TW: references/discussion of sexual assault, violence
Year 838
Throwing that necklace through the grates was a stupid idea. It would have sold well, and then Katrine could have bought herself something that didn't stink of someone else's fingers.
Everything stank now, like sweat and musk and rotting meat. Her costumes smelled, the air in the antechamber choking. Wafts of the stench floated up and tickled her nose when she lay awake huddled under her blanket on a night off. The anticipation of their clammy hands dragging down her back sent a thousand tiny needles erupting across her skin, like rats scuttling up and down her arms, the same ones she saw zipping through alleyways when she made it back to the Mitras Company so early in the morning the sky was still inky.
Lord Julian lost interest when someone younger came along, but there were others to take his place. There were advisors and bankers and lieutenants, some not even twenty and others so old their shoulders bowed. Some were there long enough for her to learn their names and what books they kept in their palatial homes, and others vanished before she saw their faces hovering behind her closed eyes. Unlucky ballerinas left when they injured themselves or failed to fulfill Mr. Kaiser's expectations; the fortunate ones were chosen for marriage. Katrine tried not to think about what would happen when she left, too, so she distracted herself with their books and recited the words to herself when she couldn't bear the anticipation of their touch.
There were books about mountains that pierced the clouds and spit liquid fire. There were biographies of kings and grain records from ten years past. But her favorites were the ones on winged creatures, hummingbirds and swans and hawks that scraped the skies. She traced diagrams of butterflies owned by the brigadier general of the Military Police, purples and reds so vivid she thought she'd find ink staining her fingers. Some were purposefully so flamboyant that no one dared eat them. They displayed their venom and screamed not to touch them. They looked so perfect, so startling, that it was impossible to tear her eyes away.
So she stood at the barre in the antechamber before performances, glaring at her reflection in the mirror, swinging her leg back and forth to ward off conversations. The patrons, smiling and laughing and spilling their coins on the floor, had their favorites. She was determined to be no one's favorite. They looked at her with curious eyes, and though some never approached her, there was little she could do when one decided to be bold enough to speak to her. All she could do then was imagine biting his fingers off, but she never had the courage to do it. A weak strategy, but it was better than nothing.
In practice on a chilly winter morning, Katrine kept half her focus on the steps and planned where she'd go next in Mitras as she and the others hurled themselves through another rehearsal of the Firebird. Citizenship did have its perks. It allowed her to leave the Company during the day and at night if a patron requested it, and Katrine wanted to know every detail of the city. She often watched the carriages enter and exit the gates and the soldiers that greeted them. She could just walk out, but to where?
They surrounded Valeria, arms raised above her head and light illuminating her face, expressionless. There was what looked like an entire pot of rouge rubbed in her cheeks, but it wasn't enough to mask the hollows under her cheekbones and the sunken pits of her eyes. She was the only one skilled enough to play the Firebird, but Mr. Kaiser lamented that the scarlet costume made her look ghastly.
Katrine dropped to one knee and swept her arms out, waiting for Valeria to complete her grand jeté and clasp her hand. What could she do if she left? All she was good at was flying through the air and letting someone catch her and pin her down under his weight.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Valeira's toe slip out from under her. Time slowed. There were only two possibilities: for her to catch herself and they'd all shudder in relief, or the sickening thud and thick silence afterward. Katrine knew before Valeria even hit the floor it would be the latter.
Valeria must have been so light that the floor didn't vibrate when she collapsed, but Katrine still felt the faint touch of her fingers on her palm. She uttered no sound, and Katrine heard only the crack of bone and the groan of the wooden floorboards. A pool of blood trickled from her ankle, a glistening splinter protruding from her pale skin. Katrine's stomach twisted and she forced herself to look at Valeria's face. Her eyes were closed, a faint smile on her pale lips. She looked serene.
Katrine's gaze darted to Mr. Kaiser, though he had not moved. His expression was waxen. Then his eyes turned to her and she saw what could either be horror or cold calculations flashing behind them.
"Doctor, now," he said, pointing to an instructor, and grasping his cane like a baton he strode out the door.
The room erupted. Dancers shrieked and sobbed and clasped each other's hands. Someone shook Valeria's shoulder, choking on tears. Valeria made no reaction. Katrine barely heard them, frozen. Instead, Cecily's voice echoed in her head. I don't want them to see me like this.
"Stop looking!" Katrine burst to life and grabbed at random arms and shoulders, pushing the younger girls back toward the door. She found Josephine, gaping and wide-eyed, and shook her. "Help me, get them out of here!" Josephine nodded dumbly.
A slight blonde girl, too young, reached for Katrine's hand. "Will she be okay?" Her face was puffy.
Katrine bent down and wiped at her tears. "Yes, yes, of course she will." She hoped her tone was convincing.
As expected, practice resumed the next day and the bloodstain was gone. Mr. Kaiser refused to come, furious that he'd have to rework the ballet for the season. Katrine finally worked up the courage to visit Valeria in the hospital a week afterward.
Her room was filled with bouquets of flowers, garish compared to Valeria's translucent skin, and the sickly sweet odor turned Katrine's stomach. Valeria, swaddled in blankets, hardly made a dent in the mattress. She cracked open her eyes at the sound of Katrine's footsteps and sighed. "You shouldn't have come."
"We miss you," Katrine said, sitting on the edge of the bed. Her tone sounded too cheery, as wrong as the flowers surrounding someone who was clearly not getting better.
"Look at all these," Valeria said, lifting up a finger. "I keep telling the nurses to throw them away, but then more show up." Her hand fluttered back down. "Lord Edward is quite proud of himself for sending an orchid this time of year."
"He visited?"
She forced out a weak puff of air. "Of course not."
Silence settled over them. Katrine studied Valeria's bony hands, her brittle nails and bluish veins, and wondered why she hadn't noticed how old Valeria looked. How long had she looked this frail? She'd been luminous and otherworldly when Katrine first met her years ago. Then, she couldn't have been much older than Katrine was now.
"What are you going to do when you get out?" she asked. Valeria had closed her eyes and Katrine wasn't sure if she'd fallen asleep.
"I'm not getting out." Her eyes remained shut.
"But now you can go wherever you want." With an injury like this, Valeria was never going to dance again, but she had citizenship. She could find a husband, or leave for an outer district. Katrine bit her thumbnail. Maybe Valeria didn't want that. Katrine hadn't even thought about what she was going to do herself. Stopping wasn't an option.
"It's been so long since I stopped moving," Valeria said. "Everything hurts. My joints feel like stones rubbing together. I don't want to move ever again."
