Act III Scene XXVIII
A fountain gurgles pleasantly beside where my head lies, my body stretched out on the cool marble floor. I seem to be in some sort of grand hall or atrium.
Where am I? How have I gotten here? My mind is too foggy to recall.
My stomach twists like a braided rope. There’s something I’m supposed to remember right now. Somewhere I’m supposed to be.
“Riven?” calls a voice, echoing down one of several long hallways surrounding the fountain.
I inhale a sharp breath. I know these walls.
“Riven,” says the voice again. Female. Older. Deceptively sweet and patient. Fear slides into my veins, cold and nauseating. I know that voice, too. The woman who etched my mark as a child.
Clambering to my feet, I make a dive for the farthest corridor from the voice, ducking into the first unlocked room I find. The room is bare, save for a long table littered with tools used for Eleutheraen marking.
“There you are.”
My blood freezes at the sight of the woman standing by the table. Graying hair, stout shape. She isn’t threatening. But the scars at the base of my throat burn like hellfire when she tilts her head at me.
The woman smiles, her teeth slightly crooked. She dips a sharp instrument into a pod of Eleutheraen gold.
I stagger back for the door.
“Come now, Riven,” she says. “Don’t be frightened. This is how we do things here.” She spits that last part, unable to hide some edge of disgust.
That’s what wakes me up.
“Jude,” I whisper, more to myself than to him.
Not real. Illusion.
Jude had access to my memories during that first Reality Suspension. And he’s resurrected one of my most frightening recollections to parade it before an audience. Not that I have any idea where the audience is. The illusion is too thick, too all-consuming.
Mattia warned me to remember that the Great Dionysia is as mental as it is physical, a battle of deception. The goal is to destroy your opponent’s sense of reality so thoroughly, they don’t know to fight back, don’t even know who to fight back.
It’s hard to combat an opponent when you can’t tell what’s real and what’s not.
My gaze flies over the stone walls around us to the windows, hunting for the eyes of spectators beyond. I don’t see them, but I feel them. A shiver races along my spine as I realize what I’m dealing with. We draw our strength from our audience, and Jude’s is growing. A lot.
It all looks so real.
The woman clicks her tongue. “Sharp, aren’t you? But then…” Her bored eyes dip to the gold pod in her hands. “You let them do this to you.”
I startle at his bold words, and the woman laughs, but it’s Jude’s voice that comes from her mouth this time. “They can see us, dear heart. But I’ll take care that they only hear what we want them to.”
He’s playing tricks with the sound.
“Sorry for all…this, by the way.” He gestures broadly to our surroundings.
Right. He’s painted this awful scene intentionally for the audience, a memory so many of them know well from their own lives.
“But they’re expecting a show, and we might as well give them one.” He nods encouragingly. “Fight back, Riven.”
“No.” The word rushes past my lips. “I…I can’t.”
His brows fall, like he’s misheard. “You can.” Apprehension curls around his voice. “It’s okay. I’m ready.”
“I won’t.” My voice strains. I reach for the courage to speak words I couldn’t last night. “I won’t fight you. I’m done with this script, Jude. And with every other.”
His costume falters, dissolving from his true face all at once, like every other thought has cleared from his mind, and I know I’ve struck a chord.
He’s heard those words before, from Gene.
Jude’s expression twists with disbelief, and his attention darts to the windows, as if Sil is right there at the glass, watching us, still pulling the strings. In the breath of a second, his demeanor goes rigid with resolve. “Then I suppose I will have to convince you.”
“Funny,” I say. Something in his tone makes me want to reach for the arrows resting at my hip, but I force my hands to stay at my sides. “Because I came to do the same thing.”
His eyes flash up to our surroundings again as he grits his teeth, maybe nervous that his masking of our voices has slipped, that Sil will hear me. A muscle feathers in his jaw as he turns his gaze back to mine, taking in my words. My intent.
I want freedom.
And Jude—Jude has always chosen power. His cast. Me.
His eyes stir like storm clouds, and I can feel he’s on the precipice. His promise last night rings in my head. I will play whatever role I have to if it means holding on to you.
His face goes cold, and my stomach sinks. He’s made his choice.
He will play the villain in tonight’s performance, just as Sil wanted.