“Because we can.” He holds my eye. “And because it hurts you more than it hurts her.”
I want to argue that. Deny it. Tell him to fuck off.
But I don’t.
Can’t.
I turn and leave Roland at his desk, glancing at the painting of the monster on the wall.
We’re all afraid of it. Of Victorine. And frankly, a little of Roland, but one day, they’ll push one of us too far and there will be no turning back.
“Agis,” he calls, just as I reach the open door, “you may want to come to the challenge tonight.”
“Why is that?”
He smiles and plucks another piece of fruit off the tray. “Because things are about to get interesting.”
36
Marshal
You’d never know it from the energy of the crowd, but the challenges have become tiresome. Night after night of the same thing; students plucked from the stands, hooded and revealed on the field. The weakest have already been taken care of, stashed in a dungeon under the arena. The strong are trotted out to fight again, or worse, taken somewhere by Victorine. Probably that repulsive nest she’s built up in the tower.
I shudder, not wishing that on anyone.
“Cold?” Roland asks, pushing a bottle of drink toward me. “That’ll warm you up.” He grabs one of the twins, Cora, I think, and pushes her toward me. She runs a skinny arm around my shoulder and perches in my lap. “She’ll do, too.”
I fight a grimace and feign interest in the bony witch sitting on me. Her nails run down the side of my face and she tilts my chin. “I can keep you warm.”
“I’m sure you can, witchling.” I rest a hand on her hollow back.
We’re in Roland’s box—the best seats to watch the field. Marielle is snuggled under his arm, running her hand up and down his leg. The truth is I expected better of her, but she’s a follower. The Nephilim is too good for her.
I uncork the bottle and consume all of it in one long gulp. The liquid burns and threatens to come back up, but I wince and hold it down. My head aches…a common occurrence lately. Partly from the incessant waft of Roland’s incense. It’s a gods-awful stench. The other from the continuous self-medication that has become my norm over the last few weeks. It’s easier to numb the mind than accept my chosen fate. I’m already sure I’ll need more than this one drink to get through the night ahead.
Each night, the events begin with increasing flourish. Lights. Music. Once, fireworks. Tonight, a shimmering cloud appears in the middle of the field—sandwiched between the cage that holds whatever devious creation Victorine plans on unleashing and the gaping opening that the challengers arrive through.
Roland has a particularly strange grin on his face as the activities begin. Marielle whispers in his ear and they both laugh.
“Am I missing something?” I ask, leaning forward. The witch places her hand on my inner thigh. I carefully move it aside.
“The Valkyrie is stubborn,” he gives me a pointed look, “as you know. Victorine has done her best to bring her down a peg or two. Convince her into handing over the key. She was certain last night would be enough.”
“She a glutton for punishment,” Marielle says. “I think she likes getting on her hands and knees.”
Again, all eyes focus on me. If they only knew. With Hildi, I was the one on my knees. All she had to do was snap her little fingers.
“You’re right,” I say, leaning back in my seat and sliding my hand around Cora’s too-narrow waist. “She is stubborn, whatever you have in mind, I doubt she’ll fall for.”
But I’ve seen Hildi. Been watching her. The degrading outfits. The menial chores. I’d come the night before and watched as she scrubbed out the blood, fighting every urge to lift her off her knees and carry her away.
While I hesitated, pondered, processed…someone beat me to it. I watched in silence as he carried her off, jealous and defeated.
In that moment she looked bad, covered in blood, worn and exhausted. Even the strongest of us have cracks.
I reach for another bottle and unplug the cork, thinking it’s better to be drunk for this. That is, until I see Victorine walk through the cloud, in a stunning silver dress, cruel smile on her mouth. There’s a bounce in her step and her eyes scan the crowd; no doubt who she’s looking for. I catch myself looking, too.
“Tonight, we’ll have our first solo contender for the challenge,” Victorine says, eyes flashing as the crowd rumbles with renewed interest, “along with another change.” She waves her hand in the direction of the box, the shiny metal sides dropping through the floor.