by ERIN BEDFORD
She grabbed my hands with a giggle. “Oh, Clarabelle you are just going to love it. The dresses, the food...oh,” she skipped in place making me jiggle, “and the ball! It’ll be so much fun. I only wish I had been invited but you know the youngest child never gets invited.” Her lip curled out and her gaze dropped.
I sighed and ran a hand through my hair. “So, what exactly am I getting into? Just going to some party? I don’t see how that’s such a big deal.”
The three looks of utter abhorrence came my way so suddenly, I had to take a step back. Maybe it was more of a bigger deal than I had thought.
“The big deal,” Belinda snapped, “is that this could change our lives forever. Not only would you get to live the life of luxury high up in the capital for the rest of your days but we,” she gestured around to the three of them, “will never have to work another day in our lives. Julianna and Lea will be able to marry,” Lea made a disgusted noise causing Belinda to add, “or not. Whatever they want to do and all from you going to one little party.” She held the invitation out to me with an eager grin.
I took the envelope from her with a hesitant hand. Flipping it over in my hand, I gave her a small unsure smile before putting my fingers on the wax seal. I almost opened it but then stopped at a thought. “I really should wait until my father gets home and find out what he thinks of all this.”
“No!” Belinda and Julianna shouted at the same time but then Belinda glared at her daughter. Julianna’s lips pressed tightly together and she stared down at the floor. Belinda stepped toward and placed her hands on my shoulders.
“Look, your father won’t be home until tomorrow and this is a twenty-four-hour invitation. You can’t just wait until he comes home, it’ll be too late by then.”
Her explanation made me frown. A twenty-four-hour window? What did the Crimson Fold have up their sleeves? The thought of going to this thing seemed more and more like a bad idea.
I pulled away from her grasp, turning my back to them. Marsha’s words from earlier filled my head. He had said I had a fifty-fifty chance of being picked and I shouldn’t worry. The way he had made it sound had been like being invited was a good thing and even my stepfamily thought I should be happy about it. Julianna sure seemed pissed I’d gotten the invite over her but why should I worry about being invited? And why had Belinda been so relieved for me to receive it instead of her daughter?
There were so many questions and yet no time to figure out what exactly I would be getting into. The smart thing would be to wait until my father arrived home. He would know what to do and I trusted him not to lie to me. Not like Belinda might.
Turning back to their anxious faces, I said, “I’m going to wait for my father.”
Lea and Julianna blew up, arguing over each other and then turning to their mother when I didn’t respond in kind. Belinda though, had become unusually calm, not blowing her top they she did when I dragged mud onto the carpet.
She waved her daughters off and they instantly quieted like the good little drones they were. Her gaze leveled on me with a careful expression as if she were afraid to show me too much. “I understand how you feel, Clarabelle.”
“You do?” I cocked a brow, not believing her for a second.
“Of course, I do.” She was trying to console me. It wasn’t working. “You’ve been taken away from your home, put into a house you don’t know with people you just met. You have no reason to trust us or our ways, but believe me when I tell you, this isn’t something you want to trifle with. You don’t want to anger them.”
“Why?” I countered. “What would they do if I don’t go?”
Before my stepmother could answer Julianna rushed to my side and grabbed me by the arm. Her nails dug into my skin as she shrieked, “We’ll be outcasts, that’s what! Pariahs. Forget having a choice in spouses, we’d be lucky to have food on our table.”
I pulled my arm away from her, forcing myself not to wince. She’d probably left marks from the sharp pincers she called nails. Turning away from Julianna—who tended to over exaggerate—I looked to my stepmother. The glare of disapproval on her face gave me hope it wouldn’t be as bad as Julianna had said.
“While not exactly the delivery I would have approved of,” Belinda pushed her eldest daughter behind her with a frown, “my daughter is right.”
Crap.
