as we must be on our way. Unless you have gifts for us, of course.”
It takes all the self-control in the world not to elbow him, so I settle for, “You’re terrible,” as the family gathers every last bit of food, silver, and a wool cloak from their bags, compiling it in a single pack that they rest in Jude’s hands.
He returns a brilliant smile and a bow, then proceeds to gallivant through the tent flap, my arrow just behind him.
“That was an awful thing to do,” I whisper as we step into the night. We’re in the outskirts, and the city isn’t far off; I can see the lights. More importantly, I can see the Playhouse.
I’ve actually made it out.
“They’ll be fine. Put this on.” He tosses me the wool cloak and adjusts the one I threw at him earlier over his shoulders.
“If you shiver any harder, you’ll drop that arrow I’m sure you worked very hard to smuggle away from Marigold.
And I can’t begin to imagine how you found that damned knife again. ”
“Maybe you didn’t hide it very well.” Since clearly someone found it.
Jude ignores me and tosses an apple in my direction. I keep my arrow trained on him and let the fruit fall limply to the ground. He shrugs. “Forgive me for trying to keep you alive until we get back.”
I laugh. “We are not going back. You think I’m so sweet that I’ll just go on my merry way home and then let you return to the Playhouse?”
“Calling you ‘sweet’ is like calling a mountain lion ‘fluffy.’ Perhaps true, but also the least of your worries if you’ve gotten close enough to tell.”
I breathe in, still shivering hard. But we have to keep moving.
“Walk,” I order.
“Where?”
Thick maple trees make up most of our surroundings, but there’s a dark path that cuts through the forest toward the city. Riddled, I’m sure, with similar encampments of Playhouse fanatics crossing through the broken wall.
“The agora. A station. We’ll board the Diolkos,” I conclude, referring to the railway that runs east to west near the North’s border. The Diolkos might get us to Syrene by morning.
“Amazing how you resist the arts of the theatre.” Jude stubbornly turns down the path, my arrow at his back. “Being delusional seems to come so naturally to you.”
He marches off with a sort of long-suffering dignity that I think only a Player could manage, shivering and throwing me the occasional tragic look to make sure I know he isn’t enjoying himself.
But as we travel deeper into the darkness, I feel eyes. Jude doesn’t look like a normal person, and even the dark won’t do much to disguise his height or glowing irises.
A thought occurs to me. “Sever your bridge to your Craft.”
Jude tries to smirk, but it looks more like a wince. “Now, Alistaire, be reasonable.”
“Do it. Now.”
Jude’s face darkens as I direct him behind one of the trees off the path. I don’t feel bad, really. It doesn’t matter what Jude does or doesn’t remember. If he’s responsible for what happened to me, he deserves worse than this.
“It’s harder for a Player,” he protests.
“Not a moment to waste, then.”
Jude sits in the dirt, rattling off a string of complaints about dirtying his pants, while I quietly prepare to reach for the Eleutheraen chain in my pack.
He throws me one last annoyed look before closing his eyes and seeming to focus harder than he usually does.
“Methexis,” he utters, and a change wraps steadily around his form, constricting the lines of his shoulders and softening the gleam of gold veins under his skin.
The copper of his hair, which usually flickers like firelight at the ends, dulls into a dark-brownish color.
While he’s distracted, I dive for the thin chain in my pack, looping it tight over his wrists and securing both hands behind his back as Jude barks out a curse at me.
“Gods, Alistaire!” he shouts. “What else do you keep in that hellish bag? Poisonous lollipops for children? Pointed shoes for stepping on small dogs?”
I roll my eyes. Passing through the city with thick cloaks and the quiet clinking of chains hidden beneath is subtler than marching through with an arrow pointed at my golden-eyed companion.
The Eleutheraen chain tightly secured, I drop it and stare at my hands, realizing how uncomfortable it is to hold. Eleutheraen gold isn’t supposed to hurt me.
“Surprise,” Jude mutters glumly, noticing.
“You’ve got Craft in your blood, Alistaire.
Haven’t you looked in the mirror lately?
” With his bridge severed, his voice is about a hundred times quieter, restrained.
He almost sounds like a normal person and, when he blinks at me, most of the gold has drained from his irises, leaving a mild shade of hazel in its place.
We pass no fewer than sixteen more encampments before making it to the agora, crossing into the main square, which bustles with activity, though the thick of night has long since fallen.
I expect fights or protests, but for the most part, it seems like anyone who’s trickled over the border from South Theatron has stayed near the gates of the Playhouse, where commotion gathers in the distance.
Sil has probably noticed our absence at the stage door.
I push Jude through the crowds, keeping to the side streets while navigating the winding roads, stopping only once to ask for directions. Gathering that we’re not from here, the stranger simply spits at us and walks off.
The second time I catch him almost slipping his hands free from the hidden chain, I sharply reroute and dip into the first apothecary I see.
Jude stiffens but clearly knows better than to comment out loud as I point to the scarce shelf of Eleutheraen gold vials and say, “One will do.” It’s only a matter of time before Jude schemes his way to escaping, and I’m done taking chances.
It feels fitting, handing over money Sil gave me in exchange for Eleutheraen gold. Though, given the shocking price, it suddenly isn’t hard to believe the North is in low supply. I roll the bottle between my fingers, watching it shimmer through the glass.
“And one dilution blend,” rasps Jude. He’s reeling in his voice as much as he can, but between that and the hood over his head, his subtlety is a hard sell. He had to duck to avoid hitting the doorframe on the way in.
The man across the splintering table sets his hands on his apron, mark at his throat gleaming beneath the dim light of his shop. Finally, he retrieves what Jude asked for.
I turn to Jude. “What are you doing?” I whisper.
He glares at the wall behind the counter. “You’re planning to poison me, yes?”
“Yes. And?”
“And if you force pure Eleutheraen gold down my throat, you’ll kill me and yourself and everyone within a few miles of us.”
The man returns and pushes a second dark bottle holding clear liquid over the counter. I push the money across the surface and swipe the dilution blend before herding Jude out.
Then I hear it as we step onto the street. Two words pulled from the frantic chatter surrounding us: Missing Player.
We need to get out of here. Now.