The Glass Arrow(33)

The overhead lights flicker on—all but the one in the center, which has been blinking since before I was thrown in solitary.

My blood buzzes.

I sit up slowly, the grimace still weighing down my face. I wait for my assigned Watcher, offering no help as he lifts my arm to unbuckle the restraint. He sticks like sap to my side as he brings me to the latrine, holding the door open while I go. Even though I know he couldn’t care less, it’s still humiliating. I only glance in the mirror, disturbed by the way the high arch of my eyebrows makes me look constantly surprised. At least that dreaded bracelet is off my wrist.

Twenty minutes later I’m walked to a line in the main foyer outside the theater so that I can get my one-and-a-half-pill breakfast allotment. All the Garden girls are here now. Fifty or so of us. There are a few new ones I don’t recognize who must have arrived in my absence, and several more missing who have been Promised or handed over to Mercer the Pimp in the last twenty-four days. Most of us will go to auction today, but as always, there are a few bitter ducks in the back of the line. The Governess doesn’t feel this handful of girls has been conditioned enough yet to make an appearance on the stage. I can hear their whining all the way from where I stand in the middle.

“I hope your new friend doesn’t plan on holding your hand all day. It will kill your bidding,” says a girl behind me. Daphne. Her freckles are now completely gone, leaving flawless, pale skin. Her green eyes sparkle. She’s talking about the Watcher, who’s checking his messagebox an arm’s length away.

Heat rushes through my veins. Maybe it’s the light on her perfect face, or the way she’s always acting like she’s better than me, but I forget all about feeling sorry for her.

“Shut up, Daphne.”

“It’s nice to see you too,” she says.

It’s the first time we’ve talked since Straw Hair ran herself into the fence, and I’m reminded all over again how awful it was.

“You could have stopped her,” I say under my breath.

“Who?” she asks innocently.

“You know who. The one with yellow hair. The new girl. I know you saw her.”

Daphne’s ultrathin eyebrows lift. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You shouldn’t have laughed at her.” The Watcher has heard my tone sharpen, and in a warning, winds his printless fingers in the shoulder fabric of my dress. Surely he has orders not to touch me today; bruising can’t look good on the auction block. But I suppose there’s always makeup for that.

We’ve reached the front of the line. I tilt back the pills and swallow them with a swig of water. Though it’s normally tasteless, today a sour tinge makes my jaw hurt.

I splash the rest of the water on the Watcher’s jacket. He tilts his head to the side, just slightly, before stepping out of line to get a towel from a Pip.

“Oops.” I breathe, for the first time in a while, as soon as he turns his back.

“You think you’re so much better?” asks Daphne as we step away from the table. “Calling the other girls names and getting them in trouble. Don’t pretend to be innocent.…”

“It was different and you know it,” I interrupt. It’s not like I enjoy picking fights. Besides, Sweetpea started the last one when she and her friends began making fun of me.

“She was swimming in the pond. It was funny.” Daphne shrugs. She’s quickly losing status as my half friend/nonenemy, and working towards full enemy. “She should have been happy. Her paperwork had just gone through.”

“She was Promised?” I ask.

“Yes. Just that morning.”

I picture the boy waiting for her by the fence. Remember how upset he was. He must have known she’d been sold. For some reason that brings a strange ache in my heart.

“You should have stopped her,” I say again.

Buttercup walks by with another girl, their arms linked. She giggles loudly, and I see the strain in Daphne’s face.

“I’m going to be Promised today,” Daphne announces. “And you won’t see me crying about it.”

“You won’t see her crying about it either.” I glare after Buttercup, remembering how she told on me for climbing through the bathroom window. My scalp still hurts from where the Watcher dragged me back in by my hair.

Daphne’s head whips around to face me. “You’ve been in solitary too long this time. You’re not making any sense.”

I give her a look. “I can explain if you want.”

She glances back at Buttercup, a little worried, and then back to me. Her green eyes harden like glass.

“You really are a witch,” she hisses. “Not just some dense mountain hack like I thought. Your family is probably relieved to be rid of you.”

I’ve shoved her before I’ve even thought about it. She’s flung backwards into three other girls, but doesn’t fall. I’ve got to hand it to her. Instead of crying for a Pip, she wheels back and charges me.

I’ve fought too many times with Bian and Salma not to see this coming. All I do is step out of the way and Daphne crashes to the floor. I can see the tears streaming down her cheeks when she gets up. Poor baby.

“You missed,” I taunt between clenched teeth. Every pair of eyes in the foyer is upon Daphne and me.

She runs at me again, but this time I stand directly in her way, and just before she hits me, I clasp my hands together and chop at her midsection from the side. It works. I knock the wind out of her, and she collapses to her knees. Before I can jump on her, I’m flying through the air. I thrash my arms and legs, but something is gripping my body like a vice.