"He's insane. He's absolutely, utterly, Godforsakenly crazy." I mutter at the ridiculousness of it all. "Why did he even start now? Why us?"
"Your failure was seen as a sign, Skye." I hate the way he says my name. Like he knows me. Like this is somehow my fault. As if my failure was the trigger to some twisted version of chess. I stare at the drawing on the floor. Anger brims in the corner of my vision. "He had everything planned. He used your failure as the reason for starting this whole thing. A reason to start..."
"Eliminating a waste of resource. I get it."
"Maybe if you'd succeeded, this wouldn't even happen in the first place."
I turn on him, struggling to keep the heat from shining through. "Succeeded? On my first mission to kill a General? A man of implied nobility and years of training that I hadn't even acquired? He set me up. He wanted to use me as a reason, and he had the power to do it. So he did."
He simply stares at me. As if doing that will give him the answers he needs. This was all a scheme of something bigger. These pieces and rules were put in place long before the board was even made. A new emotion overtakes me; grief. Grief over the loss of freedom I once had, before all of this happened. Grief for a lost childhood, a lost girl sinking to the bottom of the ocean. Grief of a normal life.
"I am just one girl," I spit through gritted teeth, "He had no reason. I'm not worth this."
Maybe if I had just gone through with the mission, none of this would've happened. That's what I want to tell myself. But the Reaper is the devil in human skin. A man with invisible horns and power at his fingertips. It would've happened regardless. If I'm to blame, so be it.
"Is that it?" I ask the man who stands quiet as I think.
"It starts tomorrow. The General will obviously be safe until there is one standing. I'm here to relay the Reaper's wishes, even if it means to put the General in danger. I'm also here to make sure you don't cheat. As is the rule of the game. In order to kill him, you must be the only survivor."
"Get out. I'm tired of hearing your voice." He raises an eyebrow, as if he didn't just utter something that can possibly kill me if I didn't adhere to it. After a few seconds of staring at me like I'm the lunatic, he says, "In all consolation, I hope you win."
I scoff. With my head still turned I reply, truthfully and wholeheartedly, "Only I decide whether he lives or dies." Then he leaves and locks the door behind him.
The next morning comes quickly. I'm not sure if it's because I spent the entire night staring at the piece of paper in my hands or if planning Arman's 'sudden and horrific' betrayal to the General in order to get him flogged did the trick. I think about every possibility to get him thrown out of this house, even if it's to get a word to the General. A word that I may just be on his side until my initial role takes play. He has to believe me. He has to trust me.
If I want this to work, I need protection. I need a sign that this will play out to the end and I won't be killed just to be replaced like some toy. I think of Blue and Poppy. Innocent lives shed for the mere life of one man. No, it needs to be me. The General must become my...ally. After so long, the word tastes like grass in my mouth.
I take a charcoal pencil near my bed and draw an X through the center of the the King's piece. After all, you don't win if the Queen still lives. And that's exactly how this game is going to go.
Rider opens my door around noon. I'm assuming because I have to eat at some point. He doesn't look too happy to see me, but when does he?
"Good morning you handsome chunk of gold. How did you sleep? Did you have sweet dreams?"
"You're an absolute nuisance." He deadpans, leading me down to breakfast. As I'm to be a part of this household after my probation period, in theory, I'm supposed to have dinner with the other members and servants every morning. Albeit, with a rope tied to my hands and legs to prevent me from "gutting someone with a butter knife" as Daina had so politely put it. My chest fills at the thought she'd even think me capable—which I am.
"Do you sleep with a frown on your face or did your mother push you out of her body with an anchor tied to your cheeks?" I flutter my lashes innocently as he stares with a maniacal look.
"What on God's Green earth did your parents feed you as a child?"
I shrug nonchalantly, thinking of the hot Sunday meals we'd have every week and try not to show any nostalgic pain. "What if I say they kept me in a barn and fed me carrots?"
"I'd say it's a decent explanation with the way you are."
Rider immediately departs from my side and heads to his usual spot on the table. My eyes follow him before Arman comes into view. His hostile gaze meets mine, a cup raised in greeting. Those eyes will be hollow by the time I'm done with him. As I told Ansel before, there are plenty ways to ruin a man without using violence.
