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Truman rises. “May the Bridge show you favor. May she sing you to triumph.”
I don’t ask what his weird gesture meant or how I should respond if the situation comes up again, which hopefully it doesn’t. Instead, I wait until he moves away to ask my mates,
“Can everyone hear the Bridge’s song?”
“No,” Jace says. “You’re the only person I’ve ever met who can hear her.”
“What does she sound like tonight?” Atticus asks.
“Sad.” I listen closer. “But more hopeful than she has been since the wyvern attack. The cadence is still slow, but the tune sounds brighter. Maybe the sadness is because your current queen will be moving on.” To where? I don’t know, and I don’t ask. Especially not after the accusations Rona has made against the woman. I look around. “Will the queen be joining us?”
“Silence,” a gargoyle dressed in grey robes calls. The crowd goes quiet, even Cutter’s fan boys piping down after a few seconds.
“The elders,” Jace whispers as two other gargoyles dressed in equally drab robes move next to the first.
The three don’t have the blue, purple, green, or any of the rich colors that others have in their skin. Instead, they’re a wash of different shades of grey. The scowling elder in the middle reads from a scroll that looks as ancient and worn as he does with webs of rain-carved lines crossing his body. “We’re here for the presentation of the queen candidates.” He drones on about formalities, rituals, and the greatness of the gargoyles. Not once does he mention the current queen or any other.
I open my mouth to ask Jace why when the last elder announces in a surprisingly big voice considering his frail and hunched body, “We begin with Mildrake’s candidate.”
It’s the woman who was dragged through the portal in chains. She doesn’t look any more willing to voluntarily be here considering the way a gargoyle shoves her toward the platform. Despite the vicious look she throws him, she stomps up the stairs and goes to the end of the stage. With her elevated to stand beneath the moonlight, I can make out bruises along her arms and chest where her black sleeveless jumpsuit opens to reveal tanned skin.
What have they done to her?
No one else seems disturbed by the abuse.
Instead, the elder acts as if nothing’s out of the ordinary and calls, “Next, we present Wilborne’s candidate.”
The woman I’d seen in the window of the nearest tower walks up the stairs, her warm brown skin washed out by the beige bag of a dress she wears. She keeps her head down, staring at the wooden planks as if she’s waiting for them to give her the answer to some impossible question. I remember the Spidress saying that this candidate is only here for the chance to save her baby sister. My heart aches for her.
What have these other candidates suffered while I’ve been my happiest in whatever this is with my mates that first felt like a crush tumbling headlong into—dare I even think it—love? A warm glow tingles through me, a rush of magic that might as well be an answer to my doubt. Yeah, I love these two. I knew it before I agreed to the mates thing.
They’re meant for me.
I’m meant for them.
But those women on stage? They look as if they’ve suffered godawful torments since they arrived here. I can’t stand to see their pain.
The elder ignores their quiet despair. “The twins’ candidate.”
Me. My heart thumps into a pace to rival a jackhammer. My legs refuse to move. I can’t do this. I’m fine with helping the dead find their way across the Bridge, but I didn’t sign up for this insensitive ceremony that mocks the candidates to the point of cruelty.
“Go, love,” Jace whispers. “We’ve got your back.”
“You’ve already won this,” Atticus says softly. “They won’t be able to find a single flaw in you, little queen.” He strokes his knuckles over the small of my back before giving me a gentle push.
I hurry forward, willing my shaking legs to carry me up the stairs. From this height, I gaze across a sea of grey and black dotted with splotches of white. My rainbow gown stands out like a colorful thorn waiting to be plucked…or sliced away in painful shreds.
I don’t belong here.
The scowls and glares tell me they don’t want me here. Why did the twins think I could win everyone over? Besides, isn’t it the Bridge who’ll choose? I fight the need to close my eyes against the dizziness that washes through me.
“Cutter’s candidate!”
The announcement jolts me back to reality. To cheers and catcalls, the blonde glides to the stage, looking as if she owns it. Forget belonging, this woman has already conquered the crowd. Dressed in silver, she gleams but still fits in while showcasing her superiority. I want to sink between the tight wooden slats and let the ground swallow me.
Her sneer makes me nauseous. “Monster fucker,” she mouths, and I flinch.
Humiliation spirals into shame, and I can’t breathe. My face goes hot, my mouth sour.
