Ana shuddered. “The Affinites, don’t they ever try to run? Even the weakest could put up a good fight against a non-Affinite.”
Ramson tilted his head and pointed, drawing her attention to the viewing alcoves several levels up. “In a few minutes, a marksman is going to appear in every single one of those. They have Deys’voshk-tinged arrows, and they shoot to kill.” He nodded at the stage. “Look closely there.”
Ana squinted and suddenly realized what had made the stage seem so strange. Behind the four pillars, walls of blackstone-infused glass almost as high as the viewing alcoves encircled the entire stage, leaving an area in the front center for a host.
Blackstone. The cold, the feeling of emptiness she’d felt as she’d stepped into this room made more sense now. The same she’d felt each time Sadov took her to that room in the dungeons.
Ramson’s tone was grim when he said, “If any Affinite tries anything, they’ll be shot before they can even crack the glass.”
The design was cruel but efficient; no Affinity could reach past the blackstone-infused glass, which meant the Affinites were limited to the resources they were given for their performances. No wonder none of them had tried to escape.
Ana remembered pushing against the Salskoff dungeons’ blackstone doors, reaching out with her Affinity and only sensing cold black nothingness. When her throat was raw from screaming and her tears were spent, she’d been reduced to huddling against them, shaking and scratching at them with bloodied nails.
She shook the memory away, focusing on a different question. “How do you know all this?”
Ramson’s jaw tightened. “I’ve been to a few of these shows before. I’ve seen how it works. The people here can negotiate purchases of Affinite employment contracts as the night goes on. It’s all done discreetly behind closed doors.” He paused. “That’s what we need to try for once we see May perform.”
She pulled her hand from his, suddenly cold. Of course Ramson knew of these shows—he was a criminal, an underground crook. But she had to ask—she had to know. “Ramson,” she said, and her voice was barely a breath. “Did you ever…were you ever one of them? A broker?”
“No.” The word cut with truth, yet something in his eyes made her insurmountably sad as he turned them to her. “But watching it happen is another crime in itself, is it not?”
She had no answer to that. Ana shuddered and turned away just as the drumbeats came to a sudden stop. As though on cue, the crowd erupted into wild cheers. A figure strode onstage, in front of the blackstone-infused glass wall and velvet curtains within. He was a clean-cut, gold-haired man who wore his charm like his navy-blue silk waistcoat: diamond-studded and glittering and sewn to the collar with flashing gold thread. When he waved, the bejeweled rings on his fingers glimmered as they caught the torchlight. “Mesyrs, meya damas, and all other guests!” he cried in a booming voice that resonated across the entire auditorium. “Are you ready for tonight’s show?”
The crowd’s screams grew louder and became a chant. “Bogdan! Bogdan! Bogdan!”
“That’s the Penmaster,” Ramson explained.
The Penmaster—Bogdan—raised his hands, beaming. “We have an excellent program planned for you tonight! Watch a formidable Ice Queen give us a prelude to the Fyrva’snezh! A Wood Nymph grows flowers from thin air! A Marble-Maker creates stunning statues! And, don’t miss it: our Steelshooter battles a Windwraith to the death! Who will make it out alive? There’s only one thing we know, and it is that you will all leave happy!”
The crowd erupted with cheers and applause. Ana’s stomach tightened, but she stayed silent as she watched a scene that should never have existed unfold before her eyes.
Bogdan held his hands up, and the crowd fell silent.
Suddenly, the drums started again. Boom-ba-da-boom. Ana’s pulse thundered with the beat, and she found herself holding her breath as she stared at the brightly lit stage.
The curtains exploded behind the confines of the glass. The crowds screamed as a massive cloud of mist obscured the stage from view for a moment, curling up against the glass walls and pouring over the top in plumes of white. As the vapor cleared, a figure stood in its midst. Tall, pale, and slender, with flowing ash-white locks and a dress of pale blue, she was winter incarnate.
The Ice Queen swept her palms in an arc around her. Ice spread at her feet, propelling her in a wide circle around the inside of