Nomi curtsied in tandem with the other girls, and the crowd applauded. The movement set dresses to sparkling. Nomi was nearly blinded.
What was she going to do?
Malachi bowed to the audience and then, to her surprise, he extended his arm to her. He was choosing Nomi for his first dance. Cassia’s face fell.
The music started again. Malachi led Nomi onto the dance floor. He didn’t remark on how wooden she was in his arms. As they began to move, for the first time she really studied his face. His mask hid his cheeks and nose, but his sharp jaw, dark eyes, and full mouth were still on display.
He knew she could read, but he hadn’t turned her in. He’d kissed her only once, and he’d never punished her for running away… or for any of the defiant things she’d said to him.
She kept waiting for him to be the horror Asa said he was, to break her. But had he ever really tried? He stared back at her, his intensity carving a hole into her heart. Over his shoulder, Asa smiled at her. A chill snaked down her spine.
Where was Renzo?
Malachi spun her around. Her gown dragged at her shoulders. Her corset clenched her ribs. “Nomi,” he said. “You look absolutely miserable.”
Her eyes flew to his face. “I’m so sorry, Your Eminence,” she said, trying to school her expression. “I’m just nervous.”
A flush crept up his throat. “No. I’m the one who’s sorry. After you left yesterday, I couldn’t stop thinking about what you said.”
Her eyes widened. What had she said? She couldn’t remember.
He continued, softer, so only she could hear. “Of course you feel lost here, especially without your sister. And it’s my fault. I chose you without thinking it through. I should have done my duty. Your sister prepared for this. She wanted to be a Grace. You never did, and I forced it upon you.”
Nomi found herself saying, “I’m sorry,” again, as if somehow her lack of enthusiasm was her fault. It was better than saying, Yes, you should have picked my sister, you stupid man. But she was so confused, so turned around. Why was he saying this to her? Why was he apologizing?
And where was Renzo?
She kept looking over Malachi’s shoulders as they spun, but the rest of the dancers were streaks of light and color. No features, no faces clear beneath their masks.
“I’ve no desire for an unwilling Grace,” Malachi said, so softly she almost missed the words. “I will force you no longer.”
Her mouth opened, but no sound came out. Suddenly, the problem of Asa and Renzo and Serina fell away. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I will free you from your obligation to me.” His eyes darkened with something like sadness. “You may leave if you choose.”
The words left her speechless.
His lips parted, and the warmth climbed from his neck to the skin beneath his mask. “But I hope you’ll stay.”
At that moment, something caught the corner of her eye.
Beyond Malachi, in the crowd… a figure in a red mask, black pants, and red-threaded jacket paused, head angled in her direction. She could tell in an instant, just by his height, the tilt of his head.
Renzo.
Malachi spun her again, and her brother disappeared into the crowd.
Across the room, the Superior was getting up. Asa was walking beside him, away from the party.
Panic exploded in Nomi’s chest.
“Your Eminence, I can hardly account for the honor you show me. May I have some time to consider your offer?” she asked, already stepping away, closer to where her brother had stood.
“Of course.” His hands drew her imperceptibly closer, as if he was reluctant to let her go. She wondered what his decision had cost him.
Just then, the song ended with a flourish, and Malachi leaned her back into a graceful dip. For an instant, their lips were a breath apart. Then he straightened, drawing her up with him. “Thank you for the dance.”
Nomi curtsied, breathless, and pressed through the crowd, searching frantically for Renzo. She studied every masked face, felt the press of bodies, and didn’t see her brother anywhere.
But she did find Maris standing next to the entrance to the patio, waiting for Malachi to ask her to dance. Her gown was a swirl of silver and red, gathered at the bodice with silver netting over her shoulders and arms. Her mask, like Renzo’s, was red. Nomi grabbed her and pulled her forward.
“What—?”
“I need your help,” Nomi whispered urgently. “There’s a man here, in a red mask and black jacket. His name is Renzo. He might be lurking by the hallways or antechambers, I don’t know. I need to get him a message. Will you help me?”
