Act III Scene XXII
The rest of the cast is already gone by the time I exit my dressing room, tucking locks of dark hair back with little gold pins as I head for the stairs to join them outside.
In all honesty, I’d hoped to avoid the celebrations altogether, until Titus very helpfully pointed out I can “be boring when I’m dead tomorrow.” A comment that made Jude’s eyes briefly flash to mine. Then he left the room rather quickly.
I hate knowing the ending.
Heading down the stairs to the lobby, I lean over the railing and catch an obscured glimpse of the festivities outside through the stained glass.
Though I’m less concerned about the big party than I am about what’s happening beyond it.
Somewhere inside the stone behemoth sequestered in the second ring of the District, Jude and Sil are convening with the council.
A brief formality, Sil said. Before the Playhouse’s newfound freedom is final. Though they left several hours ago and haven’t returned.
Jude and I haven’t spoken since yesterday. And the look of warning he gave me before he left—and the blatant refusal to speak off script when I tried—makes me think we aren’t going to any time soon.
I press my hands to the gilded doors and step into the night.
The fourth day of the Great Dionysia reeks of debauchery, an outdoor night market hosted in the heart of the District where the Playhouse looms. Above, the sky sparkles with stars. Below, music pulses merrily in the air as I exit through the open gates.
I enter the celebrations with a limp and probably the most outrageous plan I’ve ever had in my life.
Even after Arius swore up and down that officials had scrubbed the District of any signs of Eleutheraen weapons, I warily watch for pointed arrows among the smiling mouths and reaching hands as I move through the festival, past tables overflowing with delicacies, cakes, and rare wines.
Merchants busy around them, overwhelmed by demand, until one spots me and bursts into tears with a speech of unending gratitude that I don’t deserve.
It’s impossible to catch all of what she says over the music, but the word “red” dots her sentences more than once, and I notice the roses woven into her black hair.
Red. Color. Beauty—all seeping outside of the Playhouse for the duration of the festival.
Probably more than most of them have ever seen.
I hurry faster down the street.
Betmasters lurk at every corner, coin changing hands over my and Jude’s fates—wagers laid on who will emerge from the finale tomorrow alive.
Farther down, booths are strung with tiny lanterns that twinkle like fireflies, their vendors hawking playbills and posters, shouting their prices over the beat of drums.
“Come now, Riven,” Titus bellows, emerging from a crowd of Revelers dancing wildly in the open plaza. Wine stains the corners of his lips, gold leaves falling loose from his hair and floating to the ground. “Your last night on earth calls for a dance!”
Before I can object, he grips my hand and pulls me into what I think is a dance but feels like a gallop.
“You’re drunk,” I observe, wincing when my injured leg meets too much pressure after Titus attempts to dip me.
“You’re correct.” He throws his head back and laughs. “See? At least I can admit when I’m something no one likes very much.” He spins me, brushing too close to Revelers that form a circle around us, their ears itching to catch a word of conversation among Players.
TITUS: “I know the feeling, though, you know.” He sticks a foot out for emphasis, the one an arrow sliced right through. “Never stops hurting.”
RIVEN: “Comforting.”
Then we’re dancing again.
“Titus, I need to”—I lower my voice—“talk to you about something. An idea.”
Titus grins wickedly. “Oh? Trying to make Jude jealous? Sure, I’m in.”
I frown. “Not that.”
“So long as your idea doesn’t involve me going inside. I’m fucking tired of that place and plan to enjoy my freedom while I’ve got it.” He raises an eyebrow. “And don’t think I’ve forgiven either of you for leaving us all behind to go on your little adventure outside. Damned unfair, that was.”
Titus blinks a few times at his own words, shaking his head in confusion. He doesn’t realize he’s slipped, gone off script.
Recovering, he locks his arm around my waist, hoisting me into the air and whirling us twice before setting me down.
TITUS: “I’m impressed, Riven. You’re either about to unite a nation or start a war. Between you and me, one of those sounds much more interesting.” He playfully waggles his eyebrows at me. “I haven’t gone to battle in a long time.”
I flinch at the reminder and turn to peer up at the second ring of the District beyond the square. Nearby, Sil and Jude sit among the council. I wonder what’s happening now.
RIVEN: “Let’s hope it never comes to that—” My words are interrupted by a riotous auction commencing down the street over props used during our three-day performance.
TITUS: “Yeah, well. I imagine it’s inevitable when they find out what our boy Jude is trying to argue in there.”
I hesitate, tripping over my own feet.
RIVEN: “What?”
TITUS: “After your little incident last night, Jude’s trying to claim Eleutheraen gold shouldn’t be allowed within a city’s reach of the Playhouse. A danger to us, you know.”
RIVEN: “But—” I stumble over my words. “But they’re arguing for the Playhouse to have full freedom to travel all of Theatron.” Titus nods. I clear my throat and lower my voice. “That…that would ban the use of Eleutheraen gold entirely.”
