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I let out a shaky laugh. “Yes. I am very lucky to have such a good family.” My hands rubbed against my thigh, and I felt the small bump in my right pocket. A part of me couldn’t imagine being married and pregnant at twenty. It sounded a little like giving up my life before it had even begun. I slipped my hand inside and rolled the warm metal of the cuff link between my thumb and pointer finger. I glanced up at my new acquaintance, and found his attention turned to a girl with the palest hair I’d ever seen.
Several of the other young adults had gone back to murmuring amongst themselves.
Part of me didn’t want him to turn attention back to me, but I was growing restless. “Do you know when the auditions will start?” I asked carefully.
My bed and a book that I’d left on my vanity came to mind. When I got back, I would fall asleep and dream of worlds that did not exist, but most of all, I would never do something as idiotic as this again.
Isaac tilted his chin. “They’ve already begun. They’re in there with Isabela right now. She is the daughter of Jorge Allende and Carolina Olguin.” He prattled off the names like I should recognize them.
I raised my eyebrows again, feigning how impressed I was. He smirked, as if he had shared a good bit of gossip. Being an Artista taught me how to read people. If I could give them what they wanted, they likely would return the favor.
Isaac went back to staring at the girl with curls as golden as his own, and I hung on his words. The auditions had begun, but I hadn’t seen anyone go in and out during the ten minutes I’d been sitting.
Dread was cold and bitter and it seeped into my limbs. My stomach was tight, and all of my joints felt like they would crack under the weight of my deception. It affirmed that I was going to be here for hours.
If only I would’ve brought a book.
I closed my eyes and leaned back against the wall. The air was thick with competitive tension, but it honestly didn’t matter to me what happened in that room—I just wanted to give Antonio the cufflink and leave. I was not an enemy. I was not even a rival.
Ten minutes stretched into thirty. Finally, the girl that Isaac had called Isabela strode out. She had an arrogant smile pasted on her terracotta-red lips, but there was a slight slump of her shoulders. She looked exhausted.
Though a few of the other people nodded at her as she passed, no one said a word. She was up the stairs and out of mind in a moment.
Behind her, a form stepped out into the hallway. A short petite woman with her hair pulled back into a painfully tight bun and a severe expression. She adjusted her pair of angled frames while she inspected her clipboard. “Santiago Flores Jimenez?” she called.
The man in front of me stood up. He lazily strolled forward, without responding to the woman.
“Right this way,” she said in clipped tones and gestured for him to enter the room.
A new wave of ice washed over me. Antonio wasn’t the only man in the room? I didn’t dare ask any more questions. I only needed to wait my turn.
One by one, these young Élites strolled into the room at the end of the hall. Some came out looking calm and composed, but others left dripping sweat and huffing.
A servant would come down with drinks and aperativos incrementally to ensure that we wouldn’t grow hungry.
Hardly any of the other candidates took anything other than water. I wondered if fasting helped increase their focus. From a dancing perspective, it was dangerous not to have a normal meal schedule. Eating enough was as important as exercising daily.
Maybe it had something to do with the enigmatic Blood Magic?
My imagination didn’t cease to supply all kinds of strange scenarios to explain the vastly different appearances of the candidates after their auditions. Maybe they were running laps around the room, or had them tied to a chair and repeatedly cut along their arms and wrists so that they would be forced to use their Blood Magic?
I didn’t like thinking about Blood Magic.
My original plan was to go in, apologize for any inconvenience, give Antonio his cufflink and run back to the theater.
But now… if they actually made me test, they would see the magic that ran through my veins. Magic I wasn’t supposed to have.
Not for the first time in my life, I wondered why the hell I had it. The Élite were a blessed, elevated group of people.
It hit me while I watched their faces.
Some of the people who had been sitting around me today wouldn’t be alive in six months after the Blood Tournament.
I was a sitting duck in a hunting zone, but no one knew what I was capable of. And with my ever-changing face due to my cosmetics, no one here would care enough about me to remember my face.
This was hell, but this had an end. I was sure it did. I could fake it for a little while longer.
I was strong enough to make it out of this.