"You have to be positive, that's the only way you'll get better." There was nothing to say that didn't sound contrived.
Her eyes finally cracked open. "Why? So I can belong to someone else?" She took a reedy breath. "I think I'm done."
"But…"
Suddenly with more force than Katrine thought possible, Valeria's hand shot out and grasped her wrist. Her touch was icy as if no blood ran through it and Katrine flinched. "You need to take care of them. Promise me." Her eyes flashed with brief lucidity.
Katrine didn't know what she meant by that. But she said the words. "I promise."
With that, the last of her energy dissipated and her head fell back on the pillow. "I'm sorry to ask, but do me one last favor." Katrine had to lean in to hear her.
"What?"
"The pills under my pillow." She turned her head to the side and nodded. "The nurses will find them soon."
Katrine dug her hand under the pillow and scooped out a pile of hard cylinders. There had to be at least twenty. Valeria turned her head to the ceiling and smiled, that same little smile on her face when she lay bleeding and broken on the floor. Katrine bit her lip to stifle the tears threatening her eyes, and clutching the pills in her sweaty palm, she turned and walked out the room as quickly as she could without drawing attention to her distress.
Outside the chilly winter air seemed appropriate. The slate gray sky blended with the stone buildings and the empty streets made Mitras barren and looming. Descending the steps of the hospital, Katrine found a grate and opened her hand, revealing the partially dissolved grit of the pills. A few snowflakes landed in her palm, white meeting white. As she dropped them in the grate to meet the sludge she'd combed through as a child, she wondered how it was possible that her mother knew what snow was if it never reached the Underground, or even if it mattered.
Two months dead and Katrine moved on with the rest of them, banishing Valeria's withered face to the back of her mind behind different allegro series and the patrons' names. Though they were only allowed to know their first names, Katrine scoured the newspapers for any news of their outside doings as she savored her single egg for breakfast. It was good to know, just in case. Strangely, she'd never found Mr. Kaiser's name ever mentioned.
Katrine had to keep an eye on those men, while at the same time making sure the younger girls didn't wander past the muslin curtain into the antechamber and keeping the choreography straight in her head. There was too much to remember, too many fears to keep her awake at night. It wasn't fair that the patrons came to the ballet to forget their troubles while she had to remember everything they ever said. To soothe herself she fantasized about the day she would become perfect and no one would touch her ever again.
Valeria hadn't warned her that Mr. Kaiser would take a newfound interest in her. With her death, he needed a new principal dancer, the very best of the company. He beckoned her forward more frequently, demanded precision, and prodded her legs with that hideous cane. That meant more bruises, of course, and today was an especially cruel day.
Mr. Kaiser watched her series, sucking on his lips. "What did you eat for breakfast?"
"Half an egg," she lied.
"Ah! No wonder the floor is shaking. For a moment I feared Titans had broken through the wall. Next time the series will be correct."
She repeated it, imagining that the egg had never passed her lips and nothing the day before, too.
"Again!"
Now she was hollow, insides scooped out and discarded.
The cane thwacked the floor and Katrine thanked every star above that it wasn't against her skin. Mr. Kaiser turned his back to her and threw up his hands at one of the instructors. "You tell Katrine she dances like an overfed cow, seems I can't get through." He then pointed his cane at Josephine and demanded she perform the steps.
After class ended Katrine arranged her face into stony indifference, carefully packed away her belongings, and when she was certain no one was looking slipped down the abandoned hallway and into the little closet.
The closet was no protection from Mr. Kaiser, or anyone else, though she still sat there every time rage bubbled up in her throat and tears stung her eyes. It was cold, sterile, and the safest place she knew. Picking at a scab on her toe, she focused on the series and where she could have gone wrong. Maybe the glissades were not delicate enough? She was still not good enough to avoid his wrath. She was still not perfect.
The door swung open and Katrine looked up. A spindly shadow froze in the doorway, startled by her presence.
"Don't just stand there, close the door," Katrine said, waving her inside. She'd shared the closet on multiple occasions. The unspoken rule was to never admit they'd seen someone else in there.
The girl stepped inside and shut the door, collapsing next to Katrine. "You're not supposed to be here," she muttered into her arms. "Not your class."
"I didn't know you were the scheduler," Katrine said. She could feel the girl's glower directed at her.
"What're you doing here? You don't have anything to cry about. You're the best one. He doesn't even yell at you."
"You weren't there today. What're you crying about?"
The girl sniveled. "Mrs. Olson said my entrechats were sloppy."
Victoria, she remembered, the one who did have sloppy entrechats. Katrine learned names by criticism. She wondered who'd shown Victoria the closet as she returned to her scab. "Well, she's not wrong."
Victoria began to sob.
"Shh! You're too loud!" Katrine grit her teeth and her eyes darted to the door, waiting for someone to barge in, and pulled Victoria to her chest to muffle the noise.
"I don't want to go baaack!" Her hot breath moistened at Katrine's neck and tears smeared across her skin.
"No, you're not, I promise you won't." Katrine stroked Victoria's arm and pressed her chin against her head. That was untrue, but the lie was an easy one to tell. And if Victoria really knew what it meant to never go back, would she be sobbing like this?
Victoria continued to sniffle. Katrine considered if it was a bad idea to coddle her. Was this going to weaken her, leave her less prepared for when she grew older and fell prey to the patrons at the antechamber? Too late now, though.
After a few shaky breaths, Victoria coughed weakly. "Marion says you have a mean face, but you're not that bad."
Katrine pulled her arm back. "You tell Marion I'll hit her harder than Mr. Kaiser ever could."
Victoria giggled, then hiccuped. "Does he ever get any nicer?"
"No."
"I'm going to hit him back one day. He deserves it. My mama said everyone needs a taste of their own medicine sometimes."
Katrine smiled. "That won't go well."
"When I'm bigger. I'll learn the thirty fouettés in the Firebird and then when I'm done I'll kick him in the face." She said it with such conviction that Katrine burst into laughter, picturing the sequence. When she imagined smacking Mr. Kaiser's nose with her sweaty foot, she slumped over, tears finally streaming down her face.
"Stop laughing!" That only made Katrine cackle harder. "You really are mean. I'm going to tell everyone you tore a hole in my practice skirt unless you take me to the baker's. I want macaroons."
Katrine raised her eyebrows and tried to suppress her smile. A girl of twelve, already skilled in extortion. "I wouldn't risk invoking your wrath." The apprentices were only allowed out of the Company if accompanied by a dancer with citizenship, and none of them wanted to waste the time.
