Page 81 of Fatality on the Field

Our band makes a heroic attempt at ending the fight song on a high note, but the timing is just off enough to make it sound like a musical car crash. I ignore it as I pause for a half-second at the podium to scan for threats, exits, and the worst-case scenario. The Society agents are still at their marks around the perimeter. A judgmental looking board member in the third row has his elbows planted on his knees, staring like he’s in the middle of a diagnostic exam and I’m the cadaver. I clock it, file that away, and then meet the gaze of the front row. My donors are bored out of their skulls, but only a few look old enough to remember what happens when you underestimate a woman with nothing to lose.

Des stays still, her tongue flicking in and out at intervals so regular I use it to keep time. My hands rest easy on the sides of the podium because I already know what needs to be said and exactly how to say it.

“Good morning, State U students, faculty, alumni, and distinguished guests,” I say slowly.

I don’t have to raise my voice; the crowd goes quiet at the edges out of surprise. Nobody expects a woman to command without volume, so the shock is always a useful wedge.

“Welcome to the very first Tantalus Bowl rally hosted under my administration. For those of you keeping track, it’s only four and a half months into my tenure, or roughly five thousand emails, two hundred and fourteen student complaints, and more budget meetings than I care to count.”

The board member in the third row snorts, which is a minor miracle. A few students whoop and I feel Channing vibrating with glee somewhere just offstage.

“We’re here today to celebrate the athletes, the teams, the staff, and the volunteers who have spent the last year making this event possible. Some of you may not be aware, but for a significant number of our students, this event is the most important day of their careers. For the athletes on the field in three days, this is a chance to prove they're at the top of their sport. For the staff and volunteers, it’s a chance to show that you can organize chaos, corral thousands, and keep every hot dog vendor within fifty feet of a bathroom. Not everyone is cut out for that kind of heroism.”

There’s a ripple of laughter that moves through the staffers clustered in the wings and the rows of students behind the big money. I make a mental note of every face that reacts; those are the people who are paying attention.

“I want to thank the Board and our donor families. Your continued investment in State U is why we are able to host events like this one, and why our programs continue to draw the best talent from across the region and beyond. I want to thank the local Council, and the security teams who have worked to ensure this Bowl is safe for every attendee. A special thank you is in order for the university's athletics department, who have—sometimes against all odds—managed to keep everything on track despite every bump in the road.”

I look out at the quad, my eyes sweeping over the whole crowd before I continue. “I’d like to also acknowledge our sponsors, including the four Fae courts, whose generosity is unparallelled. In fact, I’d like to ask each Fae court representative to join us at the platform for the opening ceremonies.”

There’s a beat of uncertainty, and then Liam steps out of the cluster where he’s been hiding. As he walks up the steps, his wings pop out, shimmering in the daylight like they’re encrusted with rare jewels. The sight of him hits the crowd like a silent bomb: every head turns and every phone goes up to take pictures. My mate certainly knows how to work the people, and I have to suppress a chuckle as he takes his place beside me with his chin up and hands folded at his waist. He nods at the crowd and they go absolutely crazy with royalty worship fervor.

Reps from the other three courts materialize on stage with me in a puff of clearly planned smoke that looks like dry ice effects, but definitely is not. My expression tightens as they line up, one by one, after Li and wave at the crowd in full Fae splendor. Grinding my teeth at the ridiculous, attention-grabbing bullshit, I force a bigger smile and move on without comment.

“Next, I’d like to invite the members of our local Council, and our other Bowl sponsors,” I say. Naming the sponsors individually, I wait as the applause grows with each one of the politicians and corporate shills who join me one by one. Luckily, the front rows are eating it up, and even the board member in charcoal cracks a smile.

I pivot to close out. “This is the first Bowl in our university’s history to feature direct collaboration with other realms. It’s proof that when we work together, we can achieve more than any of us could alone.” I look directly at the rich old supes in the front rows as I continue, hoping they get the fucking point as I go on. “Today is about shared effort, fierce competition, and the hope that we’re building something that lasts past the final whistle.”

