The Season Trials

C h a p t e r T w e n t y - t h r e e

C h a p t e r          t w e n t y – t h r e e

The silence that follows is deafening.

I'm left utterly confused.

Kyell remains utterly still; I fear he's no longer breathing.

Margery is much the same—only, even from the distance, I can see that her eyes are wet. More than wet, actually. The tears begin to stream down her cheeks.

I don't know what to do.

Apparently, no one does: a sense of ominous nothing that continues to stretch on until it's unbearable.

Kyell is the first to break it: a choked whisper of, "Madeline."

I can't wrap my head around it. Margery... is Madeline? The girl who was taken from Max—the girl who they assumed was dead? It doesn't make sense; way too coincidental. We couldn't have been looking for the same person the whole time.

"Margery." My voice is nearly inaudible.

She doesn't even look at me. Her attention is solely on Kyell, before she chokes out, "Max."

Suddenly, I feel nauseated.

"Well isn't this a lovely reunion!" There's a joyous clap, accompanied by a jovial laugh. "Who knew my little pet had such a following?"

Pet. Gift. Slave. A number. I hate the terms; being reduced to a level beneath human. Now, I can't even look at Miss Prestige; can't take it.

If it weren't for Kyell holding me up, I'd have collapsed by now. As it stands, I want to throw up on the spot. Frozen to the spot, I know I'm helpless, but I can't think straight. Everything is a whirlwind—so much to take in all at once.

"What to do? What do?" Miss Prestige sings-songs, making circles around Margery—Madeline. She tsks. Then her gaze swings straight to me, her cold gaze piercing. "I remember you. You're the little rat my husband was given. Didn't you die? My husband will love to know you're still alive."

I shiver, saying nothing. There's nothing to say.

Her eyes roam over my figure, her mouth turning down in scorn. "And that dress? Who'd you rob, 2309?"

The way she says the number is mocking. I can't help but snap, "I have a name."

"A name?" Small tinker of laughter. "Names are given to those who deserve one. Like my Margery here. I rescued her from execution, gave her a home; an easy life. I even gave her a name, one suitable of someone her stature."

She seems proud of the fact, as though she's righted all the wrongs in the world. Given the bruising under Madeline's eye, I can't understand how she can entertain the delusion.

Unbeknownst to me, Kyell has moved closer to Madeline. In return, she only looks to him, as though drawn by magnetic force—

"Stop. Right. There."

I jump. He stops.

Miss Prestige walks over to the wall. I'm tempted to make a run for it, possibly find a weapon to use. Yet, I'm too frightened. Statistically, the odds are in our favour: three of us and one of her. That means nothing though; I can't just assume that will make all the difference. Besides, Kyell is the only one of us who isn't weak.

"What shall I do with all of you?" The question is clearly rhetorical. "Call some guards? Call my husband? Maybe I'll just trap you here for a while until you all go crazy. Then—" Her laugh is positively gleeful, "—I'll have two more of you."

I try to tune out her mindless babbling but it's impossible.

Kyell turns his head, meeting my eyes. He nods, eyes flitting to just behind me. I turn to face that way too: there, right by the open door, is a golden walking stick.

"You know what? Maybe I'll just let you go, see how long you last out there. Who do you think will starve first? Maybe you'll kill each other? Maybe I'll let my husband's seek his mutts on you, let you first out who they eat first? So many choices."

I send a helpless look at Kyell. He raises an eyebrow pointedly.

We have to act now, I know, but I can't bring myself to actually move. My heart is racing, my palms sweating. Even if I was able to grab the walking stick, I wouldn't be able to carry it, nor actually use it to our gain.

The whole moment feels frozen in time.

"Or maybe..." Miss Prestige continues, "I could just do this."

So focused on Kyell, I don't see what she does.

"Three..."

Sweat beads on my forehead and I send a helpless look at Kyell. From the blank expression on his face he doesn't know what's happening either.

"Two..."

I have the worst feeling.

Miss Prestige's boisterous laughter isn't reassuring in the slightest.

What do we do? I think, wishing more than anything he could read my mind. Think. Plan. Figure out something. We have no other choice...

There's the sudden clinking of steel. Vigorous aggressive shouting.

Kyell's eyes widen.

Miss Prestige tsks again.

Everything is in slow motion. It is happens at the same time: Kyell shouting, "Run!" at the exact moment Miss Prestige whispers, "One."

It's like an explosion.

The room we're in is suddenly filled with soldiers, the blades drawn. Miss Prestige yells like she's watching an entertaining show. Hands grab me. I scream, pushing them off. Through the throng I can barely find Kyell, but I see him punch someone. His voice yells out too: Run; Get out; other obscenities.

Oh God.

Run.

It's all I can think.

There's a gap in the door jamb. Weaving through the various arms and feet, I race there, lashing out at anyone who tries to stop me.

It's not enough.

There's simply too many of them.

When I'm pinned to the floor, a hand around my throat, I don't stop struggling even as a I wheeze for breath.

It's futile.

I can't do a thing as I'm manhandled, a blade against my stomach. I squeeze my eyes shut, tears slipping out though I try to stop them from falling.

I don't know where Kyell is, nor Madeline.

Everything passes like a blur.

Before I know it, I see lines of cell bars.

Oh God. No.

No.

I try to break free but it's impossible.

I can do nothing as I'm thrown on to one of the cells' floor, landing with an impact so violent I swear my whole body breaks in half.

The door slams.

And that's when I know my fate it sealed.

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