“If you don’t go,” she said calmly, “we won’t only be shunned by the people but we will be forced from our home, forced to move to another ring.” Her nose wrinkled in disgust before she sighed. “Basically, our lives will be changed forever no matter your decision.”
I had no pity for her or her daughters. They had been living in the luxury here in the Inner Circle. Part of me wanted to be petty and say they deserved whatever they got but I knew my father wouldn’t like that. I remembered what he said to me when he told me we were moving to the Inner Circle.
“I want you to have everything I could never give you here, Clara.” He’d cupped my face, giving me a smile.
“But I don’t need anything else,” I’d tried to argue with him, tears in my eyes. I hadn’t understood why he’d thought he needed to uproot me from my home to live with strangers. Sure, I didn’t have many friends in the Glade but at least it was home, not like the cold house of my new step-family.
When I’d arrived in the Inner Circle, I’d realized what my father had meant. They had so much more than we would ever have. I’d never have to worry about going hungry or having threadbare clothing. But I’d give it all up to go back home to our tiny house in the Glade. Where my mother had hung sunflower-printed curtains in the kitchen, and where she had died from pneumonia the following winter.
Thinking of my mother made me realize something. I didn’t want my stepfamily to move to the Glade. To have them there, in the house in which my mother had lived, would be to taint everything I loved about it. Unfortunately, the only way to make sure that didn’t happen was to accept the invitation and go to the ball.
“Fine,” I sighed in defeat. “I’ll go.”
Lea and Julianna cheered and clapped their hands, while their mother let out a relieved breath and then nodded toward the envelope. “Then you should open the invitation right away.”
“Why does it matter if I open it now or not?” I stared back down at the object in question.
“Because once you open it, they will know you have accepted.” I didn’t like the mysterious tone to her voice; I didn’t like mysteries. Things in life should be simple: you work, you eat, you die. Fancy envelopes with strange powers were not something I wanted in my life.
Already regretting my decision to go, I grasped the wax seal between my thumb and forefinger and pulled. Pain instantly radiated through my finger. I jerked it back quickly popping it into my mouth. Coppery blood filled my mouth and my gaze shot back to the seal. There inside sat the tiny pin that had pricked my finger.
What kind of person would do such a thing? But then again, what kind of people invite a bunch of strangers to their home for a party with lethal consequences if you declined.
Self-important people, that’s who.
Once my finger stopped bleeding, I reached into the envelope careful of any other surprises. Inside, sat an off-white rectangle with curly blood-red writing on it.
Clarabelle Feldson, you have been cordially invited to attend Alban’s annual Election Ceremony. In the next 48 hours transportation will be provided to bring you to the Core. There you shall be provided with every item you would possibly need until your place has been decided.
Thank you for your contribution to Alban.
It was signed ‘The Crimson Fold’ and stamped with a miniature version of their signa.
My heart raced as I realized what this meant. My father wouldn’t be home in time to see me off. He wouldn’t even know why I wasn’t home unless Belinda told him, and I bet she knew this.
Rage swept through me and I crumbled the invitation in my hand. “You knew about this, didn’t you
?” I pointed at my stepmother, my fingers still gripping the crushed paper.
“Whatever do you mean?” She placed her hand on her chest, an innocent expression on her face.
I didn’t believe it for one second. “They’ll be here to collect me before father ever gets home. So, I wouldn’t have a chance to change my mind or even talk to him about it.”
Belinda shrugged, not bothering to deny it. “We don’t question their rules, just obey them. You’d know that if you had grown up here and not...well, where you did.”
“Well, I have news for you,” I snarled. “I’m not going.” I tossed the envelope and the destroyed invitation at her feet before stomping away.
As I marched up the stairs, Belinda called out to me, “It doesn’t matter now, you’ve already accepted. They’ll take you now, whether you want to go or not.”
For some reason, her words didn’t make me any madder than Marsha’s his cryptic reassurances did. Fifty-fifty my butt. As far as I was concerned, those odds had never been in my favor.