Maris nodded, her eyes full of questions.
“If you see him…” Nomi said, her heart racing. Malachi’s words ran through her mind. She’d resolved to talk to Renzo, to figure this out together. But there wasn’t time. “Tell him to leave the palace. Tell him I said to run.”
She left Maris gaping behind her and moved on, toward the room she’d seen the Superior head for. Asa had gone with him. If Renzo arrived before she could stop him, there’d be nothing she could do. Renzo would implicate Malachi… and she no longer trusted that Asa wouldn’t betray Renzo.
She scoured the assemblage for that red mask, but she didn’t see it. She headed toward the arches, her feet aching, her heart beating so fast it threatened to escape her chest. Her eyes burned with tears.
There, by the greenery, just inside the doorway—
“Renzo!” she hissed.
The figure paused.
Nomi tried to run toward him, but the weight of her gown held her back, thick and impervious as mud.
“Nomi!” His voice reached out to her, infinitely familiar, infinitely comforting. “You shouldn’t be here. Asa told me what to do. I don’t want you to risk yourself.”
“No,” she said. Tears streamed down her cheeks. One moment, that was all they would have. “You have to go, Renzo. I was wrong. I’ve made a grave mistake.”
His warm brown eyes widened behind the mask. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think… I don’t think we can trust Asa after all.” Nomi’s heart cracked, fissures cutting deep.
“But what about Serina?” he asked anxiously.
“If we do as Asa says, he will break his promise. We’re going to have to find another way to help Serina.” She couldn’t hug him, not here with so many watching, so she reached out and squeezed his hand. She couldn’t read his expression behind his mask. “Right now, I’m worried about you,” she added, more desperately. “Please go, Renzo. I need you to be safe.”
He gave her a long look, confusion turning his mouth into a deep frown. Tears slipped down her cheeks. She pushed him toward the doorway. Then she turned around. She couldn’t watch him walk away again.
It was easy to find the antechamber, as Asa had said.
She stepped into the doorway. The Superior sat on a cushioned chair in the center of the small room, surrounded by warm wood-paneled walls hung with tapestries. Asa sat in a chair beside him. He looked up as soon as her shadow crossed the threshold.
Asa raised a brow. He obviously wanted to know where Renzo was. Their window was closing. The Superior would soon rejoin the party.
Nomi slowly shook her head.
For an instant, his eyes filled with something. Hurt? Betrayal?
“Where is your cousin?” he asked brashly, and now it was an ugly thing lurking behind his mask. “What did you do?”
“The right thing,” she replied, her chin high. She had hoped she was doing the right thing. Now she was sure. “He’s not coming.”
He won’t pretend to try to murder your father so you can save him, she felt like shouting. He won’t name Malachi. He won’t help you.
“Asa, what is the meaning of this?” the Superior began, with ice in his voice. He gripped the armrests with his long, bony fingers and started to stand.
Behind Nomi, footsteps echoed on the marble floor. “Father, are you ready
?” Malachi asked as he entered the room.
Nomi never took her eyes off Asa. She saw when the storm broke inside him. Saw him break and become something new.
Saw him wordlessly draw the dagger at his hip and slice his father’s throat.
THIRTY-SEVEN
SERINA
THE GUARDS MARCHED Serina and Jacana up onto the stage. The amphitheater filled slowly. The women filing in looked confused, and the crowd wasn’t as silent as usual. Oracle, Ember, and Cliff took places in the front row. Oracle must feel vindicated, Serina thought. This was exactly what she was afraid of.
The other crew chiefs stood close to the stage. Serina found Slash, and they shared a look. If I’d had more time… There’d be no chance of revolution now.
When everyone had arrived, Commander Ricci strode onto the concrete stage. The other guards retreated to the balcony, except the two holding on to Serina’s and Jacana’s shackles.
“Good evening, everyone!” Ricci shouted, spreading his arms in welcome. He seemed to enjoy his showman’s role more than usual. “I have a special treat for you.”
