by Lyndsay Ely
Selene, emanating chill irritation, paced to a bar inset in the wall and began to fix herself a drink. “Not Eva. Not Marius. You.”
It happened so fast. “The audience didn’t know; no one could tell—”
“I knew,” Selene cut in. “I could tell.”
“I tried…”
“Not hard enough.”
Frustration, flowing like blood from a fresh wound, drove Pity to her feet. “If you wanted me to kill him why were Eva and Marius there, too?”
“Why?” Selene slammed her glass down. “That was a kindness. Do you think I didn’t see your reluctance? You were afraid—I wasn’t going to fault you for that. The Zidanes were with you so you wouldn’t be alone.”
Speechless, Pity sat again, light-headed as a shiver scraped over her skin.
“And despite that, you still couldn’t do it.” Selene tapped her nails on the marble bar. “At least Eva had the good sense to cover your shortcomings.”
Of course she did. Eva may not have known in advance, but she knew the Theatre—knew Selene—and would have understood what her role was the moment the Finale deviated from its usual format. It was Pity who was too foolish to see how the pieces on the board were set up.
“When I ask you to do something, I expect it done. Do you understand that?”
Pity licked her lips. “Yes.”
“Then why didn’t you shoot him?”
“I…”
“You’re young, but you’re not a coward,” Selene pressed. “You were trained well—you know how to use those guns, and you’ve killed with them before.”
“I-I told you,” she said. “I tried… but I couldn’t—”
“Then what good are you?”
Pity burned all over, her muscles bone-shatteringly tight. Selene was right. She was trained well. All you needed to do was pull the trigger. Block out everything else and… Her thoughts would go no further.
“You helped save my life, and don’t think I’ve forgotten that. But I have no use for someone who can’t follow orders.” Selene stalked over so that she loomed above Pity, her eyes two shards of crystal. “Especially when the next request may not be so simple. Which raises the question, can I rely on you or not, Serendipity Jones?”
Pity searched for an answer but found none.
Silence smoldered between them before Selene spoke again. “You may go.”
Pity stood, but a continuing fear kept her rooted in place, unable to believe she was being dismissed with only a scolding.
“This isn’t over,” Selene confirmed. “I suggest you put some hard thought into what your personal misgivings might be. And whether they truly have a place in a city like Cessation.”
The words still seared her skin the next morning: What good are you?
She twisted in her sheets, eyes singed sore by tears that wouldn’t fall. The prior evening replayed on an infinite loop in her thoughts, alternating between the assassin’s plea for death and Selene’s reproach. Entwined as the memories were, it was impossible to decide which left her more ill. All confidence was scraped out of her, leaving a hollow pit in her chest.
Another moment that mattered. Another failure. It wasn’t about the showiness of it—Selene had never asked for that. She would have forgiven a mundane performance. The only thing Pity really needed to do was follow orders—to be a good, obedient soldier, like her mother. But that was exactly what she had failed to do, jeopardizing everything she had in Cessation.
And yet the thought of another Finale—of being in that bloody spotlight again—set her heart pounding with distress.
A knock on the door split her thoughts like a hatchet.
“Pity?”
Any other voice, save Selene’s, she would have ignored. “Just a minute.”
She slipped on some clothes and opened the door. Max waited on the other side.
“Hey. You didn’t come to the Gallery last night.”
“No, I didn’t.” Pity moved away from the door.
Max accepted the passive invitation to enter, face taut with concern. “I wanted to come find you, but I thought you might want to be alone after…” He faltered. “And Halcyon said—”
“Halcyon was covering for me. I… I couldn’t…” She shook her head.
“Pity, what’s going on?”
“I messed up.” She crumpled onto the bed again, still gripped by the anxious fatigue of the last twelve hours. “The Finale… I messed up.”
“What? No, you didn’t. He’s dead, isn’t he? It was—”
“You don’t understand. Selene wanted me to kill him. Me. But when it came down to it, I couldn’t do it. And now she’s angry.”
