Chapter 6

Brielle froze, at a total loss for words. The Offering, he said. The Offering where each and every one of them would slaughter one another for so-called pride, honor, and rulership.

Master Vincent swiveled her to face him. As far as she was concerned, they were the only two people there. None of them mattered. Only she and her flaring anger for him did. "Why?" she whispered, putting everything in a single question. She didn't understand. Why would he subject her to such a thing?

He smiled so bright, his face was stretched and odd. The flickering light from the torches made his dark eyes glow. "You like to play, don't you little ghost?" he murmured. What little fire in her heart was extinguished with a cold bucket of water. Brielle sagged against him, and if possible, his smile grew wider as he twisted anew to the crowd. "Citizens of Sector I, I present to you again, Brielle."

It was meant to be a feast, but to Brielle, it was a death sentence. Everywhere around her, people were getting their second serving of food. She barely had her first. The large portion of chicken leg on her plate remained untouched. She couldn't bear to look at the buffet and the wide selection of dishes without blanching at the thought of it being her last meal.

"Eat," Master Vincent said. He sounded so perky, joyous, not a care in the world but the roasted meat at the end of his fork. Didn't she mean anything to him at all? Why did he want her to die so badly? There was no way she'd survive The Offering, even with Talin by her side.

And Talin? She wasn't even on the long table with them. She'd vanished after the announcement without a word to anyone. Brielle had to drag her sorry self with Master and his guards, until they came to the park where the feast was ongoing.

"I said eat."

Brielle fixed him a stare. She'd managed to keep her eyes down, trained herself to do so over the years, but what purpose did it serve now? She was a dead woman. "I'm not hungry," she said.

"Oh?" He lowered his fork and tilted his head to her. "Who am I to you, Brielle?" His voice was quiet so only she could hear.

"My father's best friend."

"Don't call me that," he hissed. Master Vincent darted a glance to his mother who was at the head of the table. She and her constituents were engaged in their own conversation, too caught up to notice. He turned back to Brielle, and in a harsher voice, said, "Who am I?" There was an implication underneath. She'd be sorry if she answered wrong. Was the additional burden worth it?

"My master," she said.

His face relaxed. "You'd do well to remember your place next time. People will say that I haven't been educating you well." He took his fork. "As your master, I command you to eat, so eat."

She scrunched her nose. Her place wasn't a slave years ago. He should also remember that. Before her father was gone, she was well-respected and loved, not treated like a dog.

She shook her head and sighed. That time felt so long ago, it might not have existed outside her imagination. As everyone was required to have a function in society, and her father was more or less labeled an outcast by the government, her social standing diminished from the rich to a lowly slave.

Thinking about this, Brielle's appetite lessened to zero. If she disliked eating earlier, she found it intolerable now.

"May we honor the president with a short performance?" a man said.

Brielle tore her eyes from the master to the person who spoke. While she and Master Vincent were arguing, some of the guests had made their way to the main table where the president, along with Brielle, were seated. Her mood lightened considerably. They were still wearing their masks so no one could see their faces, but her curiosity of them were still there.

"What kind of performance?" Master Vincent said. He liked to be informed with things, even when they weren't official business.

The man who spoke gave a slight bow. "Something you haven't seen before." His accent was heavy, though he had a good command of Brielle's own language. His shoulders were broad, and it was noticeable that he'd tower over them in height even if everyone in the table stood. The rest of his body was hidden beneath the orange ankle-length robe he was wearing.

He was a warrior, Brielle assumed. Someone trained. Someone like Talin. She thought of her would-be partner and felt her heart pick up speed. There were many things she was worried about. That kind of beauty shouldn't be one of them. She drowned the thought by drinking water from the glass. It traveled smoothly down her throat, cooling her insides.

"Go on," Master Vincent spoke for all of them. "Give us your best performance. Show us what the people of Sector II can do."

Interesting. So he was from the II. Countries of the New World didn't have a formal name. They operated by numbers. The 22 of them would be arranged according to the winners of The Offering. Die first, and your country would be Sector XXII. Be the last one standing, and be named Sector I. The numbering system was arranged every hundredth years, but so far, Brielle's country had always been Sector I. The small-eyed men were always a close II.

"With pleasure," the guest said. He took another bow before he stepped back to the rest of his team. Someone handed him a rope with two bulbs on each end. With a flourish of his fingers, the bulbs ignited in flames.

