Chapter 3

The announcement was quick, to the point, and meant to give way to another celebration, a feast. At the president's signal, government workers who were wearing navy blue coats with embroidered eagles on their breast pockets, began ushering the crowd in the direction of another alley. Through there, they would be lead to the park where long wooden tables and mouth-watering dishes awaited.

Brielle knew all of these information by listening to the gossip of the guards stationed near them. Women liked to talk, but men weren't too far behind on the tattle.

While the crowd and workers were busy sorting things, she stayed on her seat and trained her eyes on the podium. Talin and the president had their backs to her and the master. Brielle could no longer see the defender's eyes or the repulsion reflected on them. She must have imagined things. The lights from the torches or candles must have played with her own eyes, making her think that a complete stranger despised her.

Brielle was convincing herself of this when Master Vincent jumped from his chair. Her eyebrows shot up in question. They were supposed to wait until the commotion was controlled before they leave for the feast.

"Mother," he called to the president, "A moment please." The master was followed by guards as he dashed to the podium.

She was torn between staying on her seat and going after them. Master Vincent was strict on directives. Usually, he wanted her to stay put until further notice. If only Brielle followed them to the T.

The president and Talin stopped when Master Vincent caught up with them. Brielle watched with disinterest as they started conversing among themselves. She was too far away to know what the discussion was about, and truthfully, she was more intrigued by Talin than anything else. The defender hadn't looked at her since that one instance a while ago. It made Brielle second guess if she'd really imagined things.

A guard who was passing by touched his earpiece with two fingers. "The eagle issued a new order," he said. "Don't let anyone leave the vicinity. There's going to be another announcement."

Brielle's brows knitted.

A second announcement was out of the plan. This day had been discussed months, even years prior, and no further announcements aside from the introduction of the country's defender for The Offering was on the agenda. She should know. She'd eavesdrop on the master and his guests whenever they'd visit his house to talk about official stuff.

The guards and government workers were fast to act at the command. After the order was given, Brielle could see people; the rich, the middle-class, and slaves, being trooped back to the plaza. She wasn't the only one questioning the turnaround, everyone was speaking.

"Settle down," boomed the president's voice on the speaker. Under the instruction was a strain, a weariness not only heard on her voice but seen on the lines on her face. She'd remarkably aged in those few minutes she talked to her son. The president went back to the middle of the stage. "Vincent has an announcement."

At this, Brielle had to pay more attention. She was surprised that they were deviating from the norm. Why?

Master Vincent had a small grin on his face as he took the place of his mother on the center. The happiness could stem from the self-importance of having hundreds of people willing to hear him out. It could also be from the group of women who were waving at him from the crowd.

That was one of the things Brielle couldn't stomach; how Master Vincent could be so popular. From the get-go, he was an intelligent and sensible man, but one should put into circumspect that appearances could be deceiving.

"I know you're all drooling for boiled potatoes and roasted pork," Master Vincent addressed his captivated audience. Like the president, his voice also echoed on the speaker. "But I have a different opinion than my mother's with the announcement." He started walking on the stage, gazing at the sea of faces. "We're all aware that the defender is not the only one chosen for The Offering. He or she needs a partner."

Brielle pondered where he was going with this. The Offering's rules were stated simplistically. The 22 countries were required to participate. Two people would join; one defender and a slave of her choosing. If they win, not only would the country they serve rule over the 21, the slave would also be liberated and live as a free man. At least that was what Brielle had heard. Nobody ever gave interest to the slave joining the contest. It was the defender that people were always excited about.

"It would be a shame not to introduce the defender's partner tonight," Master Vincent drawled on. "She may not be as important in status, but you have to admit that she'll be fighting for our pride and honor too."

Brielle didn't know why she glanced at Talin who was standing behind the president right then, but the timing was perfect. She saw in perfect clarity the tightening of the warrior's jaw, and how her white knuckles turned whiter as she fisted her hand. Brielle's stomach turned. To see such a beautiful creature disturbed was disturbing in itself.

"And so without further ado, I present to you, Brielle."

At the sound of her name, Brielle stopped feeling sorry for Talin and shifted her attention to Master Vincent. He was looking at her expectantly, his arms outstretched. "Join me on the stage, little ghost." Did she miss something? Why did he want her to go up there? "Come on now," he coaxed. "Don't keep us waiting." Her eyes widened, followed with the tightening of her chest.

The simple request rang in her head. Don't keep "us," or "him," waiting.

Having lost the sensation on her lower body, she stumbled out of her seat, to the short distance, to the wooden planks that would lead her up, then finally, to the podium beside her master. It was nothing more than a few steps, but her lungs had collapsed on her. Brielle didn't like standing in front of a crowd, or wonder why she was there to begin with.

Master Vincent put an arm around her shoulder as if to offer her reassurances. She felt nothing but cold and dread. She wanted to go down and cover her face, run away and never come back. Everyone was looking at her.

"Brielle has been in my care for years," Master Vincent said. "She might be a slave, but I treat her like my own daughter." He pressed her firmly to his side. "That's why I have paramount faith in her ability to survive The Offering alongside Talin."

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."