by Jayne Faith
The Monitor glanced down at me, but it was the other one who spoke. “Maya Calderon of Earthenfell, you are hereby detained on the accusation of two counts of first degree blasphemous action.”
I twisted, struggling to look back at Lord Toric. He tried to come after me, but Calvin and Tullock strained to hold him back. Calvin was speaking to him urgently, but his words didn’t carry to me. The guards watched with despondent expressions, and Lord Toric’s faced twisted in anguish as I was hauled out of my apartment.
I struggled and yanked, trying to writhe out of the men’s grasp. “What’s going to happen to me?” I yelled at them, my voice raw with fear. “Tell me! Please, tell me something!”
The green-eyed one shot a glance at me and then looked away, and for a moment I thought they were going to ignore my plea.
“You’ll be held in custody,” the green-eyed man said.
“By the Calistan police?” I asked, trying to keep the frantic wail from my voice.
He gave a curt nod.
“But Earthens can’t be arrested by the Calistan police,” I said. I looked up at the Monitor. “We’re only subject to your system. Lord Toric explained it to me. You can’t arrest me!”
“The court has passed an exception,” the Monitor said. “Screaming and struggling will not help your case, girl. Quiet down or we’ll have to subdue you.”
From a holster on his belt he pulled a slim silver wand like the one Akantha carried and waved it in front of my nose.
I pulled my lips in between my teeth and bit down hard. Tears sprang to my eyes and my entire body trembled.
I half-expected angry crowds crying out for my blood to be lining the hallways of the palace. But the officials surrounded me three deep and took me swiftly through lesser-used corridors.
It was dinnertime for royals and nobles, and many workers were probably home getting ready for their evening meal as well. I caught a few glimpses of passersby, and recognition registered on their faces. News of my arrest would spread like wildfire, and I suspected it would do nothing but stir up more fury.
I could only hope that Lord Toric would find a way to enforce the separation of Earthens from the Calistan criminal system, but somehow the Calistan courts had already made an exception for my arrest. Was there really anything he could do?
My heart seemed to settle low in my chest. Even without seeing the broadcast to get a sense of the public’s attitude toward me, I could guess that my chances of getting released were not good.
I tried to remember Lord Toric’s words, his vow that he would not let me die in the sacrificial fires. But how could he prevent it? Nothing was more sacred to the Calistans than their quest for Earthenfell, and if my actions had threatened it and the majority believed sacrificing me would atone for my violation, I was doomed.
The officials marched me into a part of the palace I’d never seen before. We were at the ground floor, or more likely one or two levels underground judging by the lack of windows. We waited for a heavy door, a security gate with bars in a lattice pattern, to slide to the side.
Once inside the gate, the entire group stopped and the dark-green uniformed Monitors clustered near the gate. We were in some sort of lobby or processing room with a bench along one wall. Through a window I saw an office with a few Calistan officers tapping on tablets. When they spotted us, they all stared at me through the window. Two of them—a man and a woman—came through the adjoining door.
The man’s jet-black hair was slicked back from his face, and his small, dark eyes darted over me from head to foot before he spoke. “Any trouble en route?” he asked the officer who still held my arm.
“None, Master. We moved swiftly and kept away from the public corridors.”
The officer finally released my arm. I’d probably have a bruise where his hand had been, but I knew he wasn’t trying to be cruel. The officers and Monitors had gotten me there without creating a mob scene, and I was probably lucky for that.
“Good work,” the Master said to his officers, and cast a quick look at the Monitors.
“Clasp your hands together,” the female officer said to me. She held some sort of pouch.
I did as she said, and she slid the pouch over my clasped hands and tightened the opening until the insides of my wrists were pressed tightly together, my hands trapped inside the bag.
She tsked. “Barely small enough. Had to borrow this cuff from the juvenile facility.” She prodded my elbow and pointed at a solid door. “Through there.”
She opened it for me. I went through and she followed, letting the door close with a heavy clang that echoed down the narrow, dim corridor in front of me.
We passed doors spaced at even intervals, making a right turn and then another into identical hallways. She kept one hand firmly on my elbow, and I noticed a silver wand in her other hand.
I looked up at her face, trying to gauge whether or not there was any kindness in her eyes. “Please, can you tell me what’s going to happen?” I asked.
When she glanced down, there was a glint in her yellow-brown eyes that wasn’t exactly friendly.
“If it were up to me, I’d send you straight to the flame right this second,” she said matter-of-factly. “But it’s not up to me. You’ll either go to the flame, or you’ll go back to the Tournament. My bet is on the flame. In the meantime, you’ll stay here.”
We had entered a short side corridor, where there was only one door. By some unseen signal, the door slid into the wall, revealing a one-room windowless cell.
“You missed dinner,” she said. She gave me a push through the doorway. “Breakfast is in ten hours.”
I caught my balance and turned to see the pocket door whir closed. The bindings around my wrists loosened and the pouch slid off, freeing my hands.
The cell had a cot, a toilet, and a washbasin. The only other feature was a panel on the wall near the door. I went to it and touched it, and it lit. I tapped one of the two buttons, and the door disappeared.