Serina couldn’t tear her gaze from the firearm strapped to his hip. She almost wished he’d dispense with the theatrics and get it over with. But she cherished each breath in and out of her lungs, as fast as they came and went. Her pulse pounded in her temples.
“In our last fight, Cave’s fighter made the dubious decision to submit instead of winning her crew its well-deserved rations. In fact, she denied rations to all of you, as no winner meant no rations for anyone. She changed the game, and as we all know, the game does not change.” His voice tightened, the expansiveness gone. A fine tremble ran down Serina’s arms.
“She’s been busy ever since,” he continued. He never once looked at Serina, addressing every word to the crowd. “She tried to incite a rebellion. She killed a guard. And she will, absolutely, pay with her life.”
Serina held her back so straight it ached. She didn’t know how he knew all of that, but it didn’t surprise her that he did. She kept her face perfectly blank. In Viridia, all women wore masks.
She braced for the Commander to raise his gun.
“So,” he said, turning to her at last, “you’ll fight again. Now.”
“F-fight?” she stuttered, confused.
“Oh, you’ll die, whether you win or not,” he said blandly, his weathered face set in hard lines. “But I’m giving you a chance for revenge first. Who do you choose?” He glanced into the crowd. “You want another shot at last week’s adversary? I think she’s anxious for a rematch.”
The blood drained from Serina’s face.
“Or perhaps Oracle,” he suggested. “After all, she did banish you.” He twisted his lips into a grotesque pout as he turned his attention toward Jacana. “Or perhaps you’d like to fight our rabbit, here. She provided the perfect bait, it seems. She, you might actually kill. Then I’d get to kill you, which of course I’d enjoy.”
Jacana bent her head, her shoulders shaking with her sobs. One of the guards unshackled her so she’d be free to fight.
“It’s time,” Ricci said, his voice taking on an ominous tone. “Who will you fight?”
Serina glanced at Jacana. She’d come back so Jacana wouldn’t have to fight.
Her gaze shifted to Oracle. It was true the crew chief had exiled her. But more important, Oracle was one of the most skilled fighters here. She could kill Serina quickly and rob the Commander of some of his spectacle. Rob him of the chance to kill Serina himself.
Anika would kill her quickly too. Serina knew she didn’t have the strength to gain the upper hand with her a second time. Not with her injuries.
“Oh,” Commander Ricci added. “Submission is not an option this time. But I’m sure you realized that.” He nodded at the guard who stood behind her, and suddenly, with a clank, the weight of her chains was gone.
Serina closed her eyes, just for a second. She’d made her stand already. She’d refused to kill another woman. She’d meant everything she’d said to her crew, about being strong. Working together. Being iron.
If she chose to fight a woman now, those words would all be empty. Nothing would change.
Serina lifted her gaze and stared Commander Ricci straight in the eye so he could see her fury. “I won’t do it,” she shouted, because it was the only way to mask the shake in her voice. “I won’t play your game.”
His face purpled. Serina reminded herself she was dead no matter what. Val’s boat was gone. Nomi was gone. Hope was gone.
But maybe she could leave a little defiance behind.
“If you want me to fight, then I choose you,” she screamed. “Kill me now, with your firearm or your fists. But I won’t raise a hand against my sisters.”
Commander Ricci roared. The guard beside Serina moved, but Ricci waved him back. “Stand down. Nobody move. She’s mine.”
He rolled his shoulders. Pounded one massive fist into the other hand. Widened his stance and stared her down. “You want to fight me? Well then. We shall fight.”
Staring death in its craggy, terrible face, Serina waited for a sense of peace to steal over her, or a numbness. But all she had left, burning from within, was fury.
He came at her, fast as a striking snake. She scrambled in her pocket for the sand she’d planned to use to get Jacana’s attention, and threw it in his face. He paused, pawing at his eyes. It didn’t slow him for long.
She was able to duck away from his first punch, but the second caught in her in the stomach, stealing her breath.
Then he punched her in the face, and she went down.
Serina prayed for Nomi. It was too late to pray for herself.
