Chapter Forty-One The Performer #3
I turned directly to the crowd, gazing at each set of sad eyes looking at me.
For a moment, they seemed hopeful. Likely praying over and over in their heads that I would do something.
That I would tell Arkady to stop and this could all be over.
That they could return to their homes, their families.
Eat a warm meal and tuck themselves into clean sheets for the night.
That tomorrow, they would wake up lighter knowing they’d survived their sins one more day.
It would not be so.
“My house is full of moths,” I announced, my small audience looking at me. I knew they would hang on to every word by the glassiness of their eyes in the dim light. “Infested. There’s hundreds of them. The pesky type that stowed away in between apricots, tucked into the corners of the crates.”
Arkady watched me as I looked over at him. I managed a small smile and a deep breath, turning back to the crowd.
“My parents used to send my sisters and me to catch them. Whoever caught the most would get a bowl of wine-soaked peaches. Though, I suspect we got that anyway, since it would make the three of us little ones sleep very soundly by seven in the afternoon.”
That earned a few nervous shifts, and the stillness of my mother, apparently giving up on her damsel charade.
“My mother explained that these were pests of the nastiest kind. They ate everything. Not just my mother’s fine silk or the foliage after harvest. No, they would eat the fruit, fresh or rotten.
They would eat the insulation of the house, the grains in the pantry, even the meat hanging for preservation,” I explained.
I stepped to the very edge of the stage, my shoes between two lanterns, my skirt nearly touching.
“You’ve always been shortsighted,” my father said. My mother tensed beside him, but she didn’t take her eyes off me. So stubborn, standing by his actions until the end.
“I accepted the way this family works for longer than I should have.” I was firm with my words. “If your actions are just and good, why not tell the public?”
“There is a reason there are very few people who change the world.” He leaned back in his chair, wincing against the rope restraints. “Not everyone understands when evils are necessary, they only recognize the rewards after.”
“Everyone is collateral to you.” It felt so good to say, to scold him.
“Yet the papers would rather know the inches around your waist than report on the expendables dying somewhere in the middle of nowhere. Don’t be foolish.
You know it too. One lowly farmer dies, three more show up to take his job.
They died serving a greater purpose—medical advancement.
Who knows, if someone else is doing what we were doing, we may have a cure for your monstrous disease. ”
“Expendable,” I repeated, breathless. “You are all the same, you know.” I laughed, rubbing my face tiredly. “You chew away at everything, down to the bone, until the carcass is no longer fruitful.”
I turned to Arkady, noticing a sternness to his brow as he listened.
“I don’t want to disappear, to let it eat me alive,” I said softly. “I am spent, I’ve given all I can. I don’t want to give any more.”
He approached. Before he could take my hands, I stepped away, back to the edge of the stage.
“Let’s see. Father, are you replaceable? Expendable? You think of yourself as God, you play His game. Tell me—does God burn?”
I lifted my skirt, using my foot to tip over one lantern.
It shattered on the floor of the orchestra pit, oil spilling, as well as the flame.
The audience lurched in the opposite direction, muffled shouts in reaction to the bright light.
Then the next lamp, the oil spilling farther, closing in on the spectators.
One after the other, they spilled and caused such a brilliant light that the chandelier seemed to glitter.
“Petre!” Arkady shouted.
I turned to him, and he embraced me. The firelight danced in his eyes as he looked at me, his hands caressing my neck, my face. Then, he kissed me. So deeply that I thought I may float, the heat of the moment or the blaze sending me afire in more ways than one.
He broke the kiss with a faint laugh. A gleaming smile met with a warm caress. “A beautiful farewell to a stunning career, your artistry will be deeply missed.”
“May our next chapter be brighter than the last,” I breathed.
“You fools! You’re dead!” my father screamed, thrashing in his seat as the fire crept closer. My mother sobbing, wailing beside him, slumping in her seat and kicking at the flames, her skirt catching.
I couldn’t pull away, entranced by the sight. My father’s slicked-back hair now disordered and ashy from the toil between the blackened smoke. His breathing rough, spit misting like an angry bull with bared teeth. In the reflection of his eyes, the fire blossomed.
In every woman’s life, she must either overcome her parents or join them. The apple falls beside the tree, or a bird carries your seeds somewhere unknown, uncertain you will ever grow.
This was my moment, my time to plant new seeds.
It would almost be worth it to die here, just so I could watch my parents burn.
Arkady grabbed my hand, pulling me offstage past the curtains. I got only a single glimpse of my handiwork before I no longer felt the heat on my face or the smoke in my nose. It was like the lights aglow after the final act.
Revenge was an unconventional choice of gift, notably in the form of hellfire.