Stepping back from the podium as the fight song blares, I watch as the camera flashes strobe the platform. When I finally head towards the end of the stage, I catch Channing’s eye. She’s grinning, her whole body lit up with the satisfaction of a plan executed perfectly.

For a second, I almost let myself enjoy it. Then I remember that in three days, an exponentially higher number of people will be in the stadium watching the teams play—making a perfect target for anyone who wants to obliterate everything I did today.

Nothing is as simple as it seems…. nothing.

forty-nine

KASPAR

If you don’t want to be seen, don’t hide—fade into the background.

I’m in the patchwork shadows at the edge of the quad, three yards off the main walk where the press corral meets the grass. Nobody glances twice at me, which is perfect. Every eye is locked on the main event where a twenty-foot-wide crescent of cameras and microphone wands is squeezing the stage like a python made out of plastic and steel. The noise is the worst part, if you ask me. It’s a wall of overlapping questions, battery-powered fans, and the insectile stutter of camera shutters. In the center of the mess, standing a full head above the Board members and two heads above most of the top-tier donors, is Morgana.

She holds the line with both hands on the lip of the lectern, her chin up and that tailored suit cut to make even the most idiotic rubes present pause before they speak. Des has made herself a corkscrew earring, the double helix loop so tight you’d think she was being paid by the coil. That means Morgana is calm, but her foot is resting on the gas. If she was coming apart, the snake would be darting around threateningly; if she was relaxed, Des would hang lazy as a scarf, tongue flicking at half-mast. Instead, it’s a disciplined spiral that tells me this thing better end soon before tempers flare.

I scan the press line, hoping it’s finally thinning out. There are four crews from major networks, a shock of local broadcasters with mics wrapped in Day-Glo foam, and a double-file row of web outlets and influencer parasites. Five of the deluded idiots have phones up on sticks, and two more are wearing GoPro rigs, which only underlines that they are not journalists, but opportunists with disposable income. Behind them, the network cameras roll on tripods and shoulders shooting B-roll. There’s a college-aged intern running battery packs back and forth between the cameras and their vans. I hope he’s getting college credit for that shit, or he’s going to regret it someday.

Nothing devalues your worth faster in this realm than allowing people to get for free what they should be paying for.

I catalog faces just in case I need to remember them later on. It’s a habit from being Li’s personal guard, but it has always served me well. I don’t see why it wouldn’t here as well.

The various security guards walking around the crowd have obvious earwigs, but only one guy is wired for two-way comms. That’s the bald guy near the front, with a glinting, curly cord that runs down behind his collar. His left hand is always at his hip, where I see the shape of a small gun or maybe a taser. His eyes never leave Morgana for more than a second. I scan for his partner and when I find her, I snort at the obvious black blazer and mirrored sunglasses. She’s standing just behind a second row of underfed freelancers, pretending to check her phone. Despite that ploy, I know she’s doing a slow one hundred and eighty degree scan every thirty seconds. That pair is good but not exceptional, and both are focused on the platform, not the crowd behind it.

Definitely donor-bought private security, not the college or the Society. My money’s on Harvest; they’re stupid as fuck.

I don’t look like a threat so much as a corporate douche, which helps. My suit is dark, the tie is black, and the dress shirt is the shade of stormcloud that only gets seen if you’re standing on a mountain top in a thunderstorm. I’ve spent the last three hours checking every reflective surface on campus to make sure I wasn’t followed by any guards for the other Fae contingents, because they are not nearly as inconspicuous. I’m not here to be on camera, nor to have people fawn over me. That seems to be their objective and it makes me chuckle, because it tells me the courts sent people they didn’t care about in the slightest.

Li’s father will be very pleased by that fact, as it makes Daybreak look stronger and more courageous.

Turning back to the crowd, I watch the press scrum work once more. Most of their questions are as dumb as you’d expect from people who get paid by the click now.