Chapter Thirty-Seven
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
A violin was already playing as Elara took her seat in the box. She kept catching Eli’s gaze, and forcibly looked away, making herself think of anything but her conversation with Cancia, lest the god decided to read her mind.
In the box beside them, Lukas was leaning over, and he gave a languid wave to Elara, eyes glittering. A shadow drifted from his hands towards her, caressing her cheek, and she pulled away in disgust.
She sat back in her seat and studied the stage.
A man and woman danced upon it, their movements like water. Fluid and graceful, they kissed as they danced, turning from the stage a moment before revealing a crying newborn in their arms.
The crowd applauded and cooed as the woman rocked the baby, happiness lighting her face. But then the stage darkened, as with a flash of light, a woman appeared, lit with a bright glow. The couple looked at each other in fear, before shadows plunged from the man’s hands, and struck the glowing newcomer down.
Elara inwardly checked her magick, relieved to feel a surge of her power as Ariete’s venom was fought back by Cancia’s blood.
The stage lightened again, the couple continuing to dance as the backdrop behind them transitioned to a palace. The baby was replaced by a young girl, dancing and twirling around her parents. When they disappeared, Elara saw a flash of white, and dread pooled in her stomach as she saw Gem, standing within the conductor’s box, her arms dancing in the air as she faced the stage. A sad refrain sounded as a woman stepped on to the stage. She was draped in silver as she danced to the music, but something about her seemed oddly familiar to Elara.
The backdrop shifted to reveal bookcases. The woman moved gracefully to smell flowers, then her attention switched to a book. It was hard from Elara’s vantage point to make out the woman’s face. The scene moved on, now a backdrop of clouds and stars. The ballerina danced between them, feigning sleep and waking.
Unease spread over Elara. An ominous tune arose, a slow build-up of trumpets as the scene changed to a throne room, the man and woman from earlier sat atop thrones as a hooded figure strutted in. Other dancers came in, their movements strangely jerky as they danced around the throne room.
Elara squinted, and saw Gem now had her arms raised and was waving her hands as if she was actually conducting the dance, the dancers on stage following the movements exactly.
Cold clenched over Elara’s heart as the hood of the figure was pulled back. Red-striped hair and white makeup streaked the dancer’s face. His hands drifted to the sky and streams of light fell from them on to the figures as they screamed to the building crescendo, the violins and flutes in a frenzy. Elara whipped her head to Ariete, seeing that the starlight’s source was from the King of Stars’ own two hands, beaming and bending through the theatre, so it seemed the dancer was conjuring it himself. When she looked back to the stage, blood—real blood, bright red—painted the bodies of the dancers as all the figures fell, save for the prima ballerina and the dancer posing as Ariete. The crowd gasped, and Elara lunged forwards. She felt a hand grip the back of her neck as Ariete held her in place.
‘What is this?’
His voice was soft. ‘This is your story, Elara. And you will watch as it ends.’
She sat in shock as the interlude began, watching as blue velvet curtains were drawn across the horrors upon the stage, the ornate candelabra brightening as excited chatter filled the audience.
‘Are you enjoying the performance?’
Elara looked at Ariete dully. ‘Are they dead? The dancers.’
A cruel smile curved his lips. ‘Dancers? Didn’t you recognize them, princess?’
When Elara didn’t respond he chuckled. ‘Let’s see. There was Pierre, your father’s advisor. Noelle, your mother’s handmaiden.’ He waved his hand through the air. ‘I don’t remember all their names, but they were those who kept your secret. Everyone who tried to hide you. Dead.’
Bile rose in Elara’s throat, and she swallowed it down, looking to the crowd. They were speaking animatedly, ignorant to the horrors that had taken place behind those curtains. ‘I’m not worth this,’ she whispered.
‘Oh, but you are. Because there’s still one more secret you’re keeping from me.’
Despair rose inside her as the refrain of the second act began, the candlelight dimming once more as the curtains were drawn back.
Clad in a glittering gown, the ballerina—the one playing the role of Elara—was now wearing a mask, hand in hand with a tall dark-haired man. She watched the scene that had shown her capture—a masquerade ball, the masks grotesque as other dancers flooded the stage, all doing a quickened version of the Celestian Waltz.
Elara’s heart pounded. The crowd clapped to the music, excitement in recognizing it. It was irritating her now, why the main ballerina moved in a way so familiar to her, dancing around the stage with a tall, masked man that she presumed was supposed to be Enzo.
The Star seated next to her was bobbing his head along with the melody, a grin on his face.
The music accelerated into a frenzy, Ariete leaning forwards out of his seat with excitement.
Do not move. Do not speak.
Elara swallowed a gasp, remaining still as Eli’s voice slithered through her mind.
You must leave now, before more blood is spilled. Ariete will not stop. Everyone you love will die.
She risked the quickest glance at Eli, but he was sipping a firewhisky, the picture of nonchalance, his attention on the macabre spectacle unfolding on stage.
Now, Elara. Use your magick now.
She prepared herself, tensing her legs, ready to launch past Ariete as she raised a hand. A glimmer of illusions danced off her palm, her magick itching and leaping to be freed after so long. The music was getting so loud. Guessing she had around ten seconds to run to the door, Elara started counting down in her head. She looked to Eli, who nodded only once.
She rose slowly, gritting her teeth, and glanced back to the stage for a moment.
The figure supposed to be her was twirling in a frenzy with the dancing Ariete, the music deafening.
‘I’d watch if I were you.’ Ariete’s voice drifted to her, although he hadn’t moved an inch, still leaning forwards, mesmerized by the movement onstage. She froze in shock, her illusions sputtering out.
‘Bad, bad little mouse. Always trying to run.’ He tutted, knocking back his drink without shifting his gaze.
Elara did not move as she looked down at the stage. Nausea swept over her as two grey eyes found her throughout the whole crowd of dancers. A look of love and will in them.
At the same time, Gem’s hands were waving madly as though creating her own symphony as her puppets danced.
The way the prima ballerina moved, how it had stirred something in Elara, finally made sense. For it was Sofia, firmly in the grip of Gem’s control, who continued to hold her gaze as she stood centre stage, as the dancer dressed as Ariete came up behind her, cradling her as he pulled a knife and slit her throat.
Elara did not hear the scream that ripped through her as she lurched towards the balcony, her hands outstretched. She did not see the blood gush from Sofia’s neck, did not hear the panic of the crowd, the chaos that ensued. She did not hear Ariete’s cackles of glee. Pain engulfed her so thoroughly that time slowed. She saw herself from outside her body, saw Ariete turn, a demented gleam in his eyes at the performance he’d created. Saw Eli blink slowly, the only sign of any reaction to the display. She felt her power rip from her. She felt the hopelessness of it all. And the need to get to Sofia’s still body. Sobbing with pain and grief that were tearing her mind apart, she climbed the balcony, and threw herself from it.
The last thing she heard was Ariete’s gasp of shock as she fell. The crowd continued to shriek at the spectacle. At Elara’s pale skin, ebony hair spilling around her, neck twisted at the wrong angle, and eyes glassy with death.