The Centennial was just a year away. The Nightshade ruler was a monster. He had been invited to attend the event for the first time, according to her own invitation.
What would he do to her if he found her? Kill her immediately as the first step in breaking the curses? Imprison her? Torture her?
She swallowed. She had thought of her own room as a prison ... how foolish she was. There were much worse places to be trapped.
Yells. Steps. The clatter of armor.
Instinct took over. She lunged for a door—and it was unlocked. Before the guards could spot her, she threw herself inside.
Another hallway.
Voices outside. Already. There were several more doors. She tried all of them.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked.
Locked.
The voices were closer. Without thinking, she started pounding on the last door, desperate, frantic—
It opened.
A woman stood there. Her arms were crossed.
“You’re late,” the woman said. “Put this on and join the rest.”
Isla had no idea who the woman thought she was, or who the rest were, but she knew luck when she saw it.
The woman all but shoved her into a different room. And Isla was so grateful, so afraid for the guards to find her, that she stripped off her clothes in the dark and put on whatever the woman had given her—fabric that was tight against her body. All Isla cared about was that it would make her look like the rest of the Nightshades. Even if the guardsdidfind her here, she would blend in. Especially if she was joining people wearing the same thing.
The door swung open, and Isla nearly brandished the dagger she had kept strapped to her thigh, alongside her starstick.
It was just the woman. She had paint on her finger, and before Isla could object, she unceremoniously smeared it across her mouth.
“Go,” she said, pushing her toward another door.
A dozen other women were waiting on the other side. All dressed like her. She nearly sighed in relief. She blended in perfectly ... especially with the red on her lips.
All she had to do was find her way back outside, where she could try her starstick again—
“Into position!”
Position?The women suddenly straightened into a line, one she quickly joined, wondering what in the world was happening.
Was this a fighting legion?
If so, why were they wearing dresses?
Was this some sort of rehearsal?
She swallowed. If it was, she would be found out momentarily. She obviously wouldn’t know any lines for a play, or choreography for a dance ...
“I hope I’m chosen,” a woman to her left whispered to someone who seemed to be her friend.
“I hopeI’mchosen,” she replied. “This is my fourth time hoping to get noticed. It would be an honor to be part of the ruling line.”
