by Rebecca Grey
Large glowing golden balloons bounce off the wall where they are tied to sconces. The banners and decor strung from one side to the other disappears as the entire wall lifts up and into the ceiling. My heart lunges into my throat as dirt and gravel wait for us on the other side.
Stadium seats filled with spectators quiet as the wall disappears and our teams, evening attire and all, come into view. Rows and rows of Hybrids press forward to catch a glimpse at us, rising up in their seats all the way up to the rooftop Marcelo and I had been on only moments ago. How had we not known they were there? How long had they waited for us?
"Please remove your masks and move to the middle of the arena and the betting will begin!" The announcer’s deep baritone voice rings out.
Hybrids tug at their masks, pulling them down from their faces. My eyes flick from one person to the other, back to the arena, then finally on Marcello as he reaches behind his head and undoes his own. He hides his mask in a small pocket inside his jacket and steps behind me.
"Here, let me help you." He lifts my hair and tugs at the bow, making the mask go slack and slip off my face.
"What the fuck is happening right now?" I whisper. Only a few other competitors share the same bewildered look as me. All of whom appear as if they've lived on the other side, judging by the state of their evening wear. I bite down on my lip. To them I look just like every other piece of Oasis trash because of the magnificent dress that Genovese and the others sent with me.
"They're inviting the spectators to come down and get a look at the teams," Sloane purrs, "I remember when King Caspar was but a player in this game. Don't you remember placing bets on his round in The Oasis Games, dear?"
That was before my lifetime. Before my parents’ lifetimes. I know that to become king, King Caspar had to have competed in the games. If he hadn't, he'd be dead or unworthy of the crown. Yet, I can't help but feel a sudden jolt of awareness travel through me. These Hybrids are old and dangerous, and I've chosen to surround myself with them. Now I'm certain I'm as much a fool as everyone else in The Bend who's talked about joining. Moreso since I'm actually standing here now.
"I remember sneaking out of the third event for a little fun of our own." Finnegan laughs, curling his fingers around Sloane's, as if we aren't being herded into the arena before us by the guards that push from the back of the room.
"This is messed up." I turn to look at Marcello. All emotion is wiped clean from his face. His mouth is pursed, creating the smallest lines of frustration around his lips.
"No matter what they say, keep still and don't say a word. Keep your chin up and only look them in the eyes if you dare." He finally says as my heels travel from the marble flooring and into the soft dirt of the earth.
The crowd roars with excitement with such deafening intensity my head pounds and I have to resist the urge to cover my ears. Movement off to the side of our group has me turning my head. Marcello's hand falls between my shoulder blades as he guides me through the gathering of teams.
A golden elevator without a dome of glass to protect it rises from our level up the stands to my left. It travels up over the rows of shouting creatures only stopping when it gets to a ledge that's empty except for two pointy eared Elves sitting on their oversized thrones. I turn to get a better look, my hand wrapping around Marcello's thick forearm to hold me steady as I walk backward.
King Caspar and his queen look down upon the group with little excitement, a picture of royal composure and calculated curiosity. The king's eyes search through the crowd, only stopping here or there on faces he may or may not recognize. He doesn't hint at a smile. His keen cruel gaze stops for a moment on me. Or at least, I think it's me, it's so hard to tell from the height at which he sits.
Most of the other players in the Games are smiling out to the crowd. Not me. No, I watch King Caspar, knowing that when this is all over I'll still only be successful when his heart is held inside my hand. Thick blonde dreadlocks hang around his face. When he moves to murmur to his wife, his hair catches ever so slightly against the scruff of his beard. I look to the queen. Her long oval face is made pointed by a sleek ponytail of blue-black hair. Her eyes, as narrow as her lips, watching only the king with some sort of innocent adoration.
Marcello moves, pulling his arm out of my grip. His hands find my shoulders as he spins me about. "Don't stare, it's rude."
