Blood Heir (Blood Heir Trilogy #1)(54)
All of that pain and suffering, veiled behind a single glitzy show of sparkling ice sculptures and glittering outfits.
The Ice Queen slammed her hands to the ground. A column of ice thrust her into the air, growing taller and taller until it was level with the top of the glass wall—
And she vaulted over the wall, landing on two pillars of ice that shrank rapidly down toward the outside of the stage where Bogdan stood. The archers hidden in the ceiling alcoves made no motion to stop her.
The Ice Queen stepped onto the marble of the stage and took a deep bow.
“I present,” cried Bogdan. “The Ice Queen!” As the crowd thundered with applause, Bogdan took the Ice Queen’s hands and brought them to his lips. She smiled coyly at him before beaming at the audience and waving.
“Next up, Wood Nymph!”
“Ramson.” Ana’s voice was low with urgency. “He didn’t announce any earth Affinites today.”
“Bogdan chooses the Affinites he wants to announce.” Ramson cut her a glance. “Patience. All good things come to those who wait.”
So Ana watched the show in silence. Affinite after Affinite emerged through the curtains to show their powers. Before long, the marble stage was littered with flower petals, twigs, and earth; the glass was smudged with mist, frost, and water. The crowd cheered or booed depending on the performance of the Affinite. And sometimes, for a few goldleaves, Bogdan would engage the audience, directing the Affinite onstage to obey requests from the crowd. Particularly popular performances could end with showers of goldleaves pooling at his feet.
The night wore on and there was no sight of May. Yet Ana felt a chill spreading through her. She was no different from those Affinites onstage, whose suffering the world chose to hide beneath a sham layer of paint and bright outfits. Whose existence some hated, yet continued to profit from.
We will continue to cure your condition, Papa had told her. For your own good.
She blinked back tears as the realization twined around her chest, leaving her breathless and reeling. Papa had only loved the part of her that wasn’t an Affinite, a monster, a deimhov, in his words. He’d only wanted to save a part of her, not all of her.
Just as he’d only wanted to save the part of his empire he thought of as worth saving.
And for so long, she had only loved a part of herself, denying that other half, hiding the crimson of her eyes and the grotesque veins of her hands beneath hoods and gloves. For so long, she had desperately wanted to tear that other part of herself off, to make herself into something wholly deserving of love. Something that could step into the light, something worthy of the Deities’ blessings.
Yet who was it…who had deemed the other parts of her and her empire unworthy? Who had determined that Affinites were less worthy of love, of being human, and why? Simply on the basis that they were…different?
And a new thought came to her, piercing the wild screams of the crowd and the pounding of the drums.
I have to fix this.
“Mesyrs and meya damas! The show you have all been waiting for.” Bogdan’s voice dragged Ana from her thoughts. A ripple of anticipation and thrill seized the crowd. “Our performances are over, but we never end a night without the Clash of the Deities. Welcome our Steelshooter, undefeated champion of the Playpen!”
Ana’s spirits sank just as a deafening roar of approval went up from the audience, and the drums started a new beat: low, somber, and steady.
The curtains at the back of the stage drew apart. A hulking figure stepped into the light. He was monstrous, armor glinting under the torchlight and muscles bulging beneath the steel plates. A dozen white scars slashed across his bald head and his face, which looked as though it had been dragged for miles against jagged outcroppings of rock. He leered at the audience, metal flashing in his teeth.
“And now,” Bogdan shouted. “A newcomer to the challenge: welcome, Windwraith!”
Boom-boom…da-boom-BOOM. From the shadows of the curtains stumbled another figure. At first glance, Ana thought it was a child. As she strained to see better, hoping to catch a glimpse of May’s ocean-blue eyes, she realized that the new arrival was no child but actually a young woman. Her scrawny form was emphasized by her dark, formfitting shirt and breeches. She looked up, her face framed by midnight-black hair that caught the torchlight.
Kemeiran. A whisper rustled through the crowd as they pointed at the girl.
She was about to tell Ramson that they should leave, when something else caught Ana’s attention. A figure, standing at the edge of the stage just in front of the velvet curtains. The pale blue of his eyes scanned the crowd, the white-blond of his hair glowing bloodred in the firelight.
The broker. The one who had snatched May from Ana’s fingertips back in Kyrov.
Without thinking, Ana sprang forward, knocking hard into a group of people in front of her. A glass tumbled from someone’s hands and shattered.
The man she’d bumped into turned around. He wore a gold mask with a farcical crying face, the mouth overly large and turned mockingly downward. “What—” he began.
“Get out of my way,” Ana snapped. The blue-eyed broker would disappear at any moment; she had no time. Ana reached for her Affinity—
“Excuse me, kind mesyr.” A hand looped around her waist and Ramson neatly stepped between her and the man, obscuring her view of the stage. Ana twisted, but he kept his fingers locked around her waist. “Meya dama here has had a little too much to drink! A testament to the great entertainment tonight.”