Pity continued, not allowing any silence for Max to fill with questions. Bit by bit the story trickled out of her, rising to a flood by the time she arrived at Selene’s rebuke. When she was done, Max sat beside her and put an arm around her shoulders. She leaned into him as his warmth overtook her, the most comfort she had felt in days.
“I remember what you said, about the city and letting it get to me, but…” She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to leave Cessation.”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said Max. “Selene will cool off. This wasn’t a normal Finale. That man tried to kill her. As tough as she is, that’s not easy to shake off.” His arm tightened. “And you’re too well liked to be kicked out over one little misstep. By the time the next Finale comes around, you’ll—”
She pulled away from him. “Max, I can’t do that again. I can’t.”
“What if you have to?”
Pity stood and strode away. “Last night you told me to say no.”
“That was when I thought it was the audience choosing you, not Selene. Pity, she’ll forgive you for this, but if she wants you to perform in a Finale again, you can’t refuse.”
“Why not?” Her voice rose, beyond her control. “I do my act and everyone loves it, so why do I have to be her executioner, too?”
“Pity—”
“I know what I said about justice, and I know that man would have put a bullet through me without a second thought, but the Finales… they’re not right. They’re not. A person’s death shouldn’t be a spectacle, whether they deserve it or not.”
“Pity, please.” Max stood and reached for her. “I know it’s hard, but you can’t defy Selene again.”
She recoiled. “You know? How do you know, Max? You make costumes. You build sets.” Talons of anger pierced her throat, strangling her words even as she couldn’t stop speaking. “No one is going to ask you to paint someone to death while the audience is cheering you on! So explain to me, how exactly do you know what it’s like?”
She might have slapped him. Though he didn’t move, the whole of his bearing diminished, the emotional blow landing squarely. Silver piercings flickered weakly as he started to speak, stopped, and finally began again.
“You’re right,” he said. “I’ll never know what it’s like to be in the arena during a Finale. And you know I don’t entirely agree with what they are, but Selene isn’t like CONA. She’s not murdering innocents because they want the freedom to make their own choices about their lives.” He ran an anxious hand through his hair. “I don’t want good people hurt or killed. These aren’t good people, Pity. They’re the very worst parts of a city whose pieces barely fit together as it is.”
“What about Beeks? Did he really deserve to die for being a thief?”
“Beeks crossed Selene.” Max’s voice was unapologetic but saturated with concern. “Is that something you want to do, too?”
A leaden silence fell as anger seethed within Pity. She hadn’t expected sympathy from Eva or Halcyon or anyone else… but Max? She thought he would understand. Instead, he was siding with Selene. Pity longed to lash out, to find any outlet for the resentment swirling within, but before she could, there was another knock on her door.
Crossing the room in two curt strides, she yanked it open. “What?”
It was Duchess.
His gaze jumped from her to Max and back.
“Come downstairs,” he said. “There’s something you should see.”
Before they reached the Gallery, the difference in the air was apparent: it hummed, hivelike, with warning. As they drew closer, what should have been a familiar brew of sounds carried an unfamiliar resonance. The halls were scented with something Pity recognized but couldn’t quite identify. When they plunged into the near frenzy of the Gallery, filled to the brim with everyone from patrons to porters, she realized what it was: bloodlust.
Cheers and jeers whizzed like bullets, aimed at a far corner of the room. Peeling away from the others, Pity climbed onto a table so she could see above the crowd. In a booth near the bar, calm as a gentle breeze—save for the shotgun across her lap—was Siena Bond. A man in chains sat beside her.
Daneko.
She jumped down and pushed through the crowd.
“Pity, wait!” Max called, but she ignored him, dread propelling her closer. A ring of Tin Men kept the crowd at a manageable distance, though they moved aside for her without question. Pity barely registered this as she stopped a few yards from the booth, her momentum arrested by Daneko’s piercing, bitter stare. Defeat clung to him like a stench. He was gagged, and a fresh, ugly bruise covered one side of his face.
