My face burns hotter than the desert sun overhead, my hand growing clammy in Nina’s grip. Gulping down the fear swirling inside me, I let her tug me through the masses of people, who scowl and hurl insults as I pass. A couple of kids snicker. My breaths come short and quick. I wish I had a Skill that made me shrink into the ground and vanish.
Ma stands by a spice stand. She tenses for a moment, panic flitting across her face when she sees me. I know my Ma. She’ll freak out. I give her the slightest shake of my head; she can’t cause a scene. They’ll only take it out on me. “Oh, Zadie.” She catches my eyes as we pass, her fear contorting into sympathy. “I’m so sorry,” she mouths, before disappearing from view among the hordes of people.
“Blank coming through! Make way for the Blank!”
“Blank trash,” mutters a man as we pass. He spits a wad of saliva at me, striking my boot. Nina practically rips my arm out of my socket yanking me through.
My skin crawls when we reach the stage at the front of the crowd. Mist hangs in the dark labyrinth entrance, now a mere ten feet away. My heart rate quickens. I don’t know what I’m more afraid of—the labyrinth’s proximity, or being paraded in front of everyone like this. With a final shove, Nina pushes me toward the wooden stairs.
“Get up there,” she snaps in my ear.
Chantry stands stoically by the stage, at attention. Part of me wishes she’d stand up for me, tell Nina to back off, but of course she doesn’t. She doesn’t even look at me.
A nearby woman in an official-looking uniform cocks her head. “We already have a Blank to do the onstage presentation.” She indicates the dirty little girl beside her wearing the navy blue uniform I recognize all too well—she must be an indenture of the Warden. Her long brown hair hangs down her back in a single braid. My stomach twists. It’s been three years, but it feels like yesterday I wore that same uniform. The child fidgets, and I’m all too aware of how old and awkward I look next to her. They probably bribed her into doing this with a handful of silvers; whatever they’re paying her, it’s not nearly enough.
“Well, now you’ve got two,” Nina says. “Don’t worry, Zadie is more than capable.”
I fight back a groan. Of course I’m more than capable. It’s a job meant for a six-year-old. I just have to stand there holding the jug and wearing the hat while everyone laughs at me. That’s literally it.
The woman shoves a giant glass carton into my hand and slaps a water jug hat onto my head. It’s way too small for me.
“Go on.” Nina shoves me in the back.
Slogging through invisible molasses, I force myself up the stairs to boos, jeers, and roaring laughter from below. Thousands of eyes follow me, their attention searing into my skin like daggers. My boots press a path through the flowers scattered across the wood.
Landon’s portrait greets me on stage, and I pretty much want to curl up and die. I scan the people in the crowd, but there’s no sign of Landon’s messy blond hair anywhere. I hope he’s back by the stands or something. I don’t want him to see me like this. The little girl volunteer plods after me in a matching hat, clearly just as thrilled as I am about this. At least her hat fits better than mine.
Crackling fills the air. I have to crane my neck to see the screen directly over my head. Where the Great Leader’s portrait hung over the stage, a projection of his face now levitates instead, watching from the Stone Palace. In the distance, I can barely make out the black spires poking out over the red labyrinth walls. It’s weird to think he lives there. He’s so close to us, but still so far away. Funny how he built a whole labyrinth to isolate and protect himself from other people; right now, I wish I could do the same.
Every member of the crowd thumps their right fist to their left shoulder in unison. I weakly mimic the gesture, my hands slick with sweat. My pulse pounds in my ears, drowning out the noise.
The Leader on the screen smiles. Gray hair puffs out on the sides of his wrinkly face. “Welcome, children of Trinnea, to our one hundred, seventy-eighth celebration of water. It’s been 178 years since the Great Drought that ended life as we know it outside of Trinnea, and yet, here you stand—my people.”
Everyone listens, enraptured by the Leader’s words. Not a single whisper floats through the crowd.
“The Trinneans—the gifted, the Skilled—would not succumb to the plagues that took so many others. You are the survivors of the brave, new world.”
Chantry yawns at the foot of the stage stairs. She absentmindedly flicks her finger, making a pebble float a few inches off the stage and fall back down.
The stage feels about a hundred degrees hotter than the festival below. Sweat pours down my face, an oven beneath the hat propped on my head. Thousands of Trinneans stare up at me from the crowd, munching on snacks and giggling and being grateful they’re not me. I close my eyes, focusing on breathing in and out. It’ll all be over soon.
“Now, as is tradition to honor our proud history,” the Leader says, “let’s begin our presentation.”
The woman in the suit takes the microphone. “On the final day of the drought, our Great Leader came to us and provided . . .”
The little girl and I raise our water jugs over our heads and wait. Giggles ripple through the crowd.
I scan faces, seeking someone to focus on. Something. Anything.
Unfortunately, the first person I see is the last person I want to. The Warden leans against a stall in the front of the nearest aisle, chewing tobacco. Her lip curls up when she catches me staring.
The moment her eyes lock with mine, my insides become jelly. The festival noises fade to silence in my ears. Just like that, I’m back in the bunks, cowering as she looms over me. My fingernails dig into my palms around the jug handles, leaving angry red crescents in my already scarred skin. I have to remind myself where I am. I’m not there. I don’t work for her anymore.
“And the water was released from the air!” the woman’s voice tears my attention, and at her cue, I quickly spin in a circle on the stage. A thin pipe stretches out from the Leader’s screen and releases a steady flow of water, which I rush to capture in my jug. The light spray splashes against my hands as the water cascades into my container. Laughter fills my ears. I squeeze my eyes shut.
I’m not here. This isn’t happening. In a few minutes, I can go home. I can go—
A sharp scream pierces the air. The Blank girl beside me drops her jug; it shatters against the stage, splattering water across the wood and soaking her dress. Shouts erupt from the crowd below me.
Following her fearful stare, I spin toward the maze. That’s when I see it. Black smoke billows inside the labyrinth entrance. Gasps and shouts fill Center Square.
“It’s him,” the little girl whispers. “It’s Dex.”
No. It can’t be. Not while I’m standing so close.
I scramble as far away as I can, toward the edge of the stage, shoving the little girl behind me.
The smoke floats out of the labyrinth, rolling thick and dark toward the crowd. Everyone screams, giving it a wide berth. People climb over each other to get away, but end up bottlenecking at the exits of Center Square. Goosebumps prickle across my skin.
Landon’s fought him before, but I never thought I’d see Dex with my own two eyes.
The smoke swirls, blowing into a black tornado that materializes into a young man. Dex, the Devil of Trinnea himself, stands beside the stage, wisps of black smoke still whirling at his feet. His long black jacket hides his body in shadows. My blood turns to ice.
Everyone trips over each other, knocking over stands and scattering rice and trinkets across the red sand. I need to run, need to hide, something. But I can’t move. Fear snakes itself through the soles of my boots, rooting me to the stage. It’s him. It’s really him. I throw my hands up in defense.
To my horror, the Devil of Trinnea looks right at me, his dark gaze coasting over my branded palms. Our eyes lock, filling me with dread.
Then he lunges toward me.
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