sword eater, the she-male with four hands, the conjoined gymnasts, and seemingly a thousand others.
Blue Eyes was on his knees, slumped over, his cuffs bound to hooks protruding from a man-made stump. The fire blazed beside him, casting rays of gold over the deeply bronzed skin of his bare back. There was no longer any hint of red. But there would be. All too soon, there would be, and it would be red of a different sort.
Jecis kicked him in the side to wake him, and cheers abounded.
As Blue Eyes lifted his head, he blinked rapidly, perhaps fighting to focus. Jecis walked around him with arms lifted high. In front of the otherworlder, he stopped, turned to face his people.
“This man—this disgusting creature—dared to touch a human without permission,” her father called, riling the crowd. Vika continued to read his lips. “He had every intention of causing irreparable damage—after he had been warned to behave.”
A chorus of “boo” swept through the masses, the vibrations nearly rocking her off her feet. She surveyed the people she’d grown up with, hoping, praying to find one sympathetic face, that someone, anyone, would stand up and shout, “This is wrong. I won’t let you hurt that man.” Someone with the strength to force her father to back down.
Instead, she discovered malicious glee and vicious enjoyment. Expressions all the more maniacal because everyone still wore their performance costumes, having come here directly after the last show. There were sequins, feathers, short fluffy skirts, lace and fishnets, oiled chests and pants practically painted on.
These people were outcasts, accepted only for how they entertained. Now, they wanted to be entertained. Actually, they probably felt as though they deserved a good show. Jecis had charged admission, after all.
The muscles in Blue Eyes’s back knotted and his spine straightened. He scanned the area, suddenly alert. Someone threw a handful of popcorn at him, the fluffy yellow kernels raining over him.
Fury blazed in his eyes . . . a fire far hotter than the flames crackling beside him.
Please, she projected at Jecis. Don’t do this.
“Let this be a lesson to all,” her father continued, turning . . . turning . . . to face everyone in the assembly. He was saying more, but his back was currently to Vika, so she couldn’t read his lips. The crowd liked it, whatever threat or insult he’d issued, because laughter erupted.
Then he was facing her again, and he was saying, “—know that to disobey is to suffer.”
Cheers joined the laughter. Her stomach churned. And as much turmoil as she’d reacted to lately, she felt as if she could have made butter with it.
As her father stretched out his hand, as Matas slammed the handle of a whip against his palm, Vika shrank back into the night’s gloom. Jecis wanted her blood, and if he caught sight of her, she would get a whipping, too.
Something strange had happened today. A few minutes after Matas had left her trailer, the lights had flickered again. She had opened the door, expecting to have to deal with him a second time.
Instead, her father had been there. Scowling. Enraged.
“You dared disobey me? Dared place yourself in danger, when you know you’re the most precious thing in the world to me?”
He shoved her backward, stormed in after her, and slapped her.
“I—I’m sorry,” she’d managed.
“Why would you do this to me?” Slap. “Why would you force me to hurt you like this?” Slap.
But that time, he had yelped in pain. Him. Not her. As if her skin had somehow cut at him.
Then a voice had whispered inside her mind. An actual voice, the first sound she’d heard in years. Shocked to her core, she had rubbed at her ears, shaken her head, only to realize the sound hadn’t sprung from out-side—it had sprung from inside her. And yet, it hadn’t belonged to her. Her shock had morphed into confusion, her confusion into dread.
Was she crazy?
You don’t have to accept this, the voice had said.
Then a little louder, You are strong.
Then a lot louder, You are victorious.
Maybe she was crazy, but she was also empowered, as if his words imparted strength straight into her core. She’d somehow gathered the courage to scream in her father’s face, “No! I won’t let you do this to me!”
He’d stumbled back a few steps, as though reeling, before stopping and popping the bones in his knuckles, gearing up for the serious stuff. But instead of hitting her with a closed fist, he had paused, a