Victoria rose to her feet and opened the door, and Katrine followed. Squinting against the light, she studied Victoria, taking a better look at her than she'd bothered to before. With her sleek black hair and olive skin, Victoria was unquestionably beautiful, so she had nothing to worry about there. But she was tall for her age, already Katrine's height, and it was possible she'd grow too tall for Mr. Kaiser's liking. But she had a toughness not evident behind her dark eyes, so Katrine didn't have too much to worry about.
As the stately grandfather clock chimed three in the morning, Katrine sat curled in the loveseat outside the girls' bedrooms, stroking her hair while reading the words bathed in faint candlelight on the creamy paper of her book. Well, not hers, but the agricultural minister's. The night before he'd proclaimed her the best ballerina he'd ever seen and that her dancing made his heart soar. He'd then fallen asleep on her hair and it took a half-hour of careful tugging to free herself. She'd slipped the blue-covered book in her bag when he wasn't looking, partly for revenge and also because she needed to know the rest. It described a magnificent underwater city ruled by half-human, half-fish people. The stories helped when she couldn't sleep, either because of Eva's snoring and Josephine's muttering or because she didn't want to wake up in a cold sweat imagining someone on top of her.
A faint rustling noise from above broke her concentration. She shuddered. Hopefully not a rat in the attic. It was ironic that Mitras had rats just like the Underground; minus the soaring buildings and clean streets, the two were not so different. She returned to the book, anxious to find out if the beautiful fish girl would escape the monstrous creature with sixteen tentacles. Maybe those kinds of cities and creatures existed in the lakes outside Mitras. At least the monster would eat her instead of letting her live just to crush her over and over again.
A deep thud rattled the ceiling and Katrine jumped. Definitely not a rat. She peered into the vent above, wondering if she should go wake someone when pale fingers curled around the metal. The vent cover disappeared and a girl came tumbling down right on Katrine's foot.
"Don't move!" Sharp metal chilled Katrine's throat and coarse red hair brushed her cheek. Katrine willed herself still. What a pathetic way to die, by a spindly little burglar in the middle of the Company with no one to see! But then her nose wrinkled. The girl smelled terrible, like sweat and the oddly familiar odor of rotten fruit. It was a combination she hadn't encountered in years. "Where's the goods?" the girl asked.
"W-what?"
"The goods!" She hissed the word like Katrine should know.
"I don't— How'd you get up here?"
The girl faltered, her grip around the knife loosening. "How—"
"You smell! Like the Underground."
She withdrew the knife and sat back on her haunches. "How'd you know?"
"I...lived there once."
The girl narrowed her green eyes, but Katrine could see the thoughts bouncing around in her head. "Then how'd you get up here?" She waved her arms, encompassing the clean white walls and chandelier and shiny wooden floors.
Katrine shook her head. "How'd you get up here?"
The girl pressed her lips into a thin line and moved her feet off the sofa. She sat primly as if she wanted to avoid dirtying the fabric. "West stairwell. On new moons, it's easy to sneak out."
Katrine nodded. That was the same one she'd walked up. Would she have tried the same thing if she'd known back then? "There's not much here unless you're looking for a tutu."
"A what?"
"Nothing. Do you know where you are?"
"Not really. This is my first time. My friends knew, though. Is this your house?"
"Sort of. It's the Mitras Company. I dance ballet." Met with a blank stare, Katrine attempted to explain it.
The girl's brow furrowed. "Is that one of those fancy things rich people do?"
The corners of Katrine's mouth twitched. "Yes."
"So you're rich, too? You must be. You have the prettiest hair I've ever seen."
Katrine clutched her hair again and dropped her head back to stare at the chandelier. By Underground standards, absolutely, but here? No, certainly not. Though she had more food in her belly, this girl had more freedom. But only a sliver, not nearly as much as the people born in Mitras, asleep in their soft downy beds. "What's your name?" she finally asked.
"Isabel. What's yours?"
"Katrine."
They fell silent, listening to the ticking of the clock. Katrine watched Isabel from the corner of her eye and caught her tilt her head to sniff at her clothes. Maybe if she'd been in the right place, or the wrong place, she could have been plucked out of the Underground to dance for someone else's pleasure, too.
"Did you come up here to steal?"
"Yeah." Isabel sat on her hands and stared at her feet. "I mean, Oliver needs medicine for his lungs, and Alison's nana broke her wrist so she can't work anymore, and with my share, I'm gonna buy a sweet roll from Uncle Jack down in Left Bank and I haven't had one in six months and I'm just dying for one!" The last part came out in a choked rush.
"Shh!" Katrine craned her neck to look for anyone awake and tried not to show the surprise on her face. Old one-eyed Uncle Jack did have the best sweet rolls, though it was incredible he was still alive. Suddenly an idea sprouted in her head, something deliciously vile, something that would benefit Isabel to the detriment of Mr. Kaiser. He could hit her all he wanted, but this would bite him back even harder. She grinned. "I've got a crown I can give you. You can pawn the gems on it."
Isabel perked up. "You will?"
"Who are you talking to?" A cutting male voice sent a violent shudder through Katrine's body, and she and Isabel turned to find a tall, wiry man and a dark-haired boy. The question sounded more like a threat. Men were not allowed back here, not even the patrons, and simultaneously she wanted to claw at their faces and run away screaming. Instead, she shrank and remained still.
Isabel jumped to her feet, hands placating. "This is—"
"You heard me, no one sees. And you're over here blabbing away?" The boy stalked forward, a knife in his hand and his jaw clenched. His face, now visible in the light, was clearly not a child's. He had the look of the adults she remembered from the Underground: sallow skin and the sharp cheekbones of the underfed, but his eyes were unusually probing. He jabbed his knife at Katrine. "You say one word and I cut your throat." His tone made it clear he expected no resistance, and that familiar mixture of fear and fury rose to her throat once again.
"Nonono, wait, don't make her mad, Le—"
"No names!" the tall man hissed.
"Sorry! But she promised me a crown!"
The short man's eyes flicked to Isabel. "You found something?"
This was getting out of hand. "Wait, I—" His gaze darted back with deadly precision and Katrine shut her mouth.
"Please!" Isabel grabbed Katrine's hands, bony and dry. She looked so pitiful that Katrine sighed and shook her head.
"Fine, just be quiet. But it's down the hallway." The Crane Queen crown sat alone in Mr. Kaiser's office, locked behind glass in an imposing wooden cabinet. He even left the key in the lock as if his reputation and cane alone were protection enough from anyone daring to take it. Every time Mr. Kaiser called her in there to discuss her shortcomings, she stared at it instead and vowed that she would one day be perfect enough to wear it.
