He could not sleep. The Crack sat in his chest and would not leave. He kept replaying the moment in the great hall, the warmth flickering when he was serious.
Harsk was awake too as always.
"What happens when a Crack actually hits?" Chris asked. "Not partly. Fully."
Harsk's shadows went still. "Full Crack means your power inverts. for example a Jester who's taken seriously might become unable to speak. Or might make people take everything seriously, including threats. It's different each time. Always catastrophic."
"Reversible?"
"Survive the inversion and the Crack heals." Harsk paused. "Most don't survive."
'Catastrophic. Most don't survive. And my Crack is being taken seriously. Which means every time someone believes me, I get closer to destruction. Fantastic.'
Dawn. The pens were gray and quiet. Chris sat in his corner and waited until the other slaves were gone, then tested it by himself.
No audience. No warmth to lose because there was none to begin with.
He tried to be serious. Dropping the jokes. Speaking plainly inside his own head.
My family is dead.
The warmth died. His ribs started aching. His vision blurred at the edges. Four seconds. He lasted four seconds before the grin came back, automatic, a reflex that was not a choice.
"Well, that's depressing," he said out loud. "Where's a good audience when you need one?"
The warmth trickled back. The pain retreated. Four seconds of seriousness had nearly broken him.
'I can't be serious. Not even alone. Not even for four seconds.'
Sera found him in an alcove off the noble wing. He was staring at nothing, which was becoming a habit. She sat beside him without asking.
"You're different today." She studied his face. "Quieter."
Chris opened his mouth to make a joke. She held up her hand. "Stop performing, Just once. Stop ."
He tried. He dropped the grin. Let his face go blank. Opened his mouth to say something.
Nothing came out. His chest was empty where the words should have been. Sera's eyes widened.
"You can't." It was not a question. "Can you?"
He shook his head.
"What happened to you?"
"I don't know." His voice was small. "I really don't."
She did not push. She just sat there. The alcove was quiet. The torch on the wall flickered. Chris wanted to say something genuine and could not.
Later. Sera talked about her family. Minor Eastern nobility. House Valen.
Then she mentioned the Casteran massacre. Just context.
"Your House was destroyed three years ago. Everyone said there were no survivors."
Chris went very still.
"There weren't." He heard his own voice. "Not really."
"What do you mean?"
He grinned. The grin was him slamming the door shut. "I survived. But I'm not the same person who had that name."
Sera looked at him. She saw the door. She did not try to open it.
'House Casteran. Three years ago. the house burning and him just...Shut up. Don't think about it.'
He left the alcove before she could ask anything else.
His feet knew the way to the yard
before his brain caught up.
The Grav Face was already waiting in the sand.
The Grav Face fighter put his hand on Chris's arm and the arm became lead. Just that fast. One touch and Chris's left arm weighed a hundred pounds. He could not lift it. The joint were in pain.
"I'm feeling really waited down , is this what commitment feels like?" Chris said.
Some people laughed but not enough. The arm was getting heavier. The Grav Face grabbed his other arm. his both arms are useless now.
he felt the warmth drained.
He headbutted the fighter in the nose.
The Grav Face staggered. Grip loosened. Chris screamed: "HEADBUTT! THE NOBLEST ART!"
The crowd erupted. The warmth came back fast and hard and Chris ripped his arms free, grabbed the fighter's belt, and threw him with strength that didn't match his skinny body.
The Grav Face hit the sand and did not get up.
Chris stood over him. Breathing hard. The warmth was still flowing and his arms still worked and he had won again.
Night. Chris asked Harsk about the Settling Price again. He had asked before. The answer had not changed but he needed to hear it again.
"It happens when you've worn the Face deep enough that it wears you back," Harsk said. "A piece of you settles. You can't change it anymore. Not a choice. Not something you can fight."
"What was yours?"
Harsk held up his hand. The shadows clung to his fingers. "I used to love the sun."
He said it simply. Just a fact about a man who used to love a thing and now could not go near it.
Morning. The yard. Chris was practicing on new ways to generate laughter, new angles. Delk watched from across the yard, his Fear keeping a ring of empty space around him all the times.
Chris noticed something. When Delk's fear aura brushed against him, the jokes came faster.
The fear primed something in his brain that made the humor more urgent.
He yelled across the yard: "Hey Delk! Scare me again, I'm working on something!"
Delk's grin was visible from thirty feet away. He let the Fear pulse outward.
Chris's next three jokes landed harder than anything he had tried all week. The nearby slaves were laughing and relieved and the warmth was strong.
'Fear primes laughter. I'm using his power to fuel mine.damn I'm so smart.'
Evening. The great hall. Chris performed and it was the best show yet.he was confident and every joke landed perfectly.
The court was with him. Even Maren's lip were twitched upward.
Then, mid-performance, a thought hit him from the inside. From the place where House Casteran was buried three years ago.
What was he doing when his family died?
When the soldiers came. When the house burned.
He was laughing. Not because it was funny or he chose to. Because the Face demanded it?
was the warmth there then?
was it a shock or was it this?
The joke died on his tongue. The warmth wavered. The court noticed. Chris forced the grin back and finished the show but his hands were shaking and he could not make them stop.
'I laughed when my family died. was it the Face? was it always the Face.i always was a funny boy but this .... '
He stumbled offstage. The great hall's side corridor was dark and empty and he made it three steps before his legs gave out. He sat on the stone floor with his back against the wall and his hands on his knees and tried to cry.
He could not.
His eyes were dry. His chest was tight. He tried to think about his mother and laughter bubbled up instead. He tried to think about his father and the laughter got louder. His little sister. The laughter became a horrible broken noise that was full of sorrow.
"I laughed at their funeral. what kind of person i am."
Sera was there. He did not know when she arrived. She sat down beside him on the cold stone and did not say anything. Did not offer comfort. Did not tell him it was okay because it was not okay.
She just sat there. The broken laughter stopped after a while.
Chris stared at the opposite wall aa Sera's hand move and rested on his arm.
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A/N: I hope you enjoy this novel. Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Thank you.