Chapter Seven
Annie
M aeve’s arm stays around my shoulders as we weave through the thick crowd. My heart is still pounding like a hummingbird’s wings, and I can barely breathe. The colors, the noise, the cheering…it all melts together into a dizzying blur that makes my skin feel too tight.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper again, but Maeve just gives me a worried look and presses her hand more firmly against my back.
“No, sweet girl. You’ve nothing to be sorry for. Let’s get you some water, alright?”
I nod. My throat feels like it’s full of cotton.
As we turn a corner behind the tournament grounds, the sound of the crowd fades just enough for my head to stop spinning. I keep my eyes low, focusing on the grass brushing my bare toes.
Then I see them.
Beatrice and Silas.
She is pressed far too close to him, her face flushed and eyes wide like a startled deer. Silas leans in with an ever-so-smug grin, one hand braced casually on the wooden post beside her head. I could just barely hear the low rumble of his teasing voice before Beatrice notices us.
Her whole face changes in an instant. She shoves him back with both hands and snaps, “Get away from me, you brute!”
Silas only chuckles, unbothered as ever, and gives Maeve a two-fingered salute before strolling away like he hadn’t just been caught with his horns where they didn’t belong.
Maeve gapes, but I don’t say anything, mostly because my brain is still foggy and I can’t string a proper thought together. Beatrice turns to us, flustered, red as a tomato, and huffs.
“What are you doing here?”
She looks between Maeve and me. Her eyes soften the moment she sees my face. “Annie? Are you alright?”
“I—I just…needed some air,” My fingers curl tightly around the edge of my skirt.
Beatrice’s expression tightens, and she shoots Maeve a glare. “Why would you even bring her there, Maeve? You know how she is.”
Maeve sighs, clearly holding back whatever sharp retort she would like to say. “She wanted to come.”
Beatrice shakes her head. “It’s a bloodsport, not a picnic!”
I don’t want them to argue. I hate when people fight, especially people I care about.
“I’m fine,” I say quickly, though my voice comes out small and shaky. ”Really, I am. I just…I need a minute.”
Beatrice steps closer and wraps an arm around me, gentler now. “Come on, let’s go sit in the shade.”
I lean into her and nod gratefully, yet still feel like my heart is fluttering somewhere in my throat.
I close my eyes, but even behind my eyelids I see Fenric, and that awful moment when I dropped the ribbon, and how he’d looked at me when he’d asked me for it…like I was someone who mattered.