Page 69 of Forsaking All Others

“You don’t say?” I laugh.

She joins in with me, but we both know this game is no laughing matter.

“I imagine seeing the death of competitors isn’t something you could fully comprehend until now.”

“No,” she shakes her head. “I mean, I’ve seen drowned people before. Living on an island all your life in a fishing village, you’re bound to, sooner or later. But people being shot,” she shudders.

“It’s only the beginning,” I sigh, staring out at the waves. “It’s going to get far bloodier from here.”

“Yes,” she shrugs. “But I’m here now. And while it’s terrifying, there are some good things too. There’s company and variety. I’ve never been around such interesting people or travelled to such amazing places. There’s a lot to be thankful for.”

“You were lonely on your island?” I ask quietly as we begin to walk, the sand squeaking beneath our bare feet.

“My gran always says lonely isn’t a place to stay; it’s a place to walk through,” she smiles.

“She sounds like a very smart woman.”

“Yes, although I’m sure she’s blaming herself for putting me in these games, and I hope she doesn’t. I know she did it for the right reason.”

“She’ll be watching this. She’ll know you don’t blame her.”

“It’s only a day’s lag, right? Evelyn said the show is virtually live now; there’s just one day between what’s happened and when it airs.”

“Yes. It’s a quick editing turnaround, apparently.”

“Well then, that’s a good thing.”

“Mmmm,” I nod, “your grandmother won’t have to wait six months to find out if you lived or died. That’s how the Game used to be televised.”

She laughs.

“Well then, hi, Gran,” she waves to the cameras. “I’m still alive, and Valérie tells me that’s remarkable, given I don’t know what’s happening from one moment to the next. You never know, I might win!”

She turns back to me and smiles. “Of course, Gran won’t actually see this for another few months. She’s probably having to get the show recorded by someone on the mainland and sent to her. It’s the only way we watch anything.”

I ignore her hopeful prattle. There’s no hope in Hell this beautiful soul will last beyond the next few days, let alone weeks of this show, as much as I, the viewers back home or the people on her island might like that to be the case. And there’s no way the director will allow that message to her grandmother to get through editing. Messages home are not allowed. But what she doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

“About Valérie,” I move to change the subject, “I didn’t realise the two of you were friends.”

“Oh, well, we’re getting there,” she smiles. “At first no one would speak to me. No one but Cat, that is.”

“Cat?”

“Catriona, oh, don’t tell her I called her that. She doesn’t like it.”

“Really? Why?”

“Only her friends are allowed to call her that, and she doesn’t have any friends. I mean, ah, she doesn’t think of Sona or I as friends yet.”

“No friends? Mmmm, perhaps she’s exaggerating.”

“Oh, please don’t think I’m a rassgat saying that. I think she’s amazing, and she does have a friend. She has me.”

“I know she does,” I nod. “I watched you save her life, and your loyalty didn’t waver in the torture chamber when she took all four guns. A friend like that is hard to come by. We could all use one.”

“Then you and I will be friends,” she says softly. “If you like.”

She smiles sweetly, and I’m once again reminded of Wolf’s advice that I should try to make these women happy while they’re here. It’s the least I can do.