Turlock and Daina are chatting over something hushed, and I swear it's the first I've ever seen the woman so at ease. The way Turlock hunches over the table to hear her voice is amusing in the least. My eyes flutter down the length of the table; to Poppy who is scribbling notes on a paper which to me looks like a report for the General; Burkley and Rider sit side by side in a complete bubble of silence; and the General who...is surprisingly not here.
I make my way to my seat, the one closest to Blue. She doesn't say a word or looks at me, but greets me in the way she knows best. She passes me a clean sheet of paper, and blue and yellow dyes. I say a silent thank you and she goes back to colouring. Blue looks a lot more like she lives here than when I first saw her. Her hair is dead straight and clean, the dirt smudges on her clothes are long gone. She even wears a hand-woven flower band in her hair. "I like your band, Blue. It's cute."
"I got them for her." Rider announces to my surprise. They're nothing expensive, but the thought itself counts. He seems to brush the comment off and resumes his meal immediately. Interesting, that one.
"It's beautiful Rider. You must show me where you got it."
He looks up at me with a quizzical look, as if he can't tell whether I'm sarcastic or not. He simply flattens his lips and resumes his meal once more. I've learned the hard way that that's his way of saying "Sure, whatever."
The gavel resumes its comfortable silence before footsteps echo in the hallway. The General enters, heading over to our side of the table. His eyes are on Blue, and I can't tell whether he's about to scold her or not. "Blue." He says calmly, stooping next to her. He looked like he didn't get any rest at all last night. I guess we both looked exhausted.
"I just finished writing apologies to the Lords and Ladies that were here the other night. You have to promise me not to pull stunts like that again okay? Government business is not a joke."
Blue stops colouring for all of one second then resumes, not entirely meeting his gaze. We both knew Blue had a mischievous side, but with this warning, she's sure to take it seriously. And I swore on my mothers grave that I'd make it up to her any way I could. He pats her on her head, an adoration shining through those deep brown eyes. He couldn't be mad at her, he just couldn't. We were all kids once, and I think the General knows that just as well as any of us.
"Captive."
"Is that my name now?" I retort. His eyes are still on Blue when I glance at him, then they slowly meet mine. A keen knowledge glittering in the way he stares at me almost throws me off guard.
"Tonight's the last night of Carmine. You're coming with me."
"Why do I have to? I gave you all the information I have. You've already arrested a sub gang of whatever secret cult they're apart of."
"There's been word going around about illegalities during the festival period. I take it your previous group has something to do with it."
"That's a mighty assumption you have there General. It could've been anyone." The General doesn't reply but his eyes narrow. If I don't go, it gives him a reason not to trust me any more than he already does. I sigh, mulling over possibilities I can reenact in order to get on his good side today. Arman needs to be taken out if I want any of my plans to go smoothly. The Reaper may send another man in his place but the General would be skeptical of everyone by then. It'll be hard to keep tabs on me. So, the task starts now.
The last day of Carmine is in full bloom.
Yellows and oranges and flowers of summer decorate the statue in the middle of the courtyard. Sales always increase around this time, too, with the number of people that celebrate the final day. Vendors and retailers are set up in their own stalls, voices hoarse from advertising their "one and only unique products you can't find anywhere else." I'm once again bound by a rope around my hands. Rider stands beside me, as does Arman. The smile he sends everytime he catches me glowering only makes me hate him more. But he can wait for a while. For now, I'm looking for someone whose father said she'd be here. I'm here to give a message.
The General holds the end of my rope today as the other two patrol the rowdy crowds and any strange onlookers that may be present. We walk over—albeit grudgingly because I tug on the rope just to see him stumble back—to one of the pastry vendors. He's given what looks like a strawberry tart for free, and offers me a piece. I raise my hands, a sarcastic smile on my face.
"Oh, right." He then stares at the piece in his hand, before he places it near my mouth.
"Pardon me but what the hell are you doing?" I flinch away, trying not to double over with laughter from his awkwardness.
"I'm giving you a piece. Have you ever had a strawberry fruit tart before?"
I shake my head, still staring at him like he's the weirdest man I've ever lain eyes upon. "Then open your mouth."
I freeze. I try to fight my blood from rushing to my cheeks and something else from pooling around my spine. He stares at me, finally processing what he just said.
