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That alternative is certainly no better than this, and again, I can’t help but wonder what my father would say if he were here.

A soft knock on the door tenses my muscles. No one has come to my room this late before, and as the light slices across the room, I stare at the reflection in the window, noting the small silhouette creeping through the cracked door.

“Thalia.” The whispering voice of Yasmin carries across the room, and I turn over on the bed to find her tiptoeing towards me, dressed in a bright teal nightgown that does a poor job of cloaking her in shadow. “Listen to me … there’s something you should know about the games ...”

Piqued by her comment, I sit back against the pillows, and it’s then I notice the way her brows are winged up, her eyes weighed by fear.

“What is it?” I ask, patting the mattress for her to sit beside me.

Another figure, bigger and more intimidating, takes up the width of the doorframe.

Whipping her head toward him, Yasmin’s eyes widen, and she shakes her head. “I’m just … I was just … I’m sorry!” She quickly shuffles toward the giant spying on her.

“Wait, Yasmin.” I lurch in her direction, undeterred by the guard waiting there. “What were you going to tell me?”

“Nothing. I wasn’t going to tell you anything.” Slipping past the burly man, she doesn’t spare me so much as a glance on her scamper out of my room.

The sliver of light retreats, shadows moving back in when Henry closes the door, and once again, I find myself alone in the dark room.

Chapter 8

“Merciful heaven, you are a vision!” Madame Beaumont holds my hands out to the side, as she examines the frilly white dress she’s insisted I wear. “A goddess of purity and hope.”

“Is that what I’m supposed to be?” The apathy in my tone couldn’t be more unenthusiastic if I actually made the effort.

Her outfit is far less ornate, with her flowy top, and pants that look more like a skirt with the way they float about her legs when she walks. Like water. Yes, that’s it. She reminds me of a walking tide pool. Animated, but shallow.

“Yes,” she says. “Lack of hope gives rise to all manner of things. Crime. Murder. Rape. When there’s hope, there’s possibility. Ambition.” Lowering my arms, she reaches for the pearl necklace set against my collarbone. “In Roman times, pearls were considered a symbol of wealth and prestige. Julius Caesar insisted that only the ruling class wear them.”

“They were my grandmother’s. She was a farmer before the Dredge.”

Rolling her shoulders back, she lets the necklace fall against my skin and pats down what must be a stray curl on my head. “Well. Times have certainly changed since the days of Caesar.”

“They have. I doubt a dictator would have any authority in this world.”

“Perhaps not. That’s not to say we couldn’t use a bit of structure.” Fussing with one of the pleats on my dress, the woman makes me want to rustle the fabric just to see if she’d try to smooth it again. “Come, darling. We don’t want to be late.”

“Have you seen Yasmin this morning?” I ask, following her out of the room and down the staircase toward the foyer.

“Probably bustling about,” she says over her shoulder, her top dancing around her. “She doesn’t accompany us on these outings.” Changing topics, she chatters on about the games, and Roman gladiators, a topic in which I’m well versed, thanks to the excessive reading I’ve done over the last week.

Once outside the house, my eyes catch on a trailer hitched up to the truck that’s parked in the circle drive. A flash of metal distracts my thoughts, and I slow my steps, heading toward the back of it. A quiet, thumping sound draws me closer, and Madame Beaumont’s chatter grows distant. Through the grates of the trailer, I notice something shiny. Enormous. It thumps, and I jump back.

Arms band around me, and I let out a shriek.

“Child, what are you doing? The bus is over here.” Gripping my shoulders, Madame Beaumont tugs me to follow after her, but I resist.

“What’s in there?”

“Equipment.”

Another glimpse of the trailer, and I narrow my eyes on her. “Equipment that moves? Like something is inside of it?”

“Get on the bus, Thalia. No more questions.” The unyielding look in her eyes reminds me of my mother’s whenever I refused to cast my inquiries aside.

“Yasmin was going to tell me something. About the games. Something important.”

With a sigh, she tips her head, frowning. “Yasmin came from a very bad situation. She doesn’t trust anyone, or anything. She feels anxiety around large groups of people. It’s not surprising to me that she’d try to warn you against going.”