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They were ugly, and bloody tournaments.
But, in Arrebol, a bloody scene didn’t always mean death; it often meant magic. Some countries held elections to allow their people equal voice. We watched the tournaments for entertainment, and bet on the winners.
It was a conscious effort to block them out year after year. The excitement of watching people I would never meet ended quickly after Antonio Castillas’ champion tour four years ago. While giving his speech, a series of bombs made by a fringe-group had destroyed our hometown, Puerto Dolores, killing one of my friends and forcing Magda and I to flee to Casas Grandes.
I had no joy in observing young Élites turn into wild creatures to keep their social status. Brutality was hard for me to stomach.
The face of Pablo hovered in my vision, endlessly lurking in my thoughts and pouncing on any opportunity to haunt me. I always let him because I was the reason he was dead. He was in the square because I had asked him to take a letter to Antonio Castillas professing my version of love.
Pablo was killed.
Having been so lost in my thoughts, the powder in my hands dropped onto the desk. I was fighting back tears.
“Are you all right?” Magda asked. I was transported back to the present.
I gritted my teeth and looked at her in the mirror.
“Antonio Castillas will watch me dance tonight.”
A smile spread over her face. “And what a wonderful night he will have.”
Her words didn’t help.
“Yes.” My eyes dropped back down to the table. Though I had been careful not to eat too much, all the contents of my stomach soured. It was easier to focus on the now, on dancing in front of one of the most beloved champions since the Third Age had begun.
Maybe I should pick a different dress.I looked behind me at the rack of my other costumes.
“Are you nervous, Carmen?” Meli asked.
I shook my head, but Maestra Cecelia came over beside me and grabbed my face. She sandwiched my cheeks between her palms. “You look down for no one. Listen to me. Believe me. You earned first spot. You are beautiful—easily the best dancer I’ve ever seen.”
I let out a choppy breath. “You say that, but you always seem to put more makeup on me than the others.” Pablo’s face retreated to the recesses of my mind.
She grinned, but didn’t deny what I’d said. “Go get checked, mija.”
I felt better. She never lied to me, which meant I could trust her. Something like affection fluttered in my stomach because Maestra Cecelia was a good leader.
Chapter3
Blinding Gold Lights
“Have you noticed aching in your shins?” The Médica, dressed in a sterile white uniform, stood in front of me. She wore a mask and a transparent glass face covering and thick black rubber gloves in case one of us was infected with the Withering.
I sat on a table covered in brown paper wearing nothing but my underwear. I let out a long breath, trying not to panic. “No.”
The woman didn’t even look up at me when I responded. I hated Médicos—they were useless. My scrutiny turned to the wall behind her where there were two large boxes containing a month’s supply of preventative pills. They were handed out daily to staunch the rapid spread of the virus.
It was strange that they were still there. Maestra Cecelia must’ve been in a mood? Or maybe the Médica had been late?
“Do you find yourself short of breath while dancing?”
“No.” I fidgeted with the nude-colored stockings that Maestra Cecelia had thrown at me to put on after the scene with Aurora. They mostly covered my scar, but I didn’t like how tight they were. After looking up at the flickering digital clock on the wall, my fists curled. I was the last one in line, and I would need to run to beat the curtain.
The Médica scribbled on a notebook while a full minute passed. Still, she did not look at me.
I cleared my throat. My hands were so cold, and my stomach was flipping over. I tapped my foot against the wooden floor.
She’s only here to make sure we don’t spread the sickness,I reminded myself. But I couldn’t calm my racing heart.