"You go with her," the short man said, pointing to Isabel.
Nausea swept over her. "I can't leave you alone here!" What was she thinking, making promises to men with knives? Maybe she should scream, but would that make things worse?
Isabel twisted her lips like she understood. "Maybe you should go, then."
The short man nodded. He swept his hand out to Katrine to demand she lead the way, clearly mocking, and her relief turned to irritation. She started down the hallway, immediately feeling his eyes on her back. It was foolish to allow him out of her line of sight. But why should she be scared of him, someone whom she initially mistook for a child? What could he do if she decided to start screaming? He did have a knife, but it could be for show.
She led him up the marble stairs and into the offices where they were only allowed on invitation, past the framed illustrations of the dancers frozen in statuesque positions advertising previous seasons' performances, and stopped at the crown resting in its glass case. It was tiny because heavy headpieces ruin a dancer's balance, but it had enough diamonds in it to glitter from every angle. It was the most dazzling thing she'd ever seen, and it had fit so perfectly on Valeria's head, and she'd wanted it to fit perfectly on her, too. She turned to the man and swept her hand out in the same gesture, but it wasn't mocking. This really did deserve an introduction.
Momentarily his eyes widened, but then reverted back to slits. "What the hell am I supposed to do with this? Walk around with it on my head? I can't sell this shit."
He should be thankful I'm doing this! "Break it up?" she suggested. Mindful of the knife, she made sure to keep her voice low and tone steady.
"Don't be stupid. You should be thankful I haven't cut your throat," he said, apparently able to read her mind. His gall was bigger than he was and that infuriating little scowl made her want to strangle him. How dare he insult something so stunning? To calm herself she imagined Mr. Kaiser's face, how this would ruin his carefully crafted image, and let that thought soothe her. She turned the key and swung open the glass door. The cold gems scratched her fingers for the last time as she picked it up, a pang of sorrow piercing her chest. Was it possible to dance a perfect Crane Queen without it?
He reached for it and she shrank away. The thought of his dirty hands on the crown made her feel like a cockroach had slipped down her dress. But technically, she wasn't giving it to him. "I can't give it to you until I see you out of here."
"You've got a lot of demands for someone being robbed."
You're vulgar and you're shorter than all the apprentice girls, she wanted to say, but that knife kept her mouth shut. "I'll give it to her," she said instead, and turned sharply and stalked back down the stairs, trying to get away from him as quickly as possible.
Isabel gasped at the sight of the crown. "It's so sparkly!"
Katrine thought to say that it looked even better in the sunlight but stopped herself. She hadn't seen the sun until she was five years old; had they ever?
The tall man's serious face cracked into a wide grin, the first emotion she'd seen from him. The short man still looked unimpressed, raising an eyebrow as he ran his fingers over the brocade sofa.
"It's yours, but I want something in return," Katrine said. "I want a knife."
Isabel laughed, pulling out hers from the sheath at her belt. "More than fair."
"No, I want his." She pointed at the short man. If the knife gave him such unbridled confidence, making him act bulletproof, then maybe it could do the same for her.
"No way." He jutted his chin. "You've got money. Buy your own."
"I'll scream."
"Just do it," the tall man said to him.
The short man's scowl deepened but lost its arrogance. When neither Isabel nor the tall man said anything he sighed and held the hilt to Katrine, pinching the blade between his thumb and forefinger. She took it and watched the candlelight flicker in the steel. It had its own kind of beauty, too, and probably was dazzling in the sunlight. She purposefully turned her back to him and handed the crown to Isabel, who held it gently as if she thought she'd break it if she held it too firmly.
"You need to leave," Katrine said. "It's a wonder no one heard you. But how'd you get in, anyway?"
"Window," Isabel said with a smile.
"Nobody up here locks their damn windows," the short man muttered.
Katrine followed them back to the eastern wing where the practice room was and found the offending window, curtain blowing in the breeze. Isabel jumped out last and turned to wave, then disappeared into the shadows. Katrine waved back, then rested her hands on the windowsill and felt the quiet air cool her cheeks. It looked so easy, vanishing into the darkness without a trace.
The hysterics were a wonder to behold. When he discovered the burglary Mr. Kaiser blew into the practice room, face flaming and actual tears glistening in his eyes, and swore at them for nearly a half-hour about the inhumanity and indecency and crime against beauty itself. He hit every soloist on the back of the thigh as a warning, though Katrine was unsure what the warning was for. He clearly didn't think any of them were audacious enough to steal it themselves. When he deemed his punishments sufficient, Mr. Kaiser stormed out and refused to come to practice for a week. Katrine took the opportunity to make sure the apprentice girls understood the grand adage so no one would tempt him into violence upon his return.
A few months later, after the bruise on her thigh faded, Mr. Kaiser called her into his office. She'd been there before to discuss his expectations for upcoming roles which often turned to criticism and it always twisted her stomach into knots. But this was the first time since the crown had been stolen, and she felt a bit braver. His cross expression didn't send shivers down her back as he glared at the empty glass case behind his desk.
"I'm terribly sorry about the crown, Mr. Kaiser," Katrine said after she sat down, casting her eyes to the floor.
He scowled. "The police were useless. There are other matters more important than robbery? Absurd." His beady eyes darted to hers. "You don't know anything, do you?"
She shook her head. "The thieves must have been skilled to do it so quietly."
"Here, of all places, when the jeweler is right down the street!"
"It's a shame. I've always wanted to be the Crane Queen."
Mr. Kaiser slammed his hand down on the desk and she flinched. "No, no! This is a sign. I always knew The Crane Queen was overdone. It's passe and overwrought, dripping with melodrama." He drummed his fingers on the desk, lost in thought. "It's time for something daring, something the ballet masters before me couldn't do."
She waited for him to continue. Mr. Kaiser hated being interrupted.
He rose and clasped his hands behind his back, strolling to the back corner of his office. Noting his cane resting against the edge of the desk, Katrine got up and followed him.
Mr. Kaiser stood before one of the oil paintings. It depicted a ballerina balanced on one foot with the other high in the air, her arms trailing behind as if she were soaring. Her expression was distant, her neck exposed, golden feathers sharp as knives exploding from the edge of her bodice. The rest of her was red, surging from her fingers, streaked around her eyes, and forming a deep slash at her lips. She was both magnificent and terrifying. No one would dare touch her.
"The Firebird," he said, reverent. Katrine knew. Everyone knew.
"I tried with Valeria. But she wasn't right," he continued. "Too brittle and weak to build into something as dynamic as the Firebird. And before that, no one's performed it for twenty years."
