Page 134 of A Stage Set for Villains
Which almost scares me more than the trial ahead.
Whatever he’s about to say is lost as a woman uniformed in black and silver appears at the door. She says nothing but motions us through, noticeably avoiding our eyes.
Sil swallows his words to me and offers instead, “Break a leg.”
I feel my audience before I see them.
The tunnel we pass through spits us into an outdoor arena built of weathered stone and shaped like a bowl. The rims of the bowl are full; we’re surrounded by the company of what seems like thousands. I can’t bear to look at their faces, but I feel their eyes all the same.
I expect screams. Curses.Something. Instead, eerie silence stretches over the crowd.
The stands where my accusers sit have fallen into disuse. Thin rays of sun light the circular platform ahead as I march, keeping my eyes on Sil’s back until we reach its center. It’s dusty and cracked, a ring of Eleutheraen gold encircling the stage we stand upon.
Jude is guided off to my left. I spot a place near him where the line of Eleutheraen gold is broken by a hair. Unsealed.
Sil stands just behind us at the center.
Once, Players performed on this stage. Later, their blood spilled on it.
Which purpose it will be used for today is anyone’s guess.
The audience rises to their feet. Many from South of the Cut have come in support of the Playhouse, judging by the number of metallic theatrical masks I spot in the rows.
Survive this, I chant to myself.I made it this far. This isn’t how I’m supposed to die.
A line of seven men and women file out of the opposite tunnel. Theatron’s council, robed in black and silver. They seat themselves accordingly at a table far upstage. The crowd sits when they do.
Finally, the magistrate enters and stops before us, with slicked-back silver hair and eyes like a fox. Those eyes lock on me and stay there until she calls, “Jude Stepharros. You stand before the council, accused of breaking your contract and violating Theatron law by crossing out of Playhouse grounds before the start of the Great Dionysia.”
I innocently pretend not to notice the accusing glare he sends my way.
“Alistaire Hunt,” she goes on. “You are charged with the illegal misuse of Craft by a Player and the murder of a council-appointed official—”
“She was marked. So I can’t have killed her with Craft,” I snap back. “And I amnota Player,” I add before Sil can stop me.
“You are notanyone,” the magistrate says, not taking the bait. “According to the city census and Theatron record, you do not exist.”
The air grows very still. Jude shuts his eyes beside me, but I feel Sil watching keenly.
“Alistaire Hunt,” she demands. “Who are you?”
For the first time in a while, the scars of my mark burn, wishing to tell the truth. I seal my lips shut, and the magistrate smiles. She knows she’s onto something. “These are significant accusations against the Playhouse, Silenus,” the magistrate states, turning her attention to Sil. “A Playhouse Plague. A council-appointed official dead at the hands of a Player—”
“She is not a Player. She is an auditionee,” Sil argues back.
“Yet, with her Craft, she brought perhaps one of the most notable plagues Theatron has ever seen. How do you explain it?” The magistrate eyes him, daring him to answer.
“I admit, Craft has taken a particular bond to her blood. She is a natural,” Sil answers, steady.
Slowly, the magistrate turns toward me. “A bond to her blood so strong, she may have influenced a woman to execute herself beforethousandsof witnesses—”
“The woman was marked,” Sil says, voice hardening. “Alistaire could not have used Compulsion to influence her.”
“Then how do you explain her death?”
Even as she says the words, the realization runs cold through me. Craft bonding so close to my blood, strong enough to kill a marked woman…becauseIam a marked woman, perhaps able to use Craft on a marked because I’ve been forced to do it on myself.
There’s something I’m missing here—a piece I’m sure I’m not seeing.
