Chapter 9
CHAPTER NINE
My face is a neutral mask as I lower my hood and break from the line of eligibles to claim my place among the selected. The earthy musk from the packed clay floor of the arena combines with the pungent scent of perspiration emanating from my fellow Huntresses.
My eyes lock onto Gem’s.
At least I won’t be facing death alone. Her presence is both an unwelcome tragedy and a balm to my battered heart.
I’m so focused on Gem that it takes a few seconds to note the stifled reaction to my selection. In place of applause, hushed whispers travel across the stadium. Thousands of faces shift between my direction and the stage.
My brows pinch together.
I’ve done everything right. Lowered my hood.
Joined the selected at the base of the circular platform.
Kept my mouth shut. Has the evidence of my sun exposure returned?
My heart threatens to punch through my rib cage.
I clasp my hands in front of my abdomen in what I hope is a casual waiting stance.
The billowing sleeve of my black cloak inches down my forearm.
The damning glow is nowhere to be seen, thank the shadows.
Coraline’s nervous chuckle brings me out of myself. I turn, angling to look up at the stage—and my thundering heart stops altogether.
Gabe stands halfway between his vacated chair and the platform’s ledge. His jaw hangs open, and the whites of his eyes frame deep blue irises fixed directly on me.
I gape back.
What in the night’s mercy is he doing? Why is my ex-husband looking at me like that? Like he cares?
The spotlight reflects off Coraline’s wrinkled forehead as she asks what we’re all wondering. “Surely, you aren’t attempting to volunteer . . . are you, Mr. Bren?”
Though the chancellor holds the microphone, Coraline is close enough for her words to echo through the cavernous walls of the arena.
Chancellor Bren turns away from the podium to cut a glare at Gabe before retraining his expression to one of sympathy.
“Don’t be absurd, Mrs. Lunam. You must understand that the sight of my son’s ex-wife is still upsetting for him.
One doesn’t forget that pain so easily, even if it’s been ten years. ”
There’s a barely concealed bite in his undertone that implies that the chancellor disagrees with his own words.
He’s not the only one.
Gabe unfreezes, shaking his head as he releases me from his perplexing stare. “What have you done?”
“Excuse us for a moment.” Chancellor Bren pulls his son further from the microphone and out of the spotlight entirely.
They’re no longer within earshot, yet Gabe’s vigorous arm movements speak enough about his anger. I turn away when he points at me, not waiting to see the chancellor’s reaction.
Gem leans around the woman between us and arches her brows.
I shake my head.
Gabe’s strained relationship with his father is no longer my business, and he’d do well to remember I’m no longer his. What he should concern himself with is what his wife and children think about his public outburst.
My neck prickles with awareness, but I ignore the unwelcome attention, keeping my back to the stage even as Coraline returns to the podium.
“Sorry for that, folks. I got so swept up in all this excitement that I completely forgot that immediate family members of elected officials are disqualified from participating in the Hunt.”
Her voice is raised, as if the increase in volume will make the words any truer.
Anyone who’s bothered to read the rules of eligibility outlined in our constitution will know that it makes no mention of exemptions for elected officials or their family members.
Fortunately for the chancellor, most haven’t bothered learning that, because they haven’t had to face the fear of eligibility.
With no one calling bullshit on her capitulation, Coraline goes on. “Please accept my sincerest apologies for implying that the future leader of our great city would entertain breaking such a rule. Now, let us wrap up—”
“I’d like to volunteer.”
The declaration comes from my left, where a man is hoisting himself above the concrete barrier separating the exempts in the front row from the arena floor.
He’s missing his ceremonial cloak, and the hem of his too-tight trousers hits an inch or two below the kneecap—details that are easily overlooked, considering the way the silver spotlight illuminates smoldering gold irises, full lips tugging into a stern line, and a familiar brown shirt that clings to the many contours of his upper body.
Why is the stranger who saved us, then stole Gem’s clothes as repayment, jogging through the parted crowd of unselected eligibles towards the stage with the intent to join the Hunt? Surely, he can’t be volunteering on my behalf.
On the off chance that he recognizes me as the haggard woman from the tunnels, it’s not like I left a flattering impression. He’d met me with dirt on my cheeks, soot in my hair, and blood on my ass. Not to mention, I can’t write off the possibility that he saw my glowing veins.
Don’t be so self-absorbed.
The few times he’d interacted with me during our illicit excursion, he was curt, louring like I was a nuisance purposefully sent to distract him. His gaze held no fondness, no attraction.
Whatever his reasoning for volunteering, it doesn’t involve me.
Two guards descend from the stage to grab the man by each arm and force him to his knees.
“I’d like to participate in the Hunt,” the stranger insists. “Or has the chancellor ratified an amendment to disqualify all men from volunteering?”
“Watch your mouth,” warns the older of the two henchmen, veins protruding from his forehead like the question was a personal insult.
The stranger’s molten gold irises almost seem to glow with the challenge. Considering he’s nearly as tall as the two men while on his knees, those eyes alone hold more of a threat than any spewed words from the guard.
Chancellor Bren squints down over the ledge and gestures for the brazen stranger to be released. “What is your name, son?”
“Kalden Tonalli,” he answers, voice carrying even without the microphone’s aid.
“Tonalli,” the chancellor repeats. “I’m unfamiliar with that surname.”
Kalden just blinks at him, as if to say that isn’t his problem.
The chancellor’s lips thin. “Why do you wish to volunteer, Kalden?”
