“It’s like you haven’t eaten in weeks,” I comment.
“Feels like it,” he mumbles through a mouthful. “The soup we got last night wasn’t exactly filling.”
I shudder at the memory of the fishy broth Mr Bo gave us for dinner after our shift at the tavern. I’ll admit it wasn’t that different to the various concoctions Elara and I have had to throw together from leftovers. It makes me wonder. Wherever Taron comes from, whatever life he leads with Madame Vera, it’s clearly one that can satisfy his appetite.
We’re both silent for a while, the sounds of the market swirling around us. I try to savour the infectious buzz, but my thoughts keep returning to the tournament. It certainly doesn’t help that signs of the Reckoning are everywhere.
Red-and-gold banners hang in shop windows and bookies linger on street corners, tempting onlookers to try their luck on some of the competitors. Speculation drifts through the air – animated chatter about the odds of different pairs.
Taron and I try to squeeze past unnoticed, but we still end up caught in the crosshairs of a red-faced bookie who sidles up with a grin. “Two Lun per bet, folks. Special price, today only,” he chirps.
“Not for us,” Taron says, but I can’t resist asking.
“What are the odds on Maeve and Wren from Moondance Haven?”
The man’s face contorts with disdain. “No, no, no – you might as well be throwing money to the wind! Let’s place a bet on Young Prince Cyrus instead. What do you say? A much wiser investment for the lady.”
Taron has his eyebrows raised at me as we walk away. “What did I tell you? We’re not on anyone’s radar.”
“I suppose that’s comforting.”
We press on through the market, and it’s all that I can do to keep up with Taron and his long purposeful strides.
“So,” I say when I at last catch up, “have you thought at all about our backstory for tonight? We need to be convincing.”
“Your name is Maeve and my name is Wren. We’re from Moondance Haven. What else do people need to know?” Taron’s tone is calm. Thumbs hooked into his pockets, he exudes a relaxed air that doesn’t match the entities I saw swirling around him last night.
“Don’t we need a bit more detail than that to be convincing?’
He shrugs. “Sounds convincing to me. Besides, we’re all strangers at the end of the day. We can just make stuff up if needed.”
“You can’t be serious?” I ask, stopping and grabbing him by the shoulder to slow him down. “I mean, how did we meet, for instance? Why did we decide to enter the tournament together? People will ask us these things.”
Taron stares at me for a beat and, when I don’t yield, he sighs. “How about this? We grew up together in Moondance Haven. Years of being privately trained together, becoming best friends and all that jazz. People will buy that.”
“Best friends? OK, I guess it’ll work.” I nod to myself. Then Taron goes back to walking, so I have to jog behindhim to keep up – there’s more to plan. “Now, what about our backgrounds?”
“We don’t want to add too much detail. Throw in that story about being financially cut off, and all those rich bastards will baulk at the sight of us.”
“And our reason for entering the Reckoning?”
“We want to win,” he says. “And we want the wish, like everyone else.”
Taron’s story is simple. Which, I guess, makes it work. But I still have concerns.
In a few hours, we’ll be facing down a banquet hall full of bloodthirsty opponents from elite Academies with years of combat training and full mastery of their talents. What will we be telling them? How do we act around each other? We are strangers, after all. Well, at least I know more about Taron’s fake identity than I do his real one. The way he confronted Cyrus in the tavern, those nightmares last night, his reluctance to talk about his life…
I still don’t know what he meant yesterday when he said he wanted to free himself. Is whatever he needs to free himself from something I need to worry about, too?
“What if there are other competitors from Moondance Haven in the tournament?” I ask. “It’s a relatively small village. They’ll know we’re lying.”
Taron quirks his shoulders. “There’s no use worrying about it. Madame Vera knows what she’s doing.”
My doubts linger. “And what if, by some cosmic joke, we actually win the whole thing? If our faces end up onevery paper, people will soon find out that we’re not who we pretended to be?”
“Madame Vera will take care of it. She always does.”
I watch Taron in silence. I’m so focused on figuring him out that I nearly trip over an uneven stone in the road. He seems so sure of himself –of her. How do I know I can trust him when he’s putting all his faith in the woman who killed my sister?