"Do you think I give a rat’s ass if I appear rude? It's rude how they’ve forgotten about everyone on the other side of the wall." I don't bother to keep my voice quiet, I speak as if it's just Marcello and I. That alone earns me more than one angry glance.
This arena is more than the size of my entire apartment building. When I peer up to the seats that stretch on with impossible height, it puts my one frail Human body in perspective compared to the size of my surroundings. Hybrids in the crowd are still hollering, their bodies shaking in their expensive clothes with their rouge colored lips and perfectly placed hair. And tonight, I look like one of them. Will that grant me any favors? Doubtful.
Each team finds their own spot to huddle. Dirt clings to my heels and the hem of my dress. Many try to dust away the filth. I think I'll let mine stay. Large white lights hang from the ceiling far above casting down beams that spotlight each of our groups. I squint as the brilliant glow falls over my shoulders and casts my shadow behind me.
The announcer’s voice comes over the speaker once again, bringing a hush to the crowd and my fellow competitors. I can feel Juilliard shift to watch the man speak next to me but I keep my attention zeroed in on all the gazes that press against my skin like hot coals. Sweat builds under my hair at the base of my neck and I know my palms have gone clammy. My daggers are hot against my skin under the long length of the skirt. They are my only small reassurance.
"Betting will begin with the first row and make its way all the way through the last. We ask that you do not touch the competitors but you may get as close as you need otherwise. You may speak to the competitors and we do ask that competitors you speak back if prompted. All bets can be reported to your row’s teller. And may Luck be on your side tonight. Open the gates!"
Like a wave, the first row rises to their feet. Hybrids seep out of the seating and down slender metal staircases onto the soil covered floor with us. My hand twitches and both Juilliard and Marcello step beside me. Sloane and Finnegan giggle, as if this is the most amusing thing that's ever happened to them. Hedda is no doubt looking around, totally dumbfounded by it all.
"Don't reach for that knife," Juilliard tisks.
"I'm not." I swallow, then add, "yet." The incoming onlookers grow closer and the words the announcer has spoken up to this point repeat inside of my head again and again. "They're going to bet on us?"
"It's half the fun of the Games," Juilliard says.
"There is no way in hell I can stand here and be subjected to this." I whip my head to the side to look at Marcello.
He rolls his eyes and gives me a smirk. "This is what you've signed up for, love. This is how you get your chance at crossing that wall."
"Fuck me," I say through clenched teeth and I point my face to the ground.
"Gladly. All you have to do is ask." Marcello runs a hand through his hair before he straightens and clasps his hands in front of him.
"Disgusting," Juilliard sighs, but he too straightens as if this betting will help us along the way.
Maybe they know something that I don't. Hell, I didn't know I was going to have to stand here while Hybrids judged how quickly I'd die. I force myself to lift my chin, to pull my shoulders back. My hands still itch at my sides, my grip opening and closing without something to keep them busy. For a moment I balance them on my hips waiting to hear the worst, but I shift and settle with clasping my hands together behind my back.
Just as we are dressed in our impressive evening attire so are the Hybrids that circle us now. I stare into every pair of eyes that meets mine, but their faces remain a blur as they weave between our group.
"A Human," a woman gasps, leaning in to take a deep breath of my scent. "I thought they'd be extinct by now."
"And there's another Human just over there." Someone else points out.
"How will they ever expect to win? Bet low on this one." She chuckles, and every laugh that vibrates through her body rattles my thoughts.
How will they ever expect to win?
Bet low on this one.
The words cut, but that only motivates me more. At this point I have no other choice but to love being the underdog and to surprise everyone when I come out on top. I've lived with it all my life and being underestimated isn't going to end any time soon. My teeth dig into my bottom lip.
"Oh, but there are two Fae on this team." Another man glances between Marcello and Juilliard "I wonder if either of them is the prince. I must say, I don't really see any resemblance."
A deep voice comes behind me, the sound scratchy and raw as if whomever speaking has smoked a thousand cigarettes this very morning. "Perhaps the Human is just bait. Someone they can give up to one of the many monsters that live inside of the Games without remorse."
