–1. Litatio

litātiō ~ōnis, f.

1. a successful sacrifice

Rain is too late to catch Synali leaving the tourney hall, the crowd crushing in tight as security helps her into her hovercarriage. Green-One hasn’t answered any of Rain’s pings, the questions scrolling long and blue before his eyes on the steps of the hall.

VIOLET-FIVE: Did you know the whole time, Green?

VIOLET-FIVE: Answer me.

VIOLET-FIVE: Who are you working for? Because I know it’s not for the good of the Web anymore.

VIOLET-FIVE: It was a lie! You LIED to me. You manipulated me.

He has never held more anger in his heart than now—not even when Violet-Two died, not even when Father died. No answer. Of course there isn’t one—he automatically sent Green-One the pictures of the Lithroi man’s plans. And that’s the only thing Green needed from him. That’s what all of this was for—not to protect, not to prevent, not to avenge, but to play the same game he so despised. Rain’s head throbs, the dust and the lack of it twisting his insides into knots, and he staggers into a couple who stagger back into him, shoving, hard marble on his back as he collapses to the ground.

And then, finally, an answer.

GREEN-ONE: You chose to spare that Synali girl months ago, not I. You put this terrible plan in motion. Everyone who died—the Endurance, Theta-7, every one of our family members—was because of you. Your mercy. Your moment of weakness killed them all.

His fingers twitch, shaking leather glove over hologram.

VIOLET-FIVE: Who do you work for?

GREEN-ONE: Did you truly think yourself the only Spider who was carrying out a noble House’s contract? You think yourself the only one chosen? The only one ordained with a more concrete purpose?

This is not Green-One. This is someone more verbose, more cruel. He has changed, or perhaps Rain has never known him at all, and he can feel it behind his lungs—the breathless grip of unconsciousness, chest caving, his body reaching its last twisted line.

VIOLET-FIVE: Who, brother?

GREEN-ONE: I have told the recluses. They are coming for you.

The blinking cursor. The rollicking crowd. Rain’s eyes slide, fade, and blur, trying to catch the next words.

GREEN-ONE: House Ressinimus.

The king. All this time, Green-One was the king’s assassin?

The world spins, and he staggers through the crowd, away, somewhere to hide. Rain does not see her anymore. He cannot see anything anymore—not even the artificial sky.

But on a nearby rooftop, through the scope of a sapphire-studded sniper rifle trained on the tourney hall doors, someone sees him.