Page 43 of Spiders in the Grove

No… He’s going to kill them both, right there on the stage; he’s going to set an example with Naeva who ran away, and Leo who they say ‘stole’ her from them.

“I’m so sorry, Leo,” Naeva cries.

“Don’t be sorry—don’t you ever be sorry,” he tells her.

Joaquin and the guard holding Naeva nod at one another, and the guard raises a gun to Naeva’s head.

No…

My eyes dart around the room frantically. What am I looking for? Someone to burst in here any second and save them? And although I know that’s not going to happen, I look anyway, desperately hoping that I’m wrong. And in the small fraction of a moment that feels longer than it is, I see Dante leaning forward, his hands braced upon his knees, and he’s vomiting onto the floor. I see Frances Lockhart…she’s walking, almost sprinting, toward the stage. Stop, Frances! Don’t do it! Don’t do it, or you’ll die with them! And I feel Sabine’s hands gripping my leg; the tips of her fingers digging into my skin.

The guard cocks the gun, and in slow-motion I see his finger sliding toward the trigger; I see Naeva’s eyes closing, tears streaming down her face. I see Joaquin’s finger dancing on the trigger of the gun pointed at Leo; I see Leo’s eyes wide open, unafraid; he’s trying to console Naeva; his lips are moving, but I cannot make out the words. I love you always, Naeva. Through life, and in death, I love you. Those are the words I imagine him saying; those are the words his beautiful face reads.

“STOOOOOP!!!”

My voice carries stridently over the crowd like the aftershock of a whip, and every eye in the room is on me.

Izabel

“Stop,” I repeat, calmer, but with resolve.

“What the fuck are you doing, Lydia?” Cesara hisses behind me.

Ignoring her, I make my way toward the stage, and the crowd parts for me. Sabine tries to follow, but I push her back with my hand.

Naeva’s eyes follow me, but they’re all she dares to move. I look at her once, briefly, long enough to let her know that I refuse to let them die.

Joaquin’s grinning face follows me all the way to the table where Iosif Veselov stands. For one moment, I look right at Iosif; one look into his eyes, and it will tell me what I need to know. He sees me, and there it is—the unreadable tyrant who came here knows me. He knows exactly who I am. But he remains quiet—and I hope he stays that way.

Looking away from the man I believe to be Vonnegut, I turn my attention to the second most important matter now that I’ve accomplished the first.

“Is there something you need, Miss Delacourt?” Joaquin asks me.

“I need you to let me have them both,” I say, and Joaquin laughs, and so does the crowd as he looks out at them all with a comical expression of disbelief.

“And why in actual fuck would I do that for you?” Joaquin says.

“Because I believe they’re both worth more alive than dead.”

“Oh, that’s what you believe, is it?” He smiles crookedly, and presses the gun against the side of Leo’s head. “Well, I happen to disagree. Moreno is an out-of-style fashion, and he’s worth about as much as you are”—he smirks, satisfied he could get back at me publicly for denying him—“and the girl…well, she’s worth absolutely nothing, like most women.”

A few heads in the crowd—of the female sort—look up at Joaquin, offended, but it’s not enough to shake him.

“Let me prove otherwise,” I offer. “Give them to me, and give me one week—”

“Fuck you,” Joaquin snaps, cutting me off. “I promised the crowd retribution, not mercy. Isn’t that right?!” He looks out at the audience, and they clap and nod and urge him to do what he promised.

“Joaquin—don’t.” I’m getting desperate; I feel like I know there’s no role I can play, no excuse I can come up with that will save their lives. “I’m…” I take a deep, nervous breath. “…I’m asking you to spare them.”

Something clicks in his eyes; he peers down at me. And then he laughs, and looks for Cesara in the crowd. “This is what you trained?” he accuses. “This is your ‘special find’? What a joke, Cesara! Well, guess what? Guess who will pay for her fuck-ups?”

Cesara comes up behind me; she grabs my elbow. “What the hell is your problem? You can’t do this here, in front of all these people,” she whispers, her fingernails digging into me. “I’ll deal with her now,” she tells Joaquin, and tries to drag me away.

Snatching my arm from her grasp, I shoot her with a look. “I’m not going anywhere,” I say. “And if they die, I will never forgive you, Cesara.”

She stands shell-shocked, her eyes blinking rapidly, her lips parted.

“So, you do care for that girl,” she says, growing angry and jealous, and feeling more betrayed by the second. “You lied to me; all this time you’ve been lying to me—about everything!”

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