Red Queen
Page 24

I’ve been so preoccupied with the trials that I almost don’t notice when it’s my turn to serve again. Before anyone can nudge me in the right direction, I set off to the right box, barely hearing the Samos patriarch speak alone. “Magnetron,” I think he says, but I have no idea what it means.
I move through the narrow corridors that were once open walkways, down to the Silvers requiring service. The box is at the bottom but I’m quick and take almost no time getting down to them. I find a particularly fat clan dressed in garish yellow silk and awful feathers, all enjoying a massive cake. Plates and empty cups litter the box and I get to work cleaning them up, my hands quick and practiced. A video screen blares inside the box, displaying Evangeline, who seems to be standing still down on the floor.
“What a farce this is,” one of the fat yellow birds grumbles as he stuffs his face. “The Samos girl has already won.”
Strange. She seems to be the weakest of all.
I pile the plates, but keep my eyes on the screen, watching her prowl across the wasted floor. It doesn’t seem like there’s anything for her to work with, to show what she can do, but she doesn’t seem to mind. Her smirk is terrible, like she’s totally convinced of her own magnificence. She doesn’t look magnificent to me.
Then the iron studs on her jacket move. They float in the air, each one a hard round bullet of metal. Then, like shots from a gun, they rocket away from Evangeline, digging into the dust and the walls and even the lightning shield.
She can control metal.
Several boxes applaud for her, but she’s far from finished. Groans and clanks echo up to us from somewhere deep down in the structure of the Spiral Garden. Even the fat family stops eating to look around, perplexed. They are confused and intrigued, but I can feel the vibrations deep beneath my feet. I know to be afraid.
With an earth-shattering noise, metal pipes splinter the floor of the arena, rising up from far below. They burst through the walls, surrounding Evangeline in a twisted crown of gray and silver metal. She looks like she’s laughing, but the deafening crunch of metal drowns her out. Sparks fall from the lightning shield and she protects herself with scrap, not even breaking a sweat. Finally she lets the metal drop with a horrible smash. She turns her eyes skyward, to the boxes above. Her mouth is open wide, showing sharp little teeth. She looks hungry.
It starts slowly, a slight change in balance, until the whole box lurches. Plates crash to the floor and glass cups roll forward, tumbling over the rail to shatter on the lightning shield. Evangeline is pulling our box out, bending it forward, making us tip. The Silvers around me squawk and scrabble, their applause turning to panic. They’re not the only ones—every box in our row moves with us. Far below, Evangeline directs with a hand, her brow furrowed in focus. Like Silver fighters in the ring, she wants to show the world what she’s made of.
That is the thought in my head as a yellow ball of skin and feathered clothing knocks into me, pitching me over the rail with the rest of the silverware.
All I see is purple as I fall, the lightning shield rising up to meet me. It hisses with electricity, singeing the air. I barely have time to understand, but I know the veined purple glass will cook me alive, electrocuting me in my red uniform. I bet the Silvers will only care about waiting for someone to clean me off.
My head bangs against the shield and I see stars. No, not stars. Sparks. The shield does its job, lighting me up with bolts of electricity. My uniform burns, scorched and smoking, and I expect to see my skin do the same. My corpse will smell wonderful. But, somehow, I don’t feel a thing. I must be in so much pain that I cannot feel it.
But—I can feel it. I feel the heat of the sparks, running up and down my body, setting every nerve on fire. It isn’t a bad feeling though. In fact I feel, well, alive. Like I’ve been living my whole life blind and now I’ve opened my eyes. Something moves beneath my skin, but it’s not the sparks. I look at my hands, my arms, marveling at the lightning as it glides over me. Cloth burns away, charred black by the heat, but my skin doesn’t change. The shield keeps trying to kill me, but it can’t.
Everything is wrong.
I am alive.
The shield gives off a black smoke, starting to splinter and crack. The sparks are brighter, angrier, but weakening. I try to push myself up, to get to my feet, but the shield shatters beneath me and I fall again, tumbling over myself.
Somehow I manage to land in a pile of dust not covered by jagged metal. Definitely bruised and weak in the muscles, but still in one piece. My uniform is not so lucky, barely holding together in a charred mess.