Chapter 3
I didn’t leave my room for the rest of the evening. My anger filled my stomach allowing me to miss dinner without much of a thought.
Not like I hadn’t been to bed hungry before. Once, when the harvest hadn’t been good my father and I had lived off broth for weeks. If it could be called broth; not much more than water, a few chicken bones, and some herbs from the garden. Those nights I had been so hungry I’d have eaten grass if I hadn’t already known it would just make me throw up the little food I already had in my stomach.
It was all their fault. I sat on my bed and glared out the window at the semi-dark sky toward the looming building. My bedroom faced toward the Core so that I could see the castle in the center.
I’d never given them much thought before. The Crimson Fold—or whoever they really were—didn’t bother with us in the Glade. We only grew and harvested the food the whole of Alban ate. Nurtured and slaughtered the meat sent to each area, the majority of it to the Core, another portion to the soft hands, and an even smaller portion to the moles. In the Glade, we were lucky to get whatever was left over.
One would think those creating the food would get most it, but no. We weren’t important enough. Our lives didn’t matter. Hell, we hadn’t mattered enough to know about Election Day, other than a whisper here or there. They probably didn’t want a worn-down barely fed contestant. Well, I had news for them.
A small smile touched my lips as I imagined what they would think when they realized they had invited the wrong daughter. Sure, I had filled out a bit since I’d moved to the Inner Circle, but a few months here wouldn’t get rid of years’ worth of working in the fields. My hands would never be soft and dainty. My skin would always be speckled with sunspots from hours out of the shade. No, I certainly didn’t look like any of the sheltered children of the Inner Circle.
I didn’t think like them either.
What would they do when they realized I wouldn’t play along? I don’t know the right silverware to use or how to act at a fancy event. I’d only ever worn a dress once and that had been at my mother’s funeral. Even then it had only been for a few minutes before we had to go back to the fields. The crop doesn’t wait just because your mother died.
I’d been grateful then for the distraction. As I’d dug into the earth, I’d shoved all my hurt and anger into it. No child should have to bury their parent and I didn’t blame the sickness at the time. I blamed the Core. It had been their fault we hadn’t had enough food half the time. They took and took and never gave us anything in return. If we’d lived in the Inner Circle, my mother—beautiful and kind—could have gotten the medicine she’d needed to survive.
The coppery taste of blood pulled me out of my thoughts and I winced; in my anguish I had bitten into my cheek, a bad habit I had yet to figure out how to break.
Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath and counted very slowly down from ten. When I reached zero I let out all the air and opened my eyes. The castle still stood there as if laughing haughtily at me, but I felt better. More stable.
I’d been tricked into this but I wouldn’t let it rule me. I’d go to their party and show them I wasn’t someone to trifle with. And who knew, maybe I’d get to meet our mysterious leader—Patrick Blordril—the third leader of Alban since its creation. Maybe he could tell me why people starve in the other rings while he and the Soft Hands had more than enough food to feed everyone twice over.
I lay down on my bed, tossing and turning to find a comfortable position. Pulling the pillow out from under my head, I flung it to the ground. Without the pillow, I could pretend the bed I slept in belonged back home, but even then it felt like a trick. The bed—like the pillow—too soft to really be from home.
Eventually, I fell into a restless slumber, my mind filled with blood, filled envelopes and laughing masked faces. They chased me down long corridors, wanting me to eat from trays of food covered with fingers and toes. I woke from the dream screaming while the sun beamed down on my face.
I jumped at the pounding at the door, and I scanned the room like a frightened rabbit. My heartbeat began to slow as I realized I wasn’t dreaming anymore and that the banging sound was just someone knocking on the front door.
Slipping from the bed, I glanced at the clock. After eleven! I’d never slept so long in my life. Most of the day had already gone and that meant the knocking at the door might mean they’d come to collect me.