My already tense muscles tighten a bit more. With a stiff spine, I turn to see who would dare say something that is so utterly disturbing to me. The slight edges of my dress drag in the dirt. I flick the skirt off my leg, ignoring the protests of the other Hybrids as it sends a small cloud of dust onto their shoes. I'm greeted with those same unforgettably cunning eyes.
King Caspar raises his brows. At our proximity, only a foot away from one another, I can actually make out the color in his gaze. A dark brown melt into the slightest caramel color around his pupils. The light color zig zags, making his irises look like a kaleidoscope of honey and light.
"We call them 'the sacrificial lambs.'" He goes on to explain to the others.
I incline my chin. King Caspar remains a towering foot taller than myself. With every inhale his chest rises, his heart beats, and the weapons belted under my gown sting like fire against my skin. He's so close. What would it take to end this all now?
Juilliard moves first, turning to the king with the slightest bow. "My king, please excuse the Human, she knows not of our ways." He looks to me, his eyes flashing in warning, before he whispers under his breath, "Curtsey and turn around."
My mouth drops open. "Curtsey?"
King Caspar waits patiently, rubbing his hand across his chin. A large palm presses to the back of my neck, almost as hot as the weapons hiding under my skirt. Marcello stands at my side. I look for some sort of recognition in King Caspar's eyes as he looks between the two Elves. The only emotion easily readable on his face is clear disdain, and it's pointed directly at me. Likely a mirror of my own expression.
"We'll do it together," Marcello suggests, pressing his hand down on my shoulders. He bends at the waist and even my knees protest the idea as the joints pop loudly while I awkwardly lower myself.
Sloane and Finnegan watch me. The slightest smiles tease at their lips. Hedda shakes her head. Hedda might be the only one who knows how incredibly difficult it is to bow to someone who has given you so little. Who has given me nothing.
I hate myself most as I stand upright. Hate myself for bowing at the feet of some Hybrid made god that does not care for my life one bit. I shuffle to face the couple and the Fawn looking man who’s examining our team. My eyes unfocus as I draw myself inward.
"Am I to stand here while the entirety of this room," I look up to the never-ending rows, "poke fun at the nature of my being?"
Marcello sighs and bows his head as soon as I ask the question. The spectators jolt with a high-pitched laugh.
"She does spit a little fire though, doesn't she?" The woman gasps.
King Caspar slips between Juilliard and I to stand in front of me. A current of warm air follows him, smelling like smoke and musk. A golden t-shaped tunic fits against his lean body tucked into black leather pants held up by a large golden buckle. A red cape is dramatically hung over his shoulders held together to the right of his neck with a glittering gold broach. He leans closer to examine me, fanning me with his meaty breath. The pointed crown on top of his head doesn't shift as he lowers.
He glances with a growing smile to the crowd. "I'd like to bet five hundred legends on her."
Five hundred legends is more than I make in a year. My mind can hardly grasp at the thought of having or spending money so frivolously as this. He's wasting five hundred legends on me when that money could feed his people.
"Five hundred legends!" The Fawn man stutters. "You think she has a shot at winning?"
King Caspar's white teeth flash in a vicious smile that splits sharply across his face. "I'm betting five hundred legends that she perishes within the very first event!" When he tilts back with a laugh, so does everyone else around us.
Blood rushes to my cheeks. Anger burns inside of me so violently as I feel the weight of their embarrassing stares that my entire body starts to turn pink. I pin my attention on the king, glaring daggers at him.
A small voice in the back of my mind tells me I can end it right now. I can cut that degrading laugh of his right out of his throat if I just reach for my knives and move. It would be so easy, too. My hands tremble but I move focused solely on that thought. Air rushes around my palm as I arch my arm through the air. I don't move for my knives, don't let it be known that I've got any weapons on me yet.
But I refuse to be talked to like that. Refuse to watch as they laugh in my face.
