Page 47 of Powerless

Tealah smiles and nods, clearly happy to go do something. I watch as she climbs the steps out of the Pit and begins walking down the rows of people, smiling and waving as she goes. After a few minutes of contemplation, she finally points to a young girl seated a few rows above. The poor girl looks concerningly confused but cautiously stands before making her way down into the Pit, guided by Tealah.

When she approaches me wearily, I realize she can’t be much older than I am. Her short brown hair paired with the freckles splattering her face grant her a constant look of innocence. I smile and reach out to take her hands, wanting to make a show of this.

“Don’t worry. I won’t bite,” I say softly when she takes a slight step back. I offer her what I hope is a warm smile, and with that, she slowly holds her tan hands out to me. Grasping them gently in my own, I quickly observe her before squeezing my eyes shut.

I have everything I need.

I think of the tarnished chain around her neck, paired with the faded, large ring hanging from it that was just barely visible behind the folds of her shirt. I’d kept my father’s ring after he died too, only I wear mine on my thumb. “I’m sensing...grief. You,” I squeeze her warm hands, taking a deep breath, “you lost a man that was very close to you. A while ago. Your father?”

I open my eyes to see her mouth hanging open. “Yes,” she says quietly, even with Tealah’s hand on her shoulder to amplify her voice. “Yes, he died four years ago.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss. I know what it is like to lose a father.” I keep my eyes locked on hers, though I desperately want to glare up at the king in his shiny box.

A collective gasp echoes through the crowd, amazed that I could know such a personal detail.

And they want more.

Tealah selects person after person to come down into the Pit, each one more excited to bereadthan the last. I spout random and personal things about them, things that a stranger shouldn’t know.

“You just found out you are pregnant—”

“Your father is a blacksmith—”

“You stole the shoes you’re wearing—”

Every time, both the person I read and the crowd above us are in awe. They gasp, clap, and cheer—a completely captivated audience.

Plagues, if I knew people liked this so much, I would have charged for readings on the street.

A lanky young man now stands before me, a grin lighting up his face as he stares down expectantly. Closing my eyes, I recall the faint ring of dirt clinging to the right knee of his pants as he walked towards me. That, combined with the subtle outline of a small box in his coat pocket and the happy glow on his face, I come to my conclusion in a matter of seconds.

“I’m sensing joy. Because...” I release one of his hands to press my fingers to my temple. “You just got engaged. Today.” I open my eyes just in time to see his mouth fall open.

“Yes! She’s right! I just proposed less than two hours ago!” He spins to face the crowd, a wide smile on his face as the audience goes wild.

“Congratulations!” My shout is swallowed by the cheering crowd as he practically skips up the stairs to return to his seat. With that, I spin on my heel and head back to my chair, not waiting for another person to come striding down for me to read.

“Here,” Tealah sweeps an arm behind her, gesturing to us, “are your contestants for the sixth ever Purging Trials!” Her voice echoes across the stadium only to be quickly drowned out by the crowd.

The contestants around me stand, and I do the same. We wave and smile at the crowd, watching as they chant, stomp, and pump their fists in the air.

I feel sick.

I feel used.

This is all a game to them.

But if I want to stay alive, I have to play my part. I have to playthem. Being a pawn in their game is the price I have to pay to survive. Make them believe I like this, and in turn, they will like me.

So I straighten, holding my head a little higher as I smile a little brighter.

I am no one’s pawn.

ChapterSixteen

Kai

Blood clings to my hands,my clothes, staining everything a sickening red. Torturing tends to be a messy occupation, and despite how many years of practice I’ve had, it never seems to get any easier. Or cleaner.

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