Katrine knew that, too. But Valeria wasn't weak. "She was better than all of us. If she can't do it, then who can?"
Mr. Kaiser's arm twitched like he wished he had his cane to strike the floor. "No, she wasn't. She was common and vulgar. And feeble, those jetés were so simple a corps girl could do them." He shook his head in disappointment. "But you! You're perfect for it. No one's as skilled. You're surging, grand, explosive!" Katrine's jaw slackened. Her heart, for the first time she could remember, was light. That was the kindest thing he'd ever said to her.
"And you have that wonderful world-weary look the patrons love. You look like you're going to bite them, but you never fight back. It makes them feel like they've tamed their very own Titan."
Her heart sank back down to where it belonged. She said nothing to that, not because she was holding back a rebuke, but because she could think of nothing to say. He was right.
"The new crown will be better. Gold, with hundreds of rubies. The patrons have been especially generous this year, I'm sure I can drum up some interest. Sales are up, I'm certain you had something to do with it." He winked.
Katrine felt like she'd swallowed sand. It was an honor to be chosen, for Mr. Kaiser to put so much trust in her, but what if she wasn't good enough? What if she couldn't transform into something so perfect? What if she too collapsed on the floor, her leg splintered? Maybe both her arms would break too and then she wouldn't be able to fend off his cane. She looked back at the painting, at the flawless woman floating above her, and knew she was unworthy. She'd need to tack another hour on to daily practice. No, two.
"I have to rework some choreography. But we'll start very soon. To start, you need to cut your hair. It's much too long and scraggly at the ends."
Katrine grasped at her loose hair instinctively. Her eyes darted to Mr. Kaiser's cane, imagining it transforming into a massive pair of scissors hacking at her hair, which with one careless slip could slice her neck. The thought made her want to collapse and scream until her lungs exploded. It would be the same as sweaty hands pinning down her arms. "Lord Dalton says he likes my hair long," she squeaked. Lord Dalton had never said such a thing, but she desperately needed something to call her own.
He shrugged. "Then Lord Dalton knows best."
The victory was surprisingly easy. Relieved and emboldened, Katrine decided to press forward. "Mr. Kaiser, may I ask you a question?"
He looked up from inspecting his nails. "Of course."
"Why do you do this? It doesn't seem to make you happy."
He turned to her and she braced herself for a slap. But the expression on his face was wounded. It was just as odd as his smile.
"But it does make me happy. I love the ballet. I love the beauty, the technique, the perfection required. I love watching you all transform from little gutter rats to angels. And I love you, Katrine, because you're going to be my masterpiece." His voice was soft and tender. She was so startled by the declaration that she didn't think to dart away from his hand moving toward her. Instead of a pinch or a poke or a slap, he rested it on her shoulder. It was a cloying attempt at being fatherly. He might have loved her skill, but he didn't love her, so what was the purpose of the lie?
"I know you think I hate you all. I only hate when you aren't as good as I know you can be or don't work as hard as you should. Everything must be broken down first to achieve perfection. After all, diamonds are made from pressure." He squeezed her shoulder and she wanted to vomit.
"Now, off you go. The premiere will be here before you know it," he said, pushing her toward the door. Thankful to end the conversation, Katrine rushed out and down the stairs toward the practice room.
Mr. Kaiser didn't love them. He was more deranged than all the patrons combined. But Katrine knew nothing of love. Fathers didn't abandon their daughters if they loved them, and mothers didn't send them to the slaughter. The patrons claimed they loved her grace, but she was no more than a warm body, easily replaceable. Did Valeria love her because she tried to shield her from the rotting backbone of the Company, or was she only trying to protect herself?
Katrine did know if she were to be loved by anyone, to be some man's favorite, then Mr. Kaiser would be best.
The summer night was sweltering, so humid the sheets stuck to her skin and sleep was impossible. Katrine dangled her feet in the fountain by the art gallery, Victoria splashing away beside her. Victoria had claimed she too couldn't sleep and threatened to scream if she was sent home. Katrine huffed and rolled her eyes but didn't mind. Victoria was a quick learner and mostly listened to her advice, but liked to mimic the way Katrine tugged her hair and snatched her books when she thought she wouldn't notice. But she giggled with glee when Katrine told her about the crown and still talked about how she was going to trip Mr. Kaiser with his own cane. She seemed more interested in that than perfecting her dancing.
Victoria had been studying her face for a few uncomfortable moments, and Katrine kept her eyes down. "Hey, why do you always tell us to stay behind the curtain until it's our cue? And why can't we talk to those men in the antechamber?"
Dread chilled her skin, despite the heat. "You're not supposed to look at them."
"But I can't not look at them. Michelle said they just pay for premium tickets, but why pay so much just to look at us? They can do that in the audience." Victoria was right. She needed to learn to not think so much.
"They…"
"They what?"
Bitter poison flooded her mouth. She wasn't supposed to say anything, and she hadn't, not to any of them. Better not to know. But it wasn't true! It wasn't better for a mouse to walk straight into the cat's mouth without knowing its teeth were sharp. And she was supposed to protect these girls.
"Please!"
"They fuck you, okay? They rip your clothes off and stick whatever they want in you like you're their toy. You have to go along with whatever demented fantasy they've thought up and act like it's the greatest idea you've ever heard. And then they send you off with some money and jewelry to make it all okay." The poison was gushing out and there was nothing she could do to stop it. "They get to own you for a night and then they think they own you forever. And they do! They don't think about me when they're working or eating dinner with their wives but I think about them every single day. What they like, what they don't, and everything they've ever said. Them, and all my mistakes. That's all I think about." Finished, she ground her knuckles into the stone. She didn't feel better. She felt like she'd made everything truer by speaking it aloud.
Victoria's face was pale. It looked like she'd aged ten years in a single moment. "What am I supposed to do?" she whispered.
"Bite their heads off."
The silence was cavernous. Katrine looked off into the dark window of the building to her left and imagined a man snoring in his bed while a ballerina lay beside him, watching his every move. It could have been her, the dagger in her bag unused because she was too afraid to use it.
"Don't you want to get out? You have citizenship. You can go wherever you want," Victoria said in a small voice. She kicked her feet, sending ripples across the water.
Katrine's gaze dropped to her motionless feet. "And do what? All I can do is dance."
"There's the library at Stohess. And the mountains up north. I don't know, you'll figure out something."
She said nothing. Citizenship did mean she could leave Mitras, but no dancer left of her own accord unless it was with a husband. And they all stayed within Wall Sina. No one around her ever spoke of the outer Walls other than to complain of crop shortages, and beyond Wall Maria, the only thing that existed were wastelands.