My heart leapt as I believed for a second that I could escape. But the door hadn’t slid away. It had simply turned transparent. I touched the other button, and the door appeared solid again.
I turned slowly, not quite believing that I was locked in a Calistan jail cell. A humorless smile tugged at the corners of my mouth. Was this worse or better than the Tournament?
Worse, I decided. At least in the Tournament I had some control over my own fate. Some ability to act on my own behalf. With my arrest, my fate was completely in the hands of others. And if the officer’s attitude was at all indicative of the general consensus, Calisto would be glad to see me burn.
The overhead light extinguished. The room would have been completely dark if not for a small red light that glowed on the wall above the toilet.
I went to the cot and lay down, curling up on my side.
Staring wide-eyed into the darkness, I thought of Mother and Lana. I recalled the games Lana and I used to play as children, how we used to whisper to each other from our beds late into the night.
A tear slid across my face and then another.
I let tears wet the hard mat under my head, but I did not allow myself to dissolve into sobs.
I allowed my thoughts to range back through the memories of my life. I’d done the best I could. I’d helped my sister after she’d lost her sight. I’d worked hard in school. I’d taken care of my mother. When I was chosen in the Selection, I was glad it wasn’t Lana. I’d thrown myself into the Tournament, and I’d managed to work my way to first place in the ranks of favor.
I did not want to die, not yet, but I did not expect that I’d have the chance to plea on my own behalf. Even if I did, it would not do any good. If surrendering to the memories of the life I’d lived gave me a few moments’ peace in the end, then I would embrace it the best I could.
I lay there for a long time, remembering. Eventually my breathing slowed, and I somehow managed to fall asleep.
Some hours later the lights came on, abru
ptly pulling me from the escape of sleep.
On the floor in front of the door was a tray with a plate and a tumbler. There must have been a small trap door through which meals were delivered. Remembering the switch, I went to the panel and tapped the button to turn the door into a window. There wasn’t anything to look at—just the dark gray patch of wall across from my door—but at least if anyone arrived at my cell, I’d see who it was.
I carried the tray back to my cot and sat cross-legged next to it. The tumbler held water, and on the plate were two small round loaves of dark speckled bread. Along with a few slices of cured meat and a small apple, it was not a bad meal for a prisoner.
I ate, trying to focus completely on enjoying the food. Despite my peaceful thoughts of the previous night, my pulse was thin and too fast. I found that training my attention on what was right in front of me helped keep terror at bay. I could not let myself spiral into panic.
I managed to finish my breakfast, but my stomach was so hard and tight I wasn’t confident I’d keep it down. I rose and paced the cell, methodically counting my steps like a metronome, and my tension calmed somewhat.
Movement in the corner of my eye caught my attention. I sucked in a sharp breath. Outside my cell stood the officer in charge—the dark-haired man the others had called “Master”—as well as several other Calistans.
I frowned. Why were there so many?
The cell door slid aside, and the moss-eyed officer who’d escorted me to jail the previous night stepped in front of the others and filled the door frame. He held out a pouch.
“Your hands,” he said. His voice was flat, his face too still.
I gulped, my throat clicking drily.
He shook the pouch. “Now.”
Another officer appeared at his shoulder with a silver stinger pointed at me.
I walked forward, my body already breaking out in a cold sweat.
“Where are you taking me?” I whispered as he cinched the cuff of the pouch around my wrists.
He gave no answer.
My breaths came faster, and adrenaline and fear mingled and surged through my veins.
I twisted, pulling my arms against my body and trying to yank out of the officer’s grasp. “Tell me what’s happening!” My frantic voice tore through the corridor.
I was surrounded by officers, and some of them were armed with what appeared to be hand-held canons. The dark metal of the weapons glinted dully in the dim lights of the jail hallway.
“Halt!” the Master of the jail called out.
The entire group stopped, and someone reached around my face from behind me and sealed something—some sort of wide adhesive strip—across my mouth. I tried to paw at it, but an officer at each side held my arms.
Panic took over.
I screamed against the tape and struggled wildly.
There were a couple of sharp shouts, and then something snapped around my ankles. I would have fallen flat on my face if not for the hands holding me up.
With my wrists and ankles bound, the officers lifted me clear off the ground and began moving swiftly.
Hurried footfalls were punctuated by my muffled cries as they rushed me from the prison. Through my terror, I realized they seemed to be retracing the route that had brought me to the jail. We ascended through the palace, and my heart grasped onto the hope that they were returning me to Lord Toric’s chambers.
But when we exited a lift, we were on an unfamiliar floor. A loud hum filled the air. More officers lined a corridor that ended at a balcony that had its doors thrown open. Morning sunlight spilled into the corridor.
Someone removed the binding from my ankles. As the officers pushed me toward the balcony, the noise grew in volume.
I squinted into the light and caught sight of a robed figure.
When I recognized the opalescent robes and serene face of the Priestess, I nearly collapsed with relief. Finally, someone who knew me. Someone who would protect me.
But when I got close enough to see her eyes, my blood went cold. She seemed to look right through me. I tried to speak to her, but with the tape over my mouth, my muffled words were lost in the roar of noise from outside.