"A poi dancer," the president remarked.

Brielle didn't know what a poi dancer was or what a poi meant in general. All she knew was that her jaw hit the ground when the foreigner started twirling the rope. It was a dragon. No, a snake. The poi was like a ring of fire, circling around in a splendid blaze.

She was impressed for a total of two minutes before an awful thought sank on her head. The guest was a warrior wasn't he? If she put two and two together, that would mean that he could be entering The Offering with them. She was looking at her future killer. The realization made her seek his eyes, the only things seen behind his mask.

He was already gazing back, the reflection on the two orbs orange due to the flame of his rope. The edge of his eyes crinkled as he squinted at her.

Brielle was disarmed, sickened. It was as though he was giving her a silent laugh. She was standing on her feet before she noticed what she was up to.

The master glanced up to her. "What do you think you're doing?"

She vomited the words that first came to mind. "The red ribbon. I think I left it on the plaza."

"Well go and get it. That's a particularly expensive ribbon." He turned back to the performance, his lips pursed. "The embarrassment you put me through."

Brielle ignored his low rumblings and slipped out of the table altogether. She wanted to get far away from the master, the food, the guests and their warriors.

She turned her head to them when she was a few distance ahead. The fire dancer was still gazing at her.

The city square was unlike what she witnessed earlier. It was quiet, cold, and empty, save for a ghost. Her. Brielle was thankful that the torches that formed a semi-arc near the podium was still lit with flames. She didn't need a candle or a super vision to find her way back to the seat that they occupied before.

The ribbon was right where she neglected it, beneath the seat. She grabbed it with a trembling hand and bit her bottom lip.

She could end it right now. She could tie it like a noose on a tree or platform somewhere and hang herself. It would save her, and everyone the trouble. The only people who'd be bothered were the slaves who had to get her corpse down and bury her in the musty, dank soil where she belonged.

She slowly released her breath and contemplated. Was that the kind of legend she wanted to leave behind? Was she such a cowardly girl that she was thinking of taking the easy way out? Brielle's grip tightened on the ribbon. Didn't she promise herself that no matter what, she'd find out what happened to her father first? She had to do that at all cost. She couldn't back down on her own beliefs.

If anything, The Offering was an opportunity. This chance was what she was waiting for in eight years, wasn't it? If she won, if she and Talin came out of this alive, she'd be free from her master's servitude. She could do what she wanted. The search for her father's whereabouts, or his grave if she wanted closure, wasn't impossible anymore.

A calm settled on her chest. She was not allowed to die, here, now, tomorrow. She was going to survive. The ghost was going to win.

"Why aren't you in the party?" someone spoke.

Brielle jumped in surprise. She thought she'd been alone. No traces of footsteps indicated that another person was in the vicinity.

Talin was a short distance from her when she turned, regarding her silently with her arms crossed. She was still as breathtaking as when the announcement was made, as if prettiness could be snatched away in those few minutes they haven't seen each other. "Why aren't you in the party?" the woman asked again.

Brielle thought quickly and raised her hand to show the ribbon. "I. . . I left this."

Talin dropped her hands and began to walk in her direction. "Does anyone know that you're here?"

It was simple question. In some cases, it was meant to be a conversation starter, a way to get two people acquainted. So why did it unsettle her to a degree? It was off-putting coming from Talin's plump lips, kind of what killers on her father's books would say before they murdered their victims. She brushed the odd feeling away. Talin wouldn't harm her, even with all the bad rumors. They were partners, sodales.

Brielle swallowed at the last term. It meant that they were going to be soulmates, forced to take a vow that was stronger than the bonds of marriage.

"I've informed Master Vincent that I'm coming here," she finally said.

Talin stopped inches from her and stared down with emerald-colored eyes. They were glorious than jewelry, wide and almond-shaped. They could have held so much promise in them if used to charm another person, not cut someone like diamonds. Hers were the eyes of the dispassionate; cold, piercing, and calculating.

Looking at her with such closeness, Brielle was plagued with second thoughts about being her sodales. She was having second thoughts about being here at all. Her instinct was telling her to run from this strange girl with strange unfeeling eyes.

As if sensing her discomfort, Talin leaned to her. "Too bad your master knows," she whispered. "That would make it so much harder for me to dispose you."