Ricci stood over her, terrifyingly massive. He kicked her in the side. She howled as her rib broke, a fiery pain streaking through her. Crying now, gasping for breath, she struggled to her knees and backed away, blood dripping from her mouth. He paced her, taking his time. All he had to do was kick her in the head, or reach down and break her neck, and it would be over.
He knew it. She knew it. But still he played with her, giving her time to regret her brave speech. He reached down and grabbed her arm—the one Anika had cut—and dug his fingers into the wound, drawing new blood.
She threw a desperate punch as his stomach, but it was like punching a wall. He didn’t even flinch. He lifted her until her feet dangled, and pulled her close, until their noses were an inch apart. “Women think they’re strong when they’re fighting other women,” he growled, his moist, stinking breath clinging to Serina’s cheeks. “But when a man fights them, they know the truth. You are weak. All of you. And you always will be.”
He dropped her. Serina crumpled, her legs unable to support her.
That was Ricci’s victory speech. He was done playing.
With her last remaining strength, Serina stood up on shaking legs, put her head down, sucked in a breath, and barreled into him as hard as she could.
It was like trying to move a mountain, and yet he did move, a little. A few steps back. He hadn’t expected her to try to shove him. He braced against her and thrust his hands under her arms and threw her across the stage. She hit the concrete hard, her ankle twisting under her.
He stalked toward her, murder flashing in his eyes.
A roar built throughout the amphitheater. Serina had time to note that the women watching weren’t cheering. They were screaming. And then, with a bloodcurdling shriek, Oracle and Ember stormed the stage.
Oracle flung herself at the Commander, latching onto his back with an arm around his throat and her legs locked around his waist, blocking his access to his firearm. He coughed and twisted, trying to throw her off. Someone on the balcony fired off a shot, but the Commander waved an arm. “My fight. My kills,” he roared.
He bent forward sharply and Oracle almost went over his head. But Ember slid beneath and drove a makeshift knife into his belly. He reached for her, but she danced out of range. Oracle kept choking him, and no one moved.
Shock crashed over Serina in waves. Oracle and Ember had come to her rescue. They had revolted. The women surrounding the stage screamed and shouted, their banshee voices drowning out the Commander’s strangled gags. Out of the corner of her eye, Serina saw movement. Slash was leading her Hotel Misery crew around the edge of the stage.
Onstage, Oracle shrieked again. A hunting cry. The Commander’s face went purple as he scrabbled against her arm. Ember yanked out her blade. He sank to his knees in a puddle of his own blood. He scratched Oracle’s arm, leaving deep gouges, but she never let go.
Serina took a shivery, painful breath just as Commander Ricci’s eyes rolled back in his head. His body slumped to the side. Oracle wrenched his neck until it cracked, just to be sure.
She straightened and met Serina’s astonished gaze. A smile flickered at the edge of her lips.
Then a bullet hit her square in the forehead, whipping her head back. Her brown eye went as unseeing as the white one.
Serina screamed.
Chaos erupted.
A wave of women crashed across the stage. Gunfire blasted out over the cacophony. Serina struggled to her feet, her broken rib sending spikes of pain through her body. Guards fell from the balcony to the concrete below. It took her a moment to realize why—Slash’s crew had snuck up the stairs, coming at the men from behind.
But the gunfire didn’t slow, and women continued dropping.
If Oracle and Ember could run onto the stage and attack the Commander, Serina could find the strength to keep fighting. She yanked a knife from the hand of a lifeless member of Slash’s crew and staggered up the stairs. The screams and concussion of gunshots echoed eerily in the stairwell. She dodged a body tumbling down the stairs.
By the time she reached the balcony, the guards had turned and were fighting the surprise attack in earnest. There wasn’t much the women below could do but wait for more guards to fall. If the impact didn’t kill them, the women waiting would.
Before Serina could intervene, a red-faced guard shot Slash. Serina lunged at him, yanking the firearm from his hand as he fell. She fumbled with the weapon for a second, trying to figure out how to use it, but a strong arm hooked around her throat. She thrust an elbow back and the man grunted, but he didn’t loosen his hold.
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