“Jones,” Siena said pleasantly, as if they were old friends. “I was wondering where you were at. Join us for a drink?”
Pity ignored the bounty hunter’s peculiar familiarity. In that moment, only one thing mattered: Daneko’s capture and what that meant.
Another Finale.
The vicious celebration raged around them as Pity’s heart pounded in her ears. Last night’s Finale was suddenly a mere appetizer, a tidbit before the main course in Selene’s revenge. Soon Daneko would be in the arena, shrouded in cheers, another of Selene’s examples.
“Too bad we didn’t make it back before the holidays,” Siena drawled. “He would have made a tidy present for Selene, don’t ya think? And I hear I just missed your best performance yet.” She glanced at her prize. “See what a trouble you are? Would have been easier on all of us if Selene didn’t want you taken alive.”
“I’ll handle things from here.”
Pity turned back to see the Tin Men parting again for Santino.
Siena stood to allow access to Daneko. “So long as I’m paid, he’s all yours.”
“Take him,” Santino instructed the Tin Men. “Not to the tombs—one of the special cells. Selene doesn’t want anyone getting impatient.” His raised his voice so that it carried above the din. “You all hear that? No one is to harm a hair on his head without Selene’s say-so.”
Pity couldn’t bear to listen anymore or watch as the gang leader was dragged away. Whether he went quietly or he was frantic with fear, she didn’t want to add the dreadful image to her rapidly expanding collection. She found Duchess and Max behind her, standing at the edge of the crowd, the only ones more interested in her than Daneko. Max took a step forward, mouth opening to speak, but Duchess touched his arm to stop him.
There were a dozen things she wanted to say, a hundred screams of frustration and fear building within. But no words came; they were lost to an understanding, an inescapable realization that she saw painted on Max’s face, too.
It was no longer a matter of if Selene would ask her to perform another Finale.
It was when.
CHAPTER 28
The summons that arrived the next morning came as no surprise.
Occupied with the digital displays set in her desk, Selene didn’t look up as Pity entered her office, escorted by Adora. The tight set to Selene’s lips showed she didn’t like whatever she saw on the screens. As Pity waited to be acknowledged, she stole a glance at Beau, but his expression was indecipherable.
He’s not going to be any more help here than Max was, she told herself. This is all on you.
Nearly a minute passed before Selene finally ruptured the silence. “Have you thought about what I asked you to do?”
“Yes.”
“And?” Dusky eyes flickered up. “Can I trust you to do what I ask?”
Pity knew the right answer—the one she needed to give if she wanted to maintain her position in Casimir—was yes. But no matter which way she tried to force herself to say it, the word stuck in her throat.
“The next Finale…” She had to say something, but every word tripped her like tangled roots. “You want me to kill Daneko.”
Selene leaned back and considered her. “Perhaps. But I have a more pressing task for you right now.” She tapped a screen on the desk. “After much coaxing, Patrick Sheridan has returned to Casimir.”
Sheridan? Pity frowned, confused. What does he have to do with anything?
“This took no small amount of effort,” Selene continued. “Following the attack, he came under the impression that Cessation, and Casimir, might not be the safest place for him.”
Adora gave a snort of laughter. “What a silly notion.”
Selene shot her a quieting look. “So I made some… concessions. Allowing a private bodyguard, increased security around him… and you.”
“Me?” Wariness trickled down Pity’s spine, sickly warm. “I don’t understand.”
“It was Patrick’s idea,” said Selene. “His campaign is floundering in the east. He needs my help, but he needs it without anyone thinking that’s what he’s come to Cessation for. Which is where you come in. As far as anyone will know, Patrick Sheridan is an overambitious, failing candidate, returned to Cessation to drown his shortcomings in gambling, drink, and the Theatre performer he’s taken a special interest in.”
The way she’d said special set Pity’s skin crawling.