"N-no. I didn't...I didn't mean it like that—"
And there's my opportunity. "General. I didn't know you were such a naughty boy." He looks around frantically, as if thinking someone would hear. He inhales, the rise of his chest indicating he wants to say something, but I beat him to it. "If you wanted me to open my mouth so badly you could've asked sooner." I flutter my lashes, raising a shoulder bashfully. His cheeks probably go pink under his mask when others stop to look at us, giggling at the General and his "new toy". I can see death staring at me through the fire in his veiled eyes.
"Stop."
"I mean, you're an attractive man. I wouldn't mind at all to open—" fruit explodes in my mouth, a taste of sweet and sour bursts on my tongue, my cheeks swelling with the sudden sweetness. He shut me up with a strawberry fruit tart, the bastard. I've never had it before. And I think he could tell with the way my eyes light up.
"You like it." A statement, clearly.
"I've never had it before. I couldn't afford...it's amazing." I mumble through a full mouth. He turns and orders another one to go and with a final glance towards me, he turns and leads us away. I can't help but feel the least bit flattered by the action.
The Festival carries on for hours. At this point my feet are mush and my head is goo. All I wanted was sleep, but the General has started his onslaught of questions. Where would they hide in broad daylight? Around a crowd? Any noticeable features? Anything out of the ordinary?
So I say one single truth and not a detail more. They use the rooftops. That's their main mode of transportation. The rooftops are flat and somewhat connected. It's easy to use if your face is concealable during the day, and an effortless escape during the night. I can see he's taking mental notes for his next search. When he looks back at me, his eyebrows tilt together before his face settles into smooth stone. It confuses me. And I'm never this confused.
We resume standing side by side, in silence. There is a comfort here I dare not speak of. But I feel it in every inch of my bone, my blood. It makes me sway, and relax around him in a way I should never feel around a man. This aura that waves around and through us is something so bittersweet and peaceful, I enjoy it while I can. It is the first time in a long time I've been able to do this.
"Why don't you trust the Red Guards?" The question is harmless, and it doesn't dare break the peace in the air.
"What do you mean?"
"I see it in the way you talk. The way you stare at the Lords that enter the festival grounds. You don't like them."
"You're watching me a little too closely General."
"That is my job. You wouldn't tell me not to do it, would you?"
I look over at him. His hands are crossed in front of his abdomen, a stance as straight as a needle. He is as dutiful as he is manly that is for sure.
"No. No I would not." I can't help but stare at the way he is holding my leash. It is all it takes for me to summon my answer. "Royals abuse. They partake in beating down on others for what they think is right or wrong." My stare fixes on the crowd, a well hollowing in my heart at a distant memory. "You say you fight for this kingdom, General. You are technically a Made Royal yourself. But do you stop to think that what it is you're doing is really the right thing?"
"All of the time." There is no hesitation in his words. No remorse in saying it to a mere outsider like myself.
"I have a memory of something I wish to forget. A memory of a boy being cast away by a man in red. A solider made to protect us, took him away. He had been stealing all of his life. Hands covered in blood. But there was a shine in his eyes. A youthful shine that nothing would ever take away. He was poor, living under a disheveled roof with his sister. I knew him because he stole from me. And I knew what it was like to want something you couldn't have no matter how hard you tried to reach at it." The memory overtakes me, filling me with both grief and nostalgia in one. "He'd come back every night for just a piece of bread. That was all he took. Sometimes he'd even ask, knowing he'd get it anyway but...it was clear the boy was tired of living a life like that. One day, a Red Soldier came for him. He hadn't showered in days, blood stained his shirt. He was taken to the Rig the next morning."
The General is stiff beside me. Not a single sound, a single puff of air. My mind reels with the memory of seeing him gone, taking his sister to an orphanage as we had no money to take care of her ourselves. I wish I could have done more. I wish I could have done for him what was not done for me. "You ask me why I hate them. I do not hate them. I just hate the people who have the means to help, but punishes instead. Because 'the law' is always right. The law always states what is good and true and right. I hate the people who would cast away a child because it's what the law says."
He stares at me wryly. I can see the cogs turning is his head, a hint of guilt present in his eyes.
I don't know what persuades me to do it. But I say it. "Ansel was right. Maybe there aren't any heroes in our story. Just people trying not to be monsters in the process."
He contemplates my words, his face betraying nothing but utter seriousness and poise. His eyes however, are betraying that poise. His eyes scream guilt and hurt, and I cannot tell if it is for me or for someone else entirely.
"Is that why you do what you do?" A curious question. His eyebrows raise silently, as if to say 'what if I understand'...but he never will.