TITUS: “Use. Ownership. Trade. You name it. They’re claiming the last fifteen years have been filled with propaganda and that Michail—well, your father—fell to his death on accident.” Just as it was framed in the play. “Clearly, you’re here with us, so you’re not too broken up about it.”
An incredulous laugh bursts from my throat. “But most of the North is marked with Eleutheraen gold—”
TITUS: “They’re proposing a grace period for everyone to have their marks unsealed. All Sil sees is a lot of potential Playhouse goers. Besides! I hear you’ve already started a trend in some cities.”
I shake my head. “The council will never agree to that.”
“Won’t they?” Titus grins. “They might have some stubborn heads on the council with marks of their own. But rumor on the street is…” He leans in, brushes his lips to my ear in a whisper.
“One of our Players can use Craft on the marked.” Titus gives me a conspiratorial grin.
“It might have been dark outside when it happened, Riven. But I watched you kill that woman. There was a mark on her neck.”
He means Eleni. I lower my eyes, looking away.
“Gods, you must have hated her! Making her do it herself like that. Nasty way to go.” He spins me around. “You’re right, though—the council will never agree. They need all seven committed, and…well, that was quite the show you put on in Paraskenia.”
I wreaked havoc with that plague of darkness. Made it very clear Players cannot be trusted.
TITUS: “Don’t look so grim! War is fun. Gods, what’s she doing up there— Parrish!” He jerks his chin at the ivy-covered wall of brick, where Parrish has scaled halfway up, dress hiked to her knees. “Get down.”
She pauses to pout over her shoulder. “There’s a piece of ivy there at the top that I want for my collection.”
TITUS: “You don’t have an ivy collection.”
PARRISH: “I didn’t say it wasn’t the first piece.”
He shakes his head, gives up, falls back in step with me.
TITUS: “So! What is it you wanted to tell me? I’m all yours, Riven.”
I brace my mind, trying to assure myself this is the right thing to do. That this is not a terrible idea. He spins me again, but this time, when he pulls me back to him, I lean in and whisper at his ear. His rich laughter vanishes.
I don’t say much. Just a word. A name.
But it’s one he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.
Titus’s hand freezes on my lower back. He looks into my eyes, smile fading, recognition breaking across his gaze.
ARIUS: “Riven! Have you finally run him out of words?” Our castmate breaks from the crowds, a blissfully ignorant grin on his mouth as he claps Titus on the shoulder. “You’re more impressive than I thought.”
But Titus is still frozen, staring at me, struck silent.
It spreads like a disease every time it happens, Sil said.
Good, I decide. Let it.
Across the street, Mattia’s eyes bounce between Titus and me, calculating. She shakes her head at me, solemn.
Before Titus can speak, I pull away and disappear into the crowd, stealing inspiration from the first face I notice and Mimicking it over my own.
Then I slip into the night, unrecognizable, elbowing through Revelers until I break away from the party and make for the stone steps leading up to the second ring of the District.
If the North refuses to cooperate, Sil will give up and wipe them out. I know that as well as I know my own lines. But the plague I caused wasn’t scripted. It wasn’t supposed to happen, and now it’s thrown a wrench in Sil’s grand storyline, made the council resistant.
And they have to concede, because if they don’t…
I walk until I reach the enormous columns bordering the Archeion of Dionysus. Stepping over the chamber threshold, I drop my Mimicry mask and follow Jude’s voice echoing through the stone halls. Eventually, it leads me to a set of carved doors.
“Syrene will be safe,” Jude is saying. “I swear it to you, upon my blood and my stage—”
Moira’s voice laughs coldly. “Jude Stepharros, I have never heard a more worthless promise.”
“Then allow one from me.” My voice strikes the room as I throw open the doors, but my heart wrings with the words, the betrayal I’m unleashing on my home, even if it’s the only way to save it.
And definitely the only way to prove my loyalty to Sil.
He needs to believe I’m on his side. That I’ve given up.
Still, my stomach twists.
RIVEN: “Your mines of Eleutheraen gold have run dry. Your forces are weak and your resources almost nonexistent. You may fight with what you have, but you won’t win.” With a single breath, I’ve broken my promise to Galen to not speak of the shortage.
Even Sil didn’t know about that.
I’m sorry, Galen. I’ve let him down in so many ways.
But this time—this time—I’m going to make it right.
The room freezes, all seven sets of council members’ eyes on me, reflecting horror. Moira looks on me with hate as I lay cards that aren’t mine on their negotiation table.
Jude stares at me, astonished, and it’s an effort to meet his gaze. Like he’ll be able to read the decision behind my eyes.
But Sil—he smiles, the most horrible smile I have ever seen. “My, Riven. How we’ve missed you this evening.”