"You know, if you left here you could go to the sea."
Katrine eyed her. "Where'd you hear about that?"
"The Fateful Shipwreck. You lent it to me."
"I didn't lend it, you swiped it. And don't go spouting off about the sea. You could get in trouble." The patrons could own as many books on the sea as they wanted, but normal people like them would be punished for it.
"You should go. And you can bring me," Victoria said. "Say I'm your daughter. You look old enough to be my mom."
Katrine snatched at Victoria's hair. "You take that back or I'll push you in." Victoria shrieked and keeled over into the water. When she didn't immediately raise her head, Katrine frantically grabbed at her arm, even though the fountain was only waist-deep, hoping it wasn't a reaction to what she'd said earlier.
Victoria emerged, spitting out a mouthful of water. "Sea's supposed to be salty. This tastes like metal. Uck." She shuddered.
Katrine exhaled, relieved.
"I've decided," Victoria said.
"Decided what?"
"I'm going to save up my money, and when I have enough I'm buying a boat ticket to Trost. So I can join the Scouts."
Katrine nearly fell off the edge howling with laughter. There was a cruel edge to it she didn't like. "The Scouts? So you can get your head torn off before you're even near the sea?" The patrons loved to complain about the Scouts, how they were a waste of money hell-bent on a pointless mission. Katrine didn't understand why anyone would want to risk such a gruesome death. "If you're lucky, they'll send you up in the north where it's so cold nothing can move." Someone else can go find my father, she thought bitterly.
"That's fine. If it's past Wall Maria I don't care how cold it is. I want to see what they're hiding out there."
"Hiding what? What crazy books are you reading this time?"
Victoria shook her head. "Don't you think someone's out there? Beyond the Walls?
Katrine had never thought of that. She tipped her head back and stared at the stars, wondering if someone else was doing the same thing, millions of miles away in a place far better than Mitras. The idea was comforting. "Saving up that much is going to take a while."
"Not if I'm smart," Victoria said. Katrine didn't like the implications behind that. She fingered the silver mirror in her pocket and pulled it out. Victoria had given it to her for her birthday, something Katrine had never received before, much less a gift she wanted to keep.
"You can take this back." Katrine traced the delicate vines. She couldn't have spent much on it, but it was something. "To sell it."
Victoria shook her head. "You'll need something to remember me. Every time you look in it, you can remember that you'll never be as pretty as me."
Katrine kicked water at her even though she was already soaked. "What are you going to do when you find the sea, Commander Victoria of the Survey Corps?"
Victoria smoothed her hair away from her face. "Find the fish people, obviously. Maybe they'll let me live with them. What are you going to do, Firebird?"
"Buy my own crown. Bigger and better than anything Mr. Kaiser can think up. Let's go get you dried off before you get sick."
As they walked back to the Company, Katrine watched Victoria's face. The pale, sickened shock was gone, replaced with resolve. Katrine realized with prickly shame that she was jealous, envious of a girl who could think not just beyond the confines of the Mitras Company but past the Walls themselves. Nothing in Mitras excited her anymore; the gleaming streets and beautiful costumes no longer made her gasp with delight. There was no room in her head for anything other than how to make herself perfect. She wondered when she'd become too old to dream.
Katrine sat before the mirror backstage, beginning her transformation from human to flawless. Dancers flitted behind her in a rush of nervous energy and the patrons' conversations were a dull hum in her ears, but her mind was quiet. She didn't need to rehearse the steps and mimic the movements with her arms like the others, because at the last dress rehearsal Mr. Kaiser had watched her throw herself into every movement like a woman possessed. When she was done she met his eyes and he said nothing. His mouth was set in a thin white line, an unfamiliar look that wasn't quite trepidation but also not pride. There was no trace of his stormy anger. It might have been reverence. She raised her chin a fraction. His cane did not move.
Every feather in her headpiece was in place, black kohl streaks at her eyes and lips painted a shiny blood red. Katrine narrowed her eyes, turning them into bottomless pits, and watched her lips crack open into a glinting smile. She was terrifying, an apparition from a nightmare that had finished gnawing on the bones of her prey and was ready for the next victim. No matter that the illustrator decided to make her demure, floating in the air with a smile gracing her lips. If that was what the audience expected from what they saw in the newspapers, they were in for a horrible shock. She would be a phoenix rising from the ashes, made of iron and flames rather than flesh and bone. She was going to be perfect, untouchable, and everyone would see that. They would fear her. If they tried to touch her, they would drop dead from her poison.
In one swift motion, Katrine stood and threw back the muslin curtain. The air turned cold and conversations died. Men twice her size balked at the blaze of red. More than a few mouths dropped open. One began to say something, but she silenced him with a sharp glance. They're all afraid of me, she thought with a delicious surge of power. The perverse Lord Klein, who liked to smell their shoes and throw coins at them, swallowed like he was being choked. Lord Walter, whose wealth rivaled the king's but couldn't buy a suit that fit him properly, nearly dropped his glass. And even Lord Issac, the scientist so destitute his wealthy friends paid for his membership, took a step back. She didn't need the knife, not when the crown atop her head was sharp enough to stab them.
Paying them no mind, Katrine strode to the velvet curtain and waited for her cue, standing beside Mr. Kaiser. He turned to look at her but she kept her head forward. If she did this right, he would not smack her leg and suggest sending her back to the Underground to lose weight. He would never do it again, would treat her like the precious stones in his beloved crown and not as a disappointment. If she hit every move, then the patrons would be so afraid of her brilliance that they would cower before her. She was a living flame, ready to burn them alive. Maybe they'd be so scared that she spread her poison to the other girls and they wouldn't touch them, either.
She had to be perfect because there was no other option.
Katrine stepped onstage exactly when the orchestra stopped. It made for a jarring experience, Mr. Kaiser had claimed, one of the only decisions she agreed with. She stood balanced, staring back into that great black pit with its thousand invisible eyes, daring it to find fault in her.
Then the cello started, not of its own accord but because she demanded it to, and then wings exploded from her back and she was airborne. The music was frantic and rapid but she moved effortlessly, her legs sweeping across the floor exactly on tempo. She didn't have to think of the choreography, remember how to set her face or lift her arms because she knew what to do. She rose from the remains of her imperfect, weak self, and left that carapace and the rest of them all behind in the gutter while she ascended to the clouds.
