Natalia Petrova and Omar Al-Farsi (Astraloria)
Priya Desai and Lenore Desai (Solara)
Mateo Fernandez and Ingrid Bjornsen (Wrisha)
Darius Kowalski and Jessie Kimura (Wrisha)
Liam Connor and Lance Connor (Astraloria)
Emil Novak and Yara Haddad (Astraloria)
Kwame Mensah and Elena Ribero (Solara)
Now, as our twelve remaining teams sail for Aurora Isle, we wait in anticipation for what the next trial will bring. What will greet our competitors upon the island’s shores? Rest assured, dear friends, that the best is yet to come.
Yours ever-watchful,
The Games Master
Chapter Twenty-one
I try and try but never manage to fall asleep. My mind won’t stop recalling the moment Taron pinned me to the floor, his blue irises burning with an anger I still don’t fully understand. Each time I glance over at him, lying with his back to me, I wonder if he’s really asleep, or pretending. Did he believe me when I said I didn’t use my talents on him, or could he feel the missing weight of his inner demons, a small part of them now taking root inside my own mind?
Somewhere through the night, the Sea of Storms seems to ease in fury, and the creaks and groans ofThe Leviathansubside. When, finally, I’m unable to stand the suffocating stillness any longer, I throw my blanket off and slip out of bed.
The cool air of the cabin bites at my skin as I quietly get dressed in the dark, pulling the tight green uniform overmy tired body and pinning the shimmering golden brooch bearing the Astralorian insignia I got from Madame Vera near my collar.
The uniform feels strange, like a second skin. I’m not cold, but I miss the weight of clothes. At least the boots are sturdy, laced high, and the utility belt hangs snugly around my waist. I load it with the rest of my bag’s contents: a small flask, a few rolls of bandages and two healing tonics.
My fingers brush over the empty weapon slot, but my trusty shears nonetheless find their home in the side of my boot – it would feel wrong keeping them anywhere else. Reaching down for them is second nature to me, an instinctive reaction I’ll no doubt need in this tournament.
I open the cabin door as quietly as the old ship allows, and softly slip out into the narrow corridor. The door groans, and I glance over my shoulder at Taron.
He’s still facing the wall, his breathing steady but shallow. His legs twitch lightly beneath the sheets, as though he’s still fighting something in his dreams. From this angle, I can see his brows are furrowed, lips parting in soundless whispers. I leave him to sleep, padding quietly through the competitors’ quarters in search of some fresh air.
By the time I reach the upper deck, the night is beginning to fade and I’m greeted by a quiet that seems to stretch for ever. The waves, wild and crashing all night, are now gentle, lapping placidly against the ship’s hull in rhythmic swells.
The Sea of Storms has lost its rage, and for the first time,the water is still enough for me to see the sky reflected on its surface – a deep blue speckled with stars, slowly brightening with streaks of gold and pink.
There’s no sign of the crew. No overzealous competitors camping out in their uniforms, ready to dash off at a moment’s notice.
I move to the nearest railing and lean forward. The fresh air is everything I need to calm myself. It’s cool, carrying the scent of salt and something clean, something more hopeful than yesterday.
My eyes search the horizon. In the distance, barely more than a shadow against the brightening sky, I can make out the shape of Aurora Isle. It’s small, much smaller than I thought, almost indistinguishable against the dawn.
I close my eyes and steel myself. I need to be strong. Fearless. I need to keep my focus on the life I’m fighting for.I’m coming for you, sister.
The sound of footsteps behind me breaks through my thoughts. I don’t need to turn to know it’s Taron. His presence is familiar by now. He’s not as good as he used to be at hiding his emotions from me.
This morning, the energy coming off him is subtle. A murky grey, almost ashen. It tastes salty, like tears, with a faint smell of mildew. I’m used to the smell of shame.
Elara used to reek of it, each time she returned from work at the bakery, with a tray full of pies and a dock in pay for not managing to sell out. Her boss was wicked like that, but she endured it for the sake of her passion.
Taron comes to stand beside me, his gaze also fixed on the distant island. Seconds pass and neither of us speaks.
The soft murmur of the sea fills the space between us,The Leviathanplacidly rocking beneath our feet.
“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Taron says, his voice quiet, almost lost to the ocean breeze.