“I question whether this current group is fit for the Hunt.” His eerily bright gaze travels from the still-trembling Twilynn to Gem to me. The implication might offend me if it weren’t so painfully true. “If I’m there, we’ll stand a better chance against the enemy.”
I scoff under my breath. Leave it to this overgrown man to think a few extra inches of height and a pair of toned arms are all it takes to defeat the Sols.
The chancellor sucks his teeth, mulling it over. “Our constitution is clear. Only ten are allowed in the Hunt.”
“So, let me take the place of another,” Kalden suggests, like it’s an obvious solution.
Gabe, who’s been inching closer to the commotion, grabs his father’s wrist. “Let him.”
Others may mistake the two words for a plea, but Gabe’s clenched jaw helps me hear it for what it really is: a demand.
Chancellor Bren goes as still as stone.
Gabe releases his grip, but raises his voice so it echoes through the microphone. “The volunteer clause does not require your permission for his participation.”
The chancellor smiles, but it’s a contrast to the ice in his narrowed eyes.
“Indeed. It does not. What an adept pupil you are, my son.” He claps a firm hand on Gabe’s shoulder before nodding to Coraline. “The young gentleman may proceed. Now, if you’ll excuse us. This ceremony has incurred too many delays, and our great city won’t run itself.”
“Of course, sir!” Coraline bows while the chancellor ushers his wife and son down from the stage.
Once they reach the steps, Coraline smooths the wrinkles in her cloak and addresses the crowd.
“It seems we have a volunteer. Kalden here believes so strongly in our noble vision for Caligo that he’s willing to trade places with one of our selected in hopes the Hunt will prove more fruitful with his presence.
Isn’t that wonderful? Which young lady would you like to exchange places with? ”
We eligibles are not permitted to speak during the ceremony. It’s not so much a rule as it is an expectation. But now that the chancellor is leaving, what’s worse—getting reprimanded for petitioning on Gem’s behalf, or staying silent while Kalden swaps places with another?
The first would be unfortunate. The second would be unforgivable.
So, while everyone’s eyes lock on Kalden, mine find Gem’s.
My intention must be obvious, because she shakes her head, but it doesn’t stop me from saying, “Pick her.”
Kalden steps toward us, his golden gaze scrutinizing Gem’s bandage while she scowls at the borrowed pants. He notes her displeasure, and I could swear the corner of his mouth twitches, like a smile is trying to break through his stony facade.
Fidgeting beneath his assessment, Gem folds her arms tightly across herself. “Don’t bother. If you try swapping places with me, I’ll volunteer to take her place.”
“You can’t go up there like this,” I argue.
“Neither can you. What are you going to do once you get hit with a debilitating migraine? Do you think the Sols will take it easy on you because you don’t feel well?”
“Gem.” My voice breaks, but I know she’s only lashing out this way in an attempt to save me, so I try to ignore the sting. “Please. Taur needs you here. And that baby is going to need its Auntie Gem.”
“What about Aunt Orelle? You’re needed here, too.”
“You can take my place,” offers the woman standing between Gem and me, glancing at us both with lifted brows. I can’t remember her name, only that she was the ninth to be selected.
Kalden frowns at the three of us before nodding.
Without sticking around for a verbal agreement, the woman bunches up her too-long cloak and jogs towards an unselected eligible, who’s waiting for her with open arms. Her partner mouths “thank you” to Kalden before planting a kiss on the woman’s forehead.
Hot tears blur my vision. I angle my chin up towards the wide expanse of the arched cavernous ceiling and swipe at my eyes. I don’t begrudge the woman for seizing this second chance at freedom. It isn’t her fault Gem chose misguided loyalty over self-preservation.
“Is now a good time to collect that favor?” Kalden asks while assuming the newly vacant position.
So, he does recognize me.
I turn, giving him a glare that communicates that now is the absolute worst time.
But he keeps his head forward, not bothering to face me as he orders, “Stop crying.”
“Excuse me?”
How is this callous asshole standing beside me now the same man who saved our lives hours ago?
“What’s done is done. Crying won’t change anything.” Kalden finally deigns to look me in the eye as he says, “Whether you like it or not, you’re a soldier now. Soldiers can’t afford to feel. We are one distraction away from death.”
I’m loath to admit he has a point. There will be time later to process, if I focus on making sure there is a later. If not for myself, then for Gem.
I nod, and Kalden returns to standing at attention, awaiting Coraline’s next orders.
“Huntresses—and, er, Hunter—please make your way onto the stage, so our great city can give you a proper sendoff.”
One by one, we shuffle up the steps onto the circular platform.
Meridna is the first to receive the blessing of the shadows.
“Meridna Nox.” Coraline dips her thumb into a jar of black ink and swipes it beneath both eyes.
“May darkness guide your sight and spirit. May it strengthen and protect you from the corrupting sunlight. Your victory is our victory. If the shadows will it . . .” She pauses, glancing towards the audience to signal their cue.
“Let it be,” they proudly respond.
By the time it’s my turn to receive the blessing, Coraline’s words are rushed, my bones ache with the need to be horizontal, and the audience’s echo lacks its earlier vigor.
Trickles of the black ink run down my cheek from Coraline’s hastily dipped thumb.
Now that the fun part is over, nearly a third of the seats sit empty as spectators trickle out of the stadium.
And the glazed glances that remain reaffirm what I knew to be true: these people are here to be entertained.
Coraline rushes through the closing script without so much as pausing for a breath, and the silver spotlight flickers off.
While our eyes are still adjusting, I allow myself one last indulgent shudder before clenching my jaw and following the line of soldiers marching dutifully towards our inescapable fate.