“None of this goes beyond this room, do you understand?” Selene continued. “Friend or foe, I want whoever might be paying attention to Sheridan focused on his indulgences, the lovely young lady keeping him company, and nothing else.”
“What if no one is fooled?”
“Well,” Selene said, “you’ll have to play your part convincingly, won’t you?”
It was meant to be an order—or a warning—but there was something more, veiled beneath Selene’s unequivocal tone. Pity studied the woman more closely. The corners of her mouth were tight, her skin slightly flushed.
She’s worried, and she doesn’t like it. Why? “If you can’t get him the presidency, that’s all that Sheridan loses.” She hesitated. “What do you lose?”
At first, Selene’s gaze narrowed to an icicle point. Then it melted, and she laughed. “You are learning, aren’t you?” Her expression sobered. “I’m afraid it’s what we lose. When I took control of Cessation, CONA was still licking its wounds from the war, trying to keep its new, fragile society from breaking apart at every unfamiliar turn. Now? The core of CONA’s power grows stronger, creeps a little farther west with each passing day. And when they come up against an obstacle?” She let the question hang.
Pity thought of the battered dissident refugees. “They remove it. Or get someone like Drakos-Pryce to do it for them.”
Selene nodded. “It’s only a matter of time before they turn their gaze to Cessation.”
It isn’t that Selene wants a pet politician, Pity realized, it’s that she needs one. Threats like Daneko were nothing compared to CONA. “You want Sheridan to protect the city.”
“Yes. In a way I will never be able to. As it stands, we are tolerated. The deals made here, the desires indulged, the secrets kept—they help keep our enemies in the east at bay. But I’d be a fool to think that will last forever.” Selene stood, pressing her palms flat on the desk. “Cessation is no backwoods settlement, easily toppled by Drakos-Pryce’s little death squads. If threatened, it will fight.” She sighed. “And it will lose. But a military movement of that caliber would require approval by the president. My goal is to prevent that from ever happening. Fortunately, as rich and brilliant as Sheridan is, he doesn’t have the right associations to gain the presidency on h
is own.”
“Do you?”
Selene blinked at her. The room seemed to chill. Careful.
“Max said that only the Drakos-Pryce Corporation can guarantee something like that. And it’ll have nothing to do with Cessation.”
“Max stays well-informed.” Every syllable carried warning. “But Drakos-Pryce isn’t the only way to the presidency. There are many, many powerful people in CONA who owe me favors.”
Pity swallowed, hesitant. “What about Daneko?”
Selene smiled as if she had been waiting for the question. “I’ll get to him eventually. Your participation in that matter will depend on how otherwise engaged you are.”
There it was: the sugar to entice Pity to swallow the bitter. Agreeing to entertain Sheridan was more than a second chance to regain Selene’s favor; it was her way out of executing Daneko.
But he won’t be the last person to end up in the arena. Her hand twitched, trigger finger curling into a claw before relaxing again. Sooner or later someone else would cross the wrong line and Pity would be back in the same situation. I can’t stop the Finales, but…
“If I do this”—the words had risen to her lips, escaping before she could stop them—“I never want to perform another Finale.”
Selene’s face pinched in displeasure. Even Adora appeared taken aback by her boldness.
“You want Sheridan, and Sheridan wants me.” Pity wondered if she were digging her own grave, but bloodthirsty applause hissed in her ears, urging her onward. There was no going back now. “I’ll do what you want. But if I do it right, I don’t want to kill Daneko in the Finale or anyone else ever again.” She took a steadying breath. “Seems like a small price to pay in the pursuit of Cessation’s continued safety.”
Selene didn’t respond immediately. A line of sweat ran between Pity’s shoulder blades. She prayed her nervousness didn’t show on her face.
“Agreed.” The word clicked like a bullet entering a chamber. Selene sat back down in her chair, eyes flashing. “You certainly are bold when you want to be, Serendipity Jones. Let’s both hope the day never arrives when you wish you had simply pulled the trigger when you were told to.”