And then the orchestra rose to a frenzy and finally those thirty fouettés, doubles on the first fifteen because no one else could, and she created a cyclone around herself. Everything around her turned to a blur, the world falling away from her. Katrine finished with her arms raised, not a kick to Mr. Kaiser's face but just as good. She stood still as marble, unbothered by the heat of the lights and the sweat trailing down her back, and felt no ache in her muscles. There was only triumph.
The applause radiated in waves through her body. Katrine saw them standing out of the corner of her eyes, but she didn't turn her head. There were only the lights, what felt like the concentrated power of the sun on her and her alone. She thought that she might be perfect. Then the curtain dropped in front of her, swallowing her in darkness, but she held the pose. Yes, she really was perfect.
The other ballerinas swarmed around her and Katrine let them touch her as she lowered her arms, the gaggle of dancers with flushed pink cheeks and bright smiles that became a barrier of white tulle. She closed her eyes as someone's fingers laced with hers.
"You were brilliant!" Victoria's voice floated into her ears.
I was, she thought. I am.
The bows passed in a haze as the audience showered her with roses. She gathered them up in her arms, the thick perfume making her dizzy. Mr. Kaiser stepped onstage and waved and bowed like he'd danced every part himself and she didn't care. She even touched his shoulder and grinned at him.
Afterward in the antechamber, the patrons sang her praises. Stunning, electrifying, art in motion! Katrine barely heard them. Their words slid off her like raindrops and splattered onto the floor. A damp, meaty hand clamped her shoulder, but instead of swallowing back a shudder she shrugged him off and kept walking. She strode past the muslin curtain and down the hallway, past the private suites for the patrons and to her decidedly less sumptuous dressing room, unlacing her costume as she walked. She drew her hand back and found a red streak on her thumb. Blood. Must've been from a thorn. There was a small drop on the edge of her slip, deep red staining the silk, a crack in her armor. I'm still perfect, she reassured herself.
After closing the door, Katrine sank into her chair and untied her shoes. The noise of the applause and the orchestra was gone and replaced by a faint ringing in her ear. She wiped a damp cloth across her face, a seemingly backbreaking task. The sweat and grime were gone, but exhaustion had sunk into her muscles when she wasn't paying attention and caused her head to droop. The crown, hanging on to her hair by pins, finally slid off and clattered to the floor. It felt impossible to reach for it.
Heaving herself up, she turned to the mirror and gasped. Staring back at her was not a phoenix but a scraggly fledgling fallen out of its nest. Her face was wan, devoid of life, white as plaster except for her bloodshot eyes. Where was the assurance, the gleaming smile? This wasn't perfect, far from it! She looked as fragile as her mother. If a patron saw her now, he'd smile and laugh and cradle her in his jaw to drag back to his den.
Katrine fumbled for the crown. It was larger than the one she'd given away, with twice as many gems, and she was unworthy of this one too. She placed it gently on its pillow, afraid to touch it further, and threw her cloth over it so it couldn't see her weakness.
A sharp rap at the door jolted her upright. "Katrine!"
She froze, her heart seizing with panic.
"Join us! We're waiting for you!" The patron's voice was too jovial. He was certainly not afraid of her. She bit down hard on her tongue, praying the man wouldn't try the locked door and figure out she was inside.
"Not in," the man said after a few moments and his footsteps receded. Katrine swallowed the cry of relief struggling in her throat. She dashed to the door and pressed her ear against it, straining for any other sounds, her knees trembling. After what felt like hours the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses faded away and she peeked out her door to check for onlookers. Seeing no one, Katrine shrugged on a robe and darted to the practice room.
The room full of mirrors appeared cavernous when empty. Her reflection gave her a ghoulish look. That little monster from the Underground she'd first seen in the mirror was long dead, but this wasn't much better. How was someone so pale and weak going to do the same performance tomorrow night, and the next, for weeks? Was the performance imperfect, despite practicing every day for hours and analyzing Mr. Kaiser's face for any sign of displeasure? She had to go find a pair of pointe shoes and go through the act again, to find what was wrong. But the thought of that made her want to fall on the floor sobbing.
Katrine hadn't understood what Valeria said in her hospital bed, but now it all made sense. She too wanted to lay down and stop moving. Sinking to the floor and onto her back, Katrine felt the cool wood soothe her aching muscles. It was nice, too nice. Maybe she didn't have to get back up. But she heard the whispers of shoes on the wood, the ceaseless swish and tap of steps. Even when she covered her ears, it echoed inside her skull.
A sudden crash cut through the noise and Katrine sat upright. Her breath caught in her lungs, waiting for the next noise. Then, a scream. It could be anything, a drunken patron knocking something over or pinching a dancer's ass, but fear propelled her to her feet and sent her sprinting down the hallway. This sounded menacing. Bile rose in her throat.
The clamor grew louder as she reached the suites, and Katrine skidded to a halt when she saw them. Rowan lay sobbing in a heap on the floor in front of an open door and Josephine hovered over her, trying to calm her. A group of patrons peered at them at the end of the hallway, hands jammed in their pockets. One stood alone by the door, his face buried in his hands, and Mr. Kaiser rested a hand on his shoulder. He jerked his head up unnaturally, like a marionette, and he lurched away from the room. She saw his red, shiny face. It was Lord Isaac, the scientist.
"What was I supposed to do?" he moaned, clutching at his head. "She bit me!"
Katrine suddenly turned icy.
"We'll take care of it," Mr. Kaiser said. He waved away the other patrons. "Please don't concern yourselves."
"Somebody needs to get the police!" Josephine's voice was hysterical, clawing Katrine's nerves.
Mr. Kaiser's eyes leveled her. They were black pits devoid of sympathy or rage or even sadness. "No need."
Katrine stepped forward. "What's—"
"Don't look!" The words were strangled in Josephine's throat.
Katrine felt her legs draw her closer. But she hadn't wanted to move. "What happened?"
"Don't look, please," Josephine whispered. Katrine was now close enough to see the stark fear in her eyes. She turned and looked in the doorway.
A girl lay motionless on the bed, a torn skirt tangled around her legs. One tiny hand dangled off the side. Even though her dark hair obscured her face, Katrine knew. And before she could stop herself she dashed into the room and grabbed Victoria's hand, still faintly warm but too heavy like her flesh had already turned to stone. Purple bruises in the shape of fingerprints dotted her thin neck. Her eyes were open, the beautiful hazel turned dull, and there was a blotch of red at her lips. Blood. His blood.