With an open palm I slice through the air with the intention of slashing my hand across the fucking king’s face. Inches away from my target my hand is jerked back. A flash of movement and my arm is pinned tightly behind me.
"Don't you dare do that, Nilsa," Marcello growls.
King Caspar doesn't flinch. His eyes flick up then down my body and settle on Marcello's face behind me. "Make that one thousand legends that she dies in the first event. And an additional five hundred claiming that it's in a painful manner." He stares at Marcello, who exhales heavily into my hair. "I'll assume you're the leader of this group."
"Yes, My king," Marcello responds.
"Keep a hold of your pet and make sure she doesn't lash out at any more of my guests. That’s an order, or I'll have her taken to my platform and punished for her actions."
Punished... the nicest way he could say put to death.
Marcello's grip on me tightens as he holds me against his chest. "Yes, My king."
Those honey brown eyes fall back to me. I have to fight the way every cell in my body screams to bolt from the room to hide from the dark way he glares at me with the promise of a torturous end. "Enjoy your last night, Nilsa." He seethes before gliding away with a haughty attitude. The small group of spectators follow him wordlessly, welcoming a new set of eyes to our team.
"Do you wish to die so quickly?" Marcello whispers. "I thought I added you to my team because you have a knack for escaping death, not because you wish to commit suicide!"
I lean into him letting him feel the thrashing beat of my heart pounding inside my chest. "Honestly, I thought that I would be dead by now anyway."
"If you die tomorrow then you won't be able to kill me in the end, and won't my death be oh so satisfying?"
His death. The king’s death. The fucking prince's death. Whoever he is, I'll have to find him within these teams and make sure he comes to an end before the games are over. There are enough Elves participating this year it may take a little bit of dwindling the options down. Or maybe I could just kill every Elf, then I won't have to worry.
"Killing you will be one of many pleasures to come." My jaw is clenched so tightly, my mouth hardly opens as I speak. My shoulder aches at how tightly he has my arm wrenched behind me. More Hybrids come and go, betting low amounts on my winning and high amounts on my death.
Occasionally, laughter comes from Davison's group and I know he's enduring the same sort of torture. Meanwhile, other creatures happily bet well on Marcello, Juilliard, both
Vampires, and even Hedda. My position on this team is a mockery to all of them.
Tears burn in my eyes as face after face marvels at my humanity just to spit at my feet with the hopeful joy of my death. I hold my eyes open as long as I can, refusing to let the tears fall from my eyes. These aren't sad tears, though there is much to be said that this entire evening isn't a particularly happy one. But fury boils inside of me. My emotions skyrocket with no means of escape.
I yank at Marcello's hold, wishing for one more attempt at hurting someone. Anyone. His clutch only tightens when I try. At some point I try to resign myself, receding to the deep dark place of numbness, but someone has already shaken and removed the cork that contains my rage, and now it can't be capped. No matter how I try.
A Vampire with a twig-like girl on his arm strolls to a stop in front of us. "Look, another Human!" He looks back to Sloane and Finnegan. "A snack for later. What a poor lamb they've brought to the slaughter." He drops the arm of his companion and inches closer, taking in my scent. He draws a finger over the white scars on my neck and shoulders from Joss. Amusement dances in his eyes.
I take in a sharp breath and stiffen as he grabs a hold of my cheeks, pinching them together as he turns my head from side to side. My hair catches on Marcello's suit behind me.
"The king said no touching." Marcello reminds him. I'm certain I'm imagining the sharp edge to his voice that makes the statement sound like a threat.
"I'll do as I please and you'll remain still." The Vampire grins, showing off his long fangs. He meets my gaze. "These bites aren't just from feedings are they? They're from fucking." His voice falls to a lower octave. "Perhaps they didn't bring you as the lamb, but as the whore. A body to relieve the tension from the Games. It wouldn't be the first time that's happened."
I growl, pulling away from his touch. His fingers slip from my face, but he stays close enough to me. I bare my teeth at him. "Fuck off, before I pry your eyes from your face and eat them like grapes."