Total pages in book: 210
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 200837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1004(@200wpm)___ 803(@250wpm)___ 669(@300wpm)
Clara pulls back, tipping her chin up in a small act of bravery, and meets my gaze. “Are you OK?”
“Am I OK?” I point to myself. “Are you OK?” I realize I should’ve asked this the moment she came to me for my dance, and I didn’t. I was lost in my own pathetic self-pity.
Clara wants to say she is OK, but she’s not. And so all that comes out of her mouth is a sigh.
I offer her my hand. “Walk with me?”
She pouts, but agrees.
Everyone is leaving the ballroom now, so it takes a good several minutes before we are outside again, breathing in the frigid night air.
Usually I like the chill of night. It’s a dependable comfort that comes every twelve hours or so after a long, hot, stifling day.
But tonight, it’s too much and Clara is shaking badly, her teeth chattering as we make our way over to the stage we will share as we send her best friend off to the god of Tau City.
A stranger god.
An unknown god.
Something foreign and irrelevant.
I hate him, I realize. I hate this god, and this job, and this city.
And I hate these feelings too. Because just a few days ago I was in love with all of it.
As we take our places, I notice that Mitch is taking care of Haryet. She, like Clara, is shaking uncontrollably, her teeth chattering so loud, I’m pretty sure even the people gathered at the far reaches of the tower stage can hear them.
I watch as Mitch holds her. Comforts her. Whispering things in her ear.
Clara snuggles up to me, unashamed at the public display of affection even though it’s kind of forbidden for Spark Maidens.
Fuck it, though, right?
This whole thing is a charade, anyway.
We’re sacrificing a woman to a god tonight and not a single person in this whole city will stand up and object.
Not even me.
There will be no discussion of Haryet tomorrow morning when people are lining up at the Magic Teacup or grabbing that morning pastry at the Laughing Loaf. They will forget about her immediately. For a year or two, at least. And then, when they are good and sure that the guilt of their silence that night has worn off, they will start praising her. They did that with Brooke Bayford, otherwise known as Maiden number seven. Just a few weeks ago I was walking across the canal bridge that leads to the Tower District and overheard a group of women discussing how beautiful Brooke looked on the night of her Extraction.
“Her hair was styled to look like a crown,” a woman sighed as I walked past.
It irritated me at the time for reasons unknown. Reasons I didn’t have time to think about. But I understand it now. It’s guilt. For the silence that is happening right in this very moment.
What is that old saying? All it takes for evil to prevail is for good men to remain silent.
But here’s the thing: if the good men are silent, were they ever good in the first place?
I used to think I was, but I’ve been forced to reevaluate my high opinion of myself over the course of the day.
Mitchell steps away from Haryet and then Clara is giving my hand a squeeze and letting it go so she can join Gemna and the both of them can stand next to Haryet. Clara starts playing her part without being told. I mean, technically, I’m the one in charge here, so I should be the one leading the ceremony. But she’s done this little ritual of standing on the tower stage next to one of her friends so many times now, she doesn’t even need direction.
Which is good, I guess, for the sake of a seamless performance. Because I’m not capable of giving it.
I glance up at the clock tower and am a little shocked to see that it is eleven forty-seven.
Thirteen minutes. That’s all the life that poor Haryet has left. Just thirteen minutes.
Mitch has reached me now. He leans in a little. “You’re up. If we’re gonna do this, let’s do it.”
I turn my head to look at him. “If?” Then I scoff. Because there is no question of ‘if.’ Not after what we learned on the bridge. Just the possibility that what Jeyk said is true is enough.
One girl or a hundred?
That’s our choice.
Mitch just shrugs up one shoulder. “It’s just a fuckin’ expression, Finn.” He doesn’t look at me and these words come out tense.
Which makes me frustrated. So I take a moment to stew and stare out at the crowd of not-good men who will stay silent.
When I don’t start the ceremony, Mitch growls at me. “Do your part, Finn. Don’t leave Haryet up there like that. She’s fuckin’ terrified.”
I look over at Haryet and while she’s not sobbing or making a scene, she is still very much a mess. Gemna and Clara are standing on either side of her, holding her hands, looking straight ahead across the stage—at me, but not at me—with practiced, stoic looks on their faces. Behind them is a group of Matrons and once I notice them, I also notice that they are really shooting me some dirty looks.