Page 4 of The Gilded Survivor

I leaned over. “The slit is on the wrong side,” I hissed. Magda’s eyes widened. “Do you think there’s time to get it fixed?”

Magda bit her lip and shook her head. “Get dressed. Maybe it will cover most of it.”

I nodded, though my hands were shaking. Removing my clothes, I slid into the dress. It hugged my body like a glove, and I felt like I was putting on a new skin. It was the kind of dress a woman wore to attract a lover, but—since I loved no one—I’d never chosen anything quite like it before.

I looked at myself in the mirror. Golden light streamed over me. Even without my stage makeup artfully painted on, my face was chiseled in lovely ways. This wasn’t just a dress, this was a miracle.

“Dios mío,”my best friend breathed.

My eyes dropped lower. Across my right thigh, plain as day, a raised purple scar marred my smooth brown skin. Tears burned my eyes, and my throat constricted. It was a scar I wasn’t supposed to have. One that told secrets about myself that I didn’t want anyone to know.

“Magda,” I whispered.

“You look perfect,” Magda said, still not noticing the scar.

“Well, that’s a really unfortunate imperfection, Carmen. What good is a slit if no one wants to see what’s peaking out?” Aurora said. I hadn’t even noticed she was coming closer. “Such a shame that your parents didn’t take better care of you as a child.”

I turned around, my cheeks burning.

Aurora was a girl who had auditioned for the company, unlike myself. She came from a good working class family, whereas I had come from nothing. I’d never been open about my past, but she had a way of finding things out.

“Cállate, Aurora. Or you might start opening night with something even more unsightly than a simple scar,” my best friend hissed. Though Magda was small, she was fierce.

Even so, something twisted inside of me. It was true; the scar was unsightly. Flamenco dancers should be perfect, beautiful. And the last thing I needed was Aurora finding out how I got it.

That’s why the slit should have been on the other side. I had told the seamstress several times that a slit would interrupt the flow of my movements. It was a lie, but should’ve been enough to get her to comply. Tears were gathering in my eyes, and I bit my lip. Aurora smirked before opening her mouth.

“What’s going on here?” Maestra Cecelia said, interrupting the girl.

“Carmen has the ugliest scar I’ve ever seen. I think you should make her wear one of the old dresses, so no one in the audience notices,” Aurora said.

My back straightened, and I tightened my jaw. That girl had no shame. She was as vicious as a Guardia. I refused to let myself cry. My skin was thicker than that.

Maestra Cecelia looked at me, evaluating the damage while her eyebrows drew together. “Honestly Aurora. You think that’s bad? You act as if cosmetics had never been invented.” The formidable woman marched over to the girl’s table and picked up a powder compact, closely matching my skin tone. “Carmen, go get some tights on and we’ll finish covering that up with this.”

Relief flooded through me in tranquil waves from the top of my head to the tips of my toes. It was nice to have someone in my corner.

“The audience will be distracted enough with ex-Campeón Morales. There will be no mental space left to search for silly scars,” Maestra Cecelia said in an off-handed manner.

I froze again, but this time for a completely different reason. I blurted, “Wait, Antonio Armando Castillo Morales?”

Maestra Cecelia blinked. “San Volcán, Carmen. I feel like I’ve said it a hundred times.” She opened her arms to the room. “Haven’t I said it a million times?”

Aurora was quick to say yes.

I took a deep breath and apologized. From the look of her, she wanted to gossip, so I decided to go for my tights in a minute. I grabbed a handful of pins and started on my hair.

Maestra Cecelia crossed her arms, leaned against one of the mirrors and continued, “I heard he’s in town looking for someone to train for the upcoming tournament. La Dama only knows how he got assigned to this miserable island.”

Magda spoke up at my side, but I continued jabbing pins into my hair. “The eighteen-year-olds from here can’t be that bad, right?”

Cecelia shook her head. “How the hell would I know? The good news is that he only has to mentor one person, whereas most of the others have teams between five to ten. I don’t know how they decide that, but I guess fame and the Canciller’s favor can get you all kinds of wonderful exemptions.”

The blood drained from my face, and I looked like a ghost in the stage mirror. This night kept getting worse.

It was terrifying how I could compartmentalize the Winter Solstice and the Blood Tournament, as if they didn’t go hand in hand.

The solstice celebrations included performances, street vendors, and live music, but the tournament was a week-long event where the next generation of Élites climbed across the Cinturón del Fuego and proved themselves fit to become the future leaders of the commonwealth.

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