"I do what I do...because sometimes General, life doesn't give us a choice. The cards we're dealt are with us to the end."
It is then I see it flash in his eyes. The rare, raw sight of a mutual agreement. An understanding. A brief moment of something similar to closeness.
___
The festival slowly draws to its end. The music dies down, the sky is painted in oranges and yellows and lilacs. Sunsets always did make me feel calmer; my heart contented for that brief moment before it sinks below the horizon. Patrol guards are dished out by the General to secure the area and to ensure the safety of the departing drunken women and men. We stay behind, looking at the dimming lanterns and the closing shops. He says nothing as he stands by me. He speaks to another Red Guard member, and it's really of no interest to me. Boring politics and a relay of festival reports from other cities. It's of no use to me.
My eyes wander and catch on a closing stall. A girl, maybe around my age, stands there with a hood thrown over her head. Her eyes are on me. It's as if she knows me, knows why my hands are tied, knows that I have no business being this close to a man like the General.
"Can I go purchase something from that stall?" I say wistfully, hoping to have a very very brief moment with this girl. The hairs on my arm raise. Something was wrong.
"Are you going to run off and cause me trouble?" The words sound playful, but under his mask I can see he is all hard lines and sternness.
"I just want to see what they have. Can't a girl admire some jewels once in a while? I'll be in your sight the entire time."
I can feel his stare on me as he actually contemplates letting me roam like a normal human being. Then he releases the rope and tucks it into my hands, handing me the reign to my own leash. His eyes do not stray from me as I stride to the stall. Even if I wanted to run, my speed would be ten times slower than his with ropes on. He'd catch me in a heartbeat. It's not a very smart move.
I approach the vendor, acting as if I'm totally wrapped up in the many fake diamonds and emeralds displayed on soft cloth. The woman beside me stirs, stiffens. It's clear that her body language is either completely defensive or a coil ready to spring, and she hides it well.
"Why do I feel like I know you?" I ask quietly, careful not to draw suspicion to the man whose eyes are still latched on to me.
"You don't. You knew my father, though."
I smirk, amazed at the way word can get around so fast. The Generals Guard must've missed a man or two. How cute.
"You're Ansel's daughter. It's nice to meet you."
"Can't say I share the same sentiment. I heard the General's new dog would be here. I came to see for myself."
"You know there's a bigger part to all this. I have—"
"I know." She cuts me across, her tone much more accompanying than before. "It's dangerous out there girl. Things are changing. The tides are rolling out and you have no idea what's about to happen when it stops."
My heart quickens at her words, at the sudden tremor in her voice. "Your father said the same thing."
"It's because he's right. I know about the game. Everyone in the underground does, it's not only the Reaper's anymore. A sick form of entertainment."
"Do you know who would be involved? Do you know..." If Kat knows anything at all, "If there are any opponents I should be careful of."
"All I know is that you're at a disadvantage. No one knows who the other six are."
I scrunch my eyebrows, wary of looking directly in her eyes. My head spins. "Then how do you know?"
"One of us, a girl on her first mission, captured and taken in by the enemy himself. And he is not yet dead. You helped capture my father and his team. You had no reason to do that." She looks at me then, her eyes a spitting image of her father's. "Your actions aren't at all hard to read. If I were you, I'd be careful. They'd be coming for you first if they haven't already murdered each other in cold blood." I stop for a moment, my mind nuzzling every pebble of movement, turning every stone of the past. Were my actions that easy to read? Would it be the same for the General, or was this a thing for the minds of the ones trained in darkness and lies.
"It's not easy out there, girl. I have a hunch as to why you turned my father in. Tell me it's true. Tell me I'm right, and you did it because you knew about the Game."
It was a lie. I turned Ansel in way before I knew what the Reaper sought to wreak upon his members. I couldn't tell her that, though. I couldn't tell her that the reason I chose to help was because a little voice in my head—getting louder as the days go by—is warning me not to go down that darkened, blood stained road. But I don't say any of this.
"Yes. I knew. I'm sorry about your father. I'll do my best to see that he is compensated as best as I could." My voice is so low I know she cannot sense the falter in the way I lie. In the way I twist my words to make it seem like I'm still completely on their side, and not questioning everything I've been taught. So instead of looking at her, I slip the piece of paper under her fingers. I turn, and walk away.