“I don’t know,” I say, all of a sudden having second thoughts. I don’t want any of my mates to be hurt – especially when one’s missing right now. I don’t want to place them in danger.
But that, of course, proves a major provocation to both Beaufort and Dray, who obviously want to prove to me without a doubt that there’s no chance of anyone else beating them and certainly no chance of them being hurt.
Soon we’re being dragged out to the palace grounds to wherever this tournament is being held.
“We really don’t have to do this,” I say.
“Oh, come on, Cupcake,” Fly says, a bounce in his step and his arm threading through mine. “It’ll be fun.”
Outside, the sky is full of warm golden sunshine that tickles against my skin and has the faces of those around me glowing iridescently. The palace grounds are lush green – the grass tightly clipped, the bushes cut into perfect symmetrical shapes, and even the flowers shaped to perfection.
We walk through one garden, then another, until the flower beds and neat bushes fall away and a row of tall cone-shapedtrees block the horizon. The sound of many voices and the thundering hooves of horses reach us from the other side, and when we make our way through the trees, I’m greeted by the sight of hundreds of shadow weavers all dressed in bright, vibrant colors, the material of their clothes silky, dense, and heavy – some wearing magnificent creations balancing on their heads.
They’re standing around a low fence, and on the other side, two men are racing towards each other on horseback, tossing shadow magic as the audience coos, ahhs, cheers, boos, and claps with excitement.
First, those watching don’t notice us coming. Then a few of the men and women closest to us spot the Princes. Several greet them and a large, round man walks up to talk with them as I hover in the background with Fly, sensing even more eyes on me than I ever had at the academy. Suddenly, I feel small and out of place.
“I think we may have become the entertainment now,” Fly mutters under his breath.
The Princes finish their conversation with the man and come to surround me, weaving us through the small crowd until we’re standing by the short white fence.
Beaufort nudges me and points to the man on the black horse. “That’s Danders, Dray’s brother,” he tells me. The man looks just like his older brother, only his straight platinum hair is cut to shoulder length and his mouth is curled into more of a snarl than Dray’s broad grin.
We watch as the two shadow weavers thunder towards each other, both firing magic as they do. Danders succeeds with a lucky hit, smacking his competitor in the center of the chest and knocking him from his horse. The crowd cheers as the man tumbles to the ground, his shadows catching him before he makes impact. He rolls up to his feet and gives a dramatic bowas Danders waves to the crowd smugly, his gaze sweeping the crowd with that usual shadow weaver arrogance. When he spots his brother in the crowd, he smirks at him.
I’m guessing there’s some rivalry between the two and I’m not exactly surprised.
“Are you going to have to take part too?” I whisper to Beaufort, but my words are drowned out by another roar of the crowd as the men lead their horses away and two more men take their places this time both on foot. A horn is blown and then they begin to fight one another.
Except, I realize all the shadow magic is being fired in one direction this time – from just one of the men.
The other man is tall and burly; he has a shield strapped to his forearm and a sword held in the other hand. He’s trying to withstand the onslaught from the shadow weaver in front of him, and it’s clear he has no magic of his own.
He’s an ordinary.
I freeze on the spot, my blood running cold. “What? What’s going on?” I say.
The others are entranced by the fight in front of us, though, and it takes me asking again, louder this time, before Thorne and then the others drag their gazes away and look toward me.
“He’s an ordinary,” I say. “Fighting a shadow weaver!”
A bolt of the shadow weaver’s magic hits the ordinary on his shoulder, and he hisses with pain as his skin sizzles.
“How is that fair?” I say.
“It’s just entertainment, Kitten,” Dray says.
“I thought you said the shadow weavers would be fighting each other.”
“They were. You just saw them,” Dray explains.
I shake my head in disgust as the man is hit again by the shadow weaver’s magic. He looks strong and powerful – the ordinary – but he stands no chance. I ought to know. I’vewithstood both Henny Smyte’s and the Madame’s magic when I didn’t realize I had any of my own – when I was powerless to defend myself. I know how painful that can be.
“I don’t want to watch anymore,” I say, but no one’s listening, not even Fly, they’re all entranced by the spectacle, so I turn and push my way back through the crowd.
Chapter Fifteen
Beaufort
