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He looks at me with trepidation. “Well, do have fun. But be careful. The city cannot know who you are until after the winner’s ceremony.”
I grit my teeth, frustrated at the need to disguise myself. “Well, I’d be better prepared to strike down anyone who figured me out if I wasn’t in this ridiculous dress.” I hate to be ungrateful, but I owe this man nothing, and my frustration will help me forget the butterflies in my stomach.
When I am around him, I feel more vulnerable than I can allow. I trail my hand up the skirt, sliding my fingers across my blade to ensure it’s still there. Mace’s eyes track my hand and then jerk to mine, the corners rising in a smile that doesn’t reach his mouth.
“That is feudal fabric, Viola. There is silver from Colris weaved throughout it. It’s strong and will resist most weapons.” I falter, surprised at the information. “Like you, it should not be underestimated.”
“How can metal be weaved in fabric?” My fingers trail the dress with new appreciation.
“Geomancers can work with metals, and I am an Autumn, Miss Mistflow.”
My hand stops moving on the fabric, and my cheeks flush. “Did you make this for me?” For a moment, Mace looks embarrassed, a shy smile playing on his face as he looks towards the ground.
He ruffles the hair that barely brushes the back of his neck before answering. “I needed the practice.”
“Oh, well. The fabric is very comfortable, and the protection of it sounds excellent, thank you.” When he finally meets my eye, I can’t help but add, “I still would’ve preferred pants.”
His laugh is an out-of-character sharp burst that bounces his shoulders. “Duly noted, Viola. Will you come to find me after your outing? Say, around dinnertime? My office is around the corner here. I’ll wait there for you.”
He leaves, giving me no time to answer his request. I cut a sharp glance at Tulip to cut off the joke that I see on the tip of her tongue.
The two of us explored the city, peering through the windows of shops and talking about our lives before the Race. We even managed to discuss Max and Twig while we sat out in a flowered field. The tears we shed were hidden from prying eyes outside the city limits.
After we had calmed ourselves and were lying quietly in the field beside each other, I broached a topic I wasn’t sure how to begin.
“They think I’m the vessel, Tulip.”
She turns to me with a sad smile, propping herself up on her elbow. “I know, Lola.”
“I need you to kill me.”
The words were out before I realized I was saying them, eliciting a sharp gasp from Tulip. “What are you talking about, Viola? Have you lost it?” I move to sit up, hugging my knees to my chest.
“We talked about this. To keep the Gods from returning, we need to kill the vessels. There is a reason the humans decided to banish them.”
She locks her eyes into mine, anger in her face that reminds me of my own. “We said that before we knew it was you. I would never, ever risk you, Lola.”
Shaking my head, I bury my face between my knees, unable to risk seeing lies in her eyes. “I do not want this, Tulip.” Wrapped around my legs, my fingers strum a slow and steady pattern.
Her hand traces circles between my shoulder blades. “I know you don’t. But just as there was a reason humans banished the Gods, maybe there was a reason they created the vessels to herald the return.”
Looking into her eyes, I see how badly she wants to believe it. “You heard Zeph yesterday to Mace and Stone; he doesn’t think I’m the vessel. He thinks I have powerful magic, though. Maybe I can get out of this.”
She raises me to look at her with hands on my cheeks and pushes her forehead against mine. “Whatever you are matters not to me.”
On our way back into the city, our moods lifted by a satchel of sweets we purchased and put on Mace’s tab proclaiming to be his new assistants, Tulip and I discussed anything we could think of that did not require emotional depth. The strain of the day’s earlier conversation still weighed upon us.
As we passed a tavern, I slammed to a stop at what I saw in its windows. Glistening and with faces of patrons trained on it, we see a projection of what looks like people in the woods. I step back, horrified, when I realize what I’m seeing.
“Tulip,” I say, fighting to keep my voice level. “That’s the Race. They’re watching the Race.”
Tulip’s eyes widen, and she presses closer to the glass outside the tavern to get a better look. She peels away and turns to me, tears springing in the corners of her eyes. “They watch the Race? They make entertainment out of our suffering? Do you think… do you think they watched Twig die? What about Max? What would anyone want to watch this?”
I pull her close, wrapping an arm around her waist and encouraging her to lean on my shoulder. “They’re monsters. They take pleasure in our suffering.” I reach a hand up and push some of her wild blonde hair from her eyes. “But we never have to go through that again. We made it, Tulip. We can fight the broken system from within and make Max and Twig proud.”
My gut roils with anger that I want to hide from Tulip for risk of upsetting her more. It’s one thing to know the Race is watched by the Patricians, like Zeph said, but all the horrifying, embarrassing, private moments we have during the Race are nothing but entertainment for a society that’s never been there? That is a level of indifference I cannot comprehend.
I’m so focused on my anger that I do not notice someone approaching from behind. A light tap on my shoulder has me spinning, my blade finding my hand in one smooth motion. I hold it out to the chin of a short and curvy fae with long golden hair. She yelps and jumps back, nearly tripping over her lavender skirt. I immediately notice the flowers twisted in her hair and embroidered on her blouse. Spring magic, then.
