Page 51

“Ladies and gentlemen of Bomard,” he greeted, his voice amplified. “As you remember from last week, Mr. Carvin is our reigning champion.”

The crowd hollered, and Carvin waved, wrapping his arm around Phoebe’s waist. She sipped from her champagne glass and smiled at the crowd.

“He and his golden heartspring will take this week off, as you know—but! Who will he face next week?”

Briony’s head pounded with the screaming. She felt like she was back at the auction, with Mr. Vein’s gleeful voice riling up the crowd.

Canning Trow entered the circle with Jellica trailing behind him. The crowd whooped, and Genevieve Trow whistled for her son. Jellica’s gaze was cast down, and her dress was wrinkled from where it had perhaps been pushed around her hips.

Across from Canning, a fair-skinned woman with cropped black hair swaggered into the ring. A thin man with a pallid face and a silver collar followed her.

Briony didn’t know exactly what was coming, but she knew that it was how Cordelia had been husked. Canning and the woman stood at opposite ends of the arena, their heartsprings standing behind them.

When it began, Briony didn’t understand.

They were battling. The woman and Canning fought each other almost playfully.

Canning laughed as he shielded against an attack, and the woman dodged a slashing cut with a grin.

They went round and round, and the crowd screamed for them as the attacks became ever more elaborate, the sparks from each feint and counterattack lighting the skies in vivid color.

Toven wrapped an arm around Briony’s hip and watched without interest. A man came around taking bets, and Toven lazily put fifty gold pieces on the woman.

Barely five minutes later, Briony saw a change. The woman’s heartspring at first wobbled, then skittered to his knees, as though faint. The crowd screamed, but Jellica wasn’t far behind. Soon, both heartsprings had to sit down on the floor, unable to stand.

“What—what is the purpose?” she whispered to Toven. “Do they fight until one of them is husked?”

Toven leaned into her and pointed out the edges of the arena lined in black sand. “If either of them steps out, the other wins. The fighters have to decide if it’s worth it to husk their heartsprings.”

Tears filled Briony’s eyes as she imagined Cordelia, draining in front of a crowd. There was no telling if she would access her magic again. Some people never did.

Jellica Reeve began to sob, and Briony could see her mouthing Canning’s name, begging him. It was all for show. With the collars, the heartsprings didn’t need to be physically near the Bomardi when they fought. Jellica and the man were in the arena just so Bomard could enjoy watching them drain.

Canning and the woman were locked into position, each of them pushing against the other from across the circle. Canning’s hands were outstretched, his fingers curling. The woman was snarling.

Both fighters began to slide backward in the sand, the other’s power pushing them close to the edge of the ring. The woman’s heartspring fainted, and suddenly the woman dropped her hands in defeat, sliding backward and out of the ring.

The crowd went wild, and Canning threw his hands up in the air. Jellica was pale, crumpled to the floor, but she wasn’t husked. Neither was the man. The woman had stopped in time, but Jellica and the man would have to rest now, possibly for days.

The crowd pressed in on her, jostling her shoulders as tears fell down Briony’s face.

All of this for sport. A display of power that meant nothing. No war was fought tonight. No heartspring served their master for a greater purpose.

Briony shivered; all they were to these people were hearts to drain.

She found Ilana moving through the crowd with a tray of hors d’oeuvres and fruit, another woman following her with drinks. Mr. Vein called for any other competitors.

Somewhere in her mind’s eye, there was a lake. A clear lake, the water still and unmoving.

Briony’s stomach squeezed, and vomit pumped into her throat. She swallowed it down and stared across the arena at Phoebe, who was smiling softly at everything Carvin said to the man next to him.

Toven whispered to her that they would leave shortly, and she blinked slowly at the sandy floor of the place she used to come to for a connection to her people’s culture.

A pair of champagne heels attached to tan legs crossed into her view. Ilana with the tray. She offered to fetch Toven a drink, and he declined, saying they were leaving soon.

Briony barely heard them, slightly swaying on her feet. An overwhelming exhaustion pushed at her eyelids. How was she to move forward from this? How were any of them to move forward from this?

“Miss Rosewood?”

Looking up to find Ilana still hovering, her vision cleared when she blinked. She frowned, confused to be directly addressed. Toven had turned away slightly, in response to a greeting from a passing friend.

“Anything to eat?” Ilana asked, long lashes batting slowly at her, her arm lowering to offer Briony the basket of fruit. “Grapes, perhaps?”

Briony stared down, finding a vine of thick, burgundy grapes calling to her from another lifetime. Something that used to mean something when spelled out on a dungeon floor.

Her mind cleared like a shock. She looked up with wide eyes. Ilana plucked one singular grape and extended it to her with a soft smile.

Briony took it, tucking it away quickly in her hand as though hiding a stolen good. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

She searched for Ilana again, but she’d moved away.

Could she possibly know what grapes meant to her? Could she know what had transpired in a dungeon where Briony had no voice, only fruit, but she’d needed to tell the women that they weren’t alone. That others would rise.

Could Ilana know?

In the center of the stadium, another pair of fighters were preparing. Another pair of heartsprings stood waiting to be drained.

Briony sought out Phoebe across the arena and jumped at the shock of meeting her eyes for the first time since the dungeon. Phoebe’s arms were wound around Carvin’s shoulders as he kissed her neck, but she no longer smiled contently.

Staring into Briony’s heart, Phoebe released Carvin with one hand, opening her palm to reveal a plump, ripe grape. She pushed it between her painted lips, her eyes burning with the fire of a revolution.