Someone else screamed as Katrine sank to the floor. It was primal, animalistic, a keening sense of loss so colossal that it might swallow her. She stared at that little hand, one she'd guided into position countless times in practice, one that would never rise again to hold up a book or lift a sword or brush leaves aside to discover that new world. Her vision turned blurry. It was her fault! She was the one who spoke when she shouldn't, told Victoria to bite a man when she herself was too much of a coward to do it, hadn't shielded her from the demons prowling just outside the door. She was supposed to protect her and she'd failed. Katrine was not a blazing phoenix able to turn those men to ashes, and how presumptuous of her to think she could! She was little more than dust.
Another howl sent a knife plunging into her brain, but when arms wrapped around her shoulders and a hand covered her mouth, Katrine realized she was the one who was screaming. Pushing them away, she hauled herself up and burst out the door to find Mr. Kaiser leading Lord Isaac away, a soothing hand on his back.
"Wait!" Katrine shrieked. "Wait!" If she'd had the knife, she would have hurled it at his head.
Josephine grabbed Katrine's wrist. "Stop! You can't!"
And she was right. Katrine couldn't. She fell to her knees again, watching them walk away as if she hadn't made a sound. She was a fool to think that anyone would be afraid of her, and a fool to think she could fly when she was just a rat scuttling beneath their feet.
Someone pulled Katrine up and then she was tucked into bed. Time stopped and started in fits. She didn't know who'd hidden away the younger girls, and what lies they were told about why there was no practice that day. She didn't know what they spoke about in low voices and who'd left a glass of water on her nightstand and shut the door. Someone else had taken the job of protecting the others, the role Katrine couldn't perform.
All she knew was that the performance last night didn't matter. None of it mattered. Even if she thought she was perfect, at the next practice Mr. Kaiser would pull her aside and in that needling voice tell her some minute detail to be fixed. She could glare and hiss at the patrons all she wanted, but they would still grab her arms and pin her down and strangle her. If she stayed, she would keep dancing for them day after day until she wore herself to nothing, and then they would throw her away and move on to the next girl. No one would even remember she existed.
Victoria was right. There had to be something better, because anything would be better than this.
Katrine threw off her blankets and searched for a bag. She grabbed all her jewelry, anything that she could sell, and her trove of stolen coins. After tugging on her plainest clothes, she stopped when she caught her reflection in the mirror. Still wan, still weak. Despite knowing how ridiculous it was Katrine snatched up the lipstick on her vanity. Soon that face was looking back at her again, narrowed eyes and blood-red lips. She was still a pale imitation of the Firebird in Mr. Kaiser's painting, but even if she didn't have that power, she could fake it. If she acted like she was made of fire, maybe no one would risk burning themselves. Another performance.
She ran down to the empty practice room. Shielding her eyes from the early morning sun, Katrine slipped out the window and started for the river to buy a boat ticket to Trost.
Mr. Kaiser came for her a month later. She was surprised it took him so long.
It was easy to adjust to the training corps. The instructors liked to barrage them with insults and corporal punishments, which was nothing new. But she wasn't going to let them treat her like Mr. Kaiser, and she traded laps and hauling logs for snapping back. It was worth it, though, because in a few years she would graduate and join the Scouts and then find wherever that better world was hiding. If Mitras Company used her, she would use the Scouts.
She watched the instructors and the male cadets with a mistrustful glare, waiting for a wandering eye or an invasive hand. She had no way of telling if they had ulterior motives. Eventually, they came to accept that she was strange, terse, and rude, an older woman wearing lipstick who refused to explain why she'd run away from Mitras. They watched with curiosity from afar when Instructor Voth accompanied a well-dressed man to the training fields, causing the normally brash Katrine to stiffen.
"I think you've made your point for long enough, Katrine. You can come back now," Mr. Kaiser said once Instructor Voth had left them alone in his office. He said it in a pleasant tone like he was lovingly chiding a naughty child, but she heard the angry undercurrent. He never tolerated disobedience.
"I'm not coming back."
He shook his head. "You're going to ruin yourself here. Already your shoulders are broader."
She shrugged. "ODM." She might have joined the training corps sooner if she'd known about the ODM gear. It was magical. She'd been wrong when she thought she could fly when she danced; this was what allowed her to soar through the air for miles, so far above anyone who'd try touching her. She was proud of the bruises the gear's harnesses left on her legs.
"What?" Mr. Kaiser wrinkled his nose. "Never mind. Don't you know you're the most talented ballerina I've ever had the pleasure of teaching? Your Firebird was a masterpiece. All our efforts, just to be eaten by a Titan? It's a shame what happened to that girl, but I can assure you it will never happen again."
He couldn't even say Victoria's name! All his flattery was meaningless. And how could he assure that it wouldn't happen again? What was he going to do, stand in the corner while a patron had his fun?
"Better to die by a Titan than by one of you."
His hand, empty and powerless without his cane, twitched. But he held on to his facade. "No one would ever hurt you. You're worth so much more."
How dare he lie to her face! They'd already hurt her, he knew that! "I'll break all my toes before any of you touch me again," she snarled.
"Be silent! It's time to leave." He stepped forward. Katrine's hand flew to her waistband and in an instant the knife was in her hand and pointing at his throat.
Mr. Kaiser stopped, but his kindly expression vanished, replaced by a bitter scowl. "You wouldn't."
He was right. She wouldn't. But there was only one way to scare him off. Katrine flipped her wrist and drove the knife to her head, slicing open her temple. A hot stream of blood poured down her cheek. The sting felt good.
"Your face!" he screeched. "You've gone absolutely mad! I taught you to handle pressure!"
"Aren't diamonds made from pressure?" she quoted back at him.
"Don't kid yourself! You aren't a diamond. You're just broken glass waiting for someone to step on you." Mr. Kaiser stepped back, his face contorted into ugly hatred. "I should never have wasted my time here. All that work I poured into you, worthless. You may be talented but you will never be great. Someone who cannot be molded will never be great. You will die in the jaws of a Titan and regret throwing your life away over someone else's mistake."
"I'm going to die far away from here," she said, wiping blood away from her eye, "and when you die I won't waste a single thought on you."
Mr. Kaiser stalked to the door and opened it but turned before leaving. Instructor Voth stood outside, wide-eyed. "Just because you wear red doesn't mean you can ever become the Firebird. Without me, you will amount to nothing." He slammed the door before she could respond.
Katrine flicked a spray of blood on the floor, furious. She wanted to strangle him and see those purple bruises around his neck. She didn't need him, didn't need anyone, and would be perfectly great all on her own.
She rushed out the door, past Instructor Voth and the other shocked faces gaping at her oozing wound, and began to plan how to get a pair of pointe shoes so she could dance better than Mr. Kaiser could ever teach her.