I finally looked beyond the balcony, and what I saw there stole my last bit of strength.
The balcony was narrow and long and open at the end. Below was some sort of square, or no—an arena.
It was all foreboding, but the most dreadful part was the heat.
With terror filling me like an ice-cold slurry, I watched tendrils of flame lick up into the air beyond the balcony.
There was a mighty fire down below. It had to be the sacrificial flame.
They were going to throw me into the fire.
My legs seemed to turn to water and dark splotches blurred my vision. The world tipped and then righted as I started to collapse and someone yanked me back to my feet.
My body suddenly weighed too much. All I felt was a heavy pull downward, the descending of my soul under the weight of pure hopelessness, and it paralyzed me.
Someone—maybe an officer, I didn’t really care to look—held me up with a hand tucked under my arm. He or she began striding forward onto the balcony, half-hauling me along like a small child who yet lacked the coordination to walk.
I looked at the Priestess, who walked at my other side—my only chance at salvation. Soft whimpers died against the tape over my mouth, and my eyes began to stream tears from fear and the hot air that buffeted us.
“Please, please, save me,” I tried to plead, over and over.
When we neared the end of the walkway, the heat was almost unbearable. The crowd below shimmered in the heat waves. Nausea rose up through me in a sickening swell.
The officer moved behind me, grasping a handful of my dress between my shoulder blades to keep me upright.
The Priestess tossed a bundle of something over the end of the walkway, and a second later, sparks of green, blue, and orange burst up. The roar of the crowd surged to a deafening volume, pounding at my eardrums.
She firmly grasped my elbow and leaned toward me.
“Take a deep breath and hold it when I say,” she said urgently into my ear.
I turned to stare at her, but she was already moving away from me.
“Now!” she in my ear over the noise of the crowd.
I twisted around in confusion. She and the officer had swiftly stepped back a couple of paces.
The floor beneath my feet disappeared, and I was falling. I drank in a lungful of air as if it held my salvation.
I tried to hold my breath, but when I began tumbling through the air down toward the flame, my lips strained against the tape as I screamed.
The heat flashed against my skin. My eyelids squeezed closed against the agony, and my scream rose in pitch.
It was unbearable.
I prayed for the end to come.
And then the fire was gone.
My body thwacked hard against a solid surface, my hip and shoulder taking the brunt of the landing. I felt a snap between my shoulder and the base of my neck, and the sharp pain cut through the burning.
I gasped and my vision swam. My head would not turn, so I swung my eyes around instead. There was a pale face, a swath of raven hair. For a moment I thought I was seeing my own image in a mirror, but it wasn’t me.
It was my twin sister Lana.
I blinked, and there were only shadows where she’d stood.
Looking up, I caught a glimpse of the cool blue-white ring of a portal shrinking. The smell of singed hair filled my nose. I tried to roll to one side so I could sit up, but with the small effort of movement, excruciating pain consumed me in blaze that made every nerve scream.
Darkness crowded in around the edges of my vision. And then the world went dark.
10
High Priestess Lunaria
WHEN I WENT to Jeric to ask for his help, I’d nearly balked at his dilapidated appearance and sunken eyes. Remembering what Lord Toric had told me about Jeric’s i
ncreasingly strange behavior, I worried I was making a huge mistake, that perhaps I was risking my one shot to save Maya on a man who’d already descended into madness.
But I knew I had no choice.
Perhaps I could have involved Lord Toric in the plan, but I believed it better not to. As Lord, he was too visible to be of any real help. I told him only that I had found a way to appease the demands of the Calistans calling for the Earthen girl’s blood but also keep her alive.
To my immense relief, Jeric had brightened at my proposition and immediately agreed to help. And to his great credit, he devised an ingenious plan.
I’d survived many difficult moments in my life, but when I stood at the end of the Bridge to Purification with Maya quaking next to me, I could not think of a moment more frightening and perilous. Not just for the young Earthen woman, but for the fate of Calisto.
After she’d disappeared down into the portal that was concealed within the sacrificial fire, I’d had to remain on the Bridge and recite a prayer to the bloodthirsty masses below. I wasn’t sure the audience even heard me; they were so stirred up with the frenzy of sacrifice and spiritual cleansing.
It had seemed to last forever, those few minutes on the Bridge, but I stoically carried out my duties as if I had indeed just witnessed an Offered girl die in the fire, when all I could think of was racing away to discover whether Jeric’s portal trick had worked.
I knew one thing as I scanned the arena: the audience had bought it. They believed that Maya had fallen to her fiery death. They had no reason not to, of course.
When the ceremony was finally over, I turned and forced myself to walk at a slow, stately march back into the palace. Officers were congratulating each other on the fine job they’d done in Maya’s arrest, imprisonment, and transport. Other nobles milled about, their eyes bright with religious fervor. Some recited prayers and praises.
I bowed my head and made my way through the throng to the lift, accompanied by three other priestesses of the Temple who’d been chosen to take part in the ceremony.
When I finally made it back to my quarters, I closed the door and leaned against the wall, pressing my temple to the cool surface. But I stayed there only a moment. I had to find out whether Maya had survived.