I paused at my bedroom door no longer wanting to answer it. Maybe if no one came to the door they would turn around and leave without me? As I thought it, I knew it was a foolish wish. Even more so when Missy answered the door with her usual cheer, “’Ello!”
The muffled voice responding to her sounded familiar but I couldn’t place it. My hand went to my doorknob and as I was about to twist the lock into place, Missy called out, “Clarabelle, the butcher boy is here to see you!”
The butcher boy?
Instead of locking the door, I opened it and raced to the edge of the stairs. There stood Marsha, a grim expression on his face. When he saw me coming down the stairs it didn’t lighten much either.
“Marsha,” I said as I landed before him. “What are you doing here?”
He didn’t answer at first, his hands twisting in his apron. He was still dressed in the white shirt and tan pants he normally wore to work, his apron tied over it. Blood-spatter colored the pristine white material and my mind instantly went to yesterday’s invitation.
“You heard, didn’t you,” I asked, not elaborating more than that. Why else would he show up on my doorstep unannounced?
“I’m so sorry, Clara.” He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He truly seemed in anguish from the whole thing.
“It’s not your fault.” I shook my head, not sure why he was apologizing. “You couldn’t have known I would be the one.”
“But I’m the one who said you wouldn’t be picked.” He stamped his foot in frustration and his shoe left a scuff on the tile, earning him a glare from Missy. “If I hadn’t said anything about it then you wouldn’t have been chosen and it would be Julianna who would be going to this thing and not you.”
I sent Missy a look, asking her to give me a minute. The older woman gave me a displeased frown before stomping away toward the kitchen. When she was gone and out of earshot, I moved closer to Marsha.
“Hey,” I said in a soothing tone and placed my hand on his arm. “The invitations were already decided on before you even said anything to me. There’s no way your comment would have caused them to change who they were going to pick.”
“Couldn’t it?” he shot back. “They’re able to tell if you open the damn thing with just a prick of your finger!” He held up his own hand, showing me a small wound on his finger; the same as mine.
“Wait,” I grabbed his hand and pulled it closer to inspect the wound. “You were invited too?”
Marsha shrugged. “I’m the eldest son of four, all my brothers are
under ten, I was bound to be picked this time.”
My brow furrowed at his words. “What do you mean? Why does it matter who you are?”
This time it was Marsha’s turn to be confused. “Wait, I thought you knew about the Election. You acted like it yesterday.”
I gave a guilty shrug. “I lied.”
Marsha seemed surprised, as though he’d never been lied to before. Instead of letting him question me about my ethics, I decided to do a little questioning of my own.
“So,” I crossed my arms over my chest, “since now you know I don’t know anything about this Election thing, why don’t you fill in the blanks. No one else seems to want to.”
“Did your stepmother not explain it to you? Before you opened the letter?” Marsha seemed even more amazed at their lack of cooperation than at my having lied to him. He must not get out much. Either that or people were really careful around him.
“No.” I sighed in frustration. “It seems this Election thing is a big deal for them, or whatever.” I glared down at the floor as I remembered how my stepfamily had behaved the night before. If they knew what was good for them they’d stay away from me in the immediate future. What little future I had left until they came for me anyway.
“Well, look,” Marsha glanced down at the watch on his wrist, “we don’t have much time until they come for us but I’ll do what I can to fill you in. But I’m afraid I don’t know too much myself.”
That was disheartening. If even the Soft Hands didn’t know all the details and they wanted to go then I wasn’t sure what I could expect. Nothing good for sure.
“So, I’ve gathered only kids over seventeen get invited, right?” I asked and Marsha nodded. “So, is it every family? Or only a select few? How exactly are they chosen?”
Marsha grimaced. “We don’t really know. We do know they only invite those from families with more than one child. Maybe they want to make sure the lineage carries on?”
“Maybe.” I mused. “What else? What should we expect at this party? We just dress up and hang out with the head honchos and then we all go home?”
