“This must be what heaven looks like…” Gigi stumbles towards the fire with Gunther, and the pair plant themselves on one of the logs encircling the fire pit.
It’s only now that I notice the signpost beside the pit. Pinned to it is a cream-coloured note with cindered edges. A red-and-gold bow is fixed beneath it.
It’s a note from the Games Master.
“Shall I do the honours?” Savannah unpins the note and clears her throat. “Esteemed competitors, welcome to camp. Congratulations on surviving the second trial. I’m sure you’re all exhausted, so please use tonight to refresh and revitalize yourselves…”
“Don’t mind if I do.” Cyrus unclips his utility belt, chucks it at Gideon, and claims a log opposite Gigi and Gunther.
“It’s not very princely to interrupt people,” Kara says through gritted teeth. She’s trying to mask her fatigue, but the toll of the last trial is reflected in her face: the tautness of her jaw, the darkening circles under her eyes. “What else does it say, babe?”
Savannah continues, “As you no doubt have observed, a hearty celebratory stew is bubbling away. Please, eat your fill. Each team has also been allocated a cabin for the evening. Rest well. We shall reconvene in the morning for the third and final trial. A word to the wise: no competitor shall cross beyond the campsite’s edge until the gong tolls.”
“A night’s rest sounds like a luxury right now.” Rhius stretches his arms above his head. He eyes the simmering cauldron. “And a good meal.”
“I call dibs on the first shower!” Mei declares before vaulting over a log and sprinting to the shower house.
I barely register her, though. None of us do. Our eyes are locked on the cauldron. The scent of the stew – rich, meaty – is overwhelming now, almost dizzying. It pulls at me, twisting the gnawing emptiness in my stomach into something more savage.
It seems to have the same effect on the others. The group unravels around me.
“Move it,” Cyrus barks, shoving past Gigi and Gunther. “As your prince, I should be served first, don’t you think?”
Gigi’s glare cuts right through him. Their lips are curled in disgust. “Oh, yeah? You think we care about that here?”
“Go find yourself a golden spoon, Your Highness. Then we’ll talk,” adds Gunther, towering behind them with crossed arms. He looks half-amused, half-ready to deck Cyrus if it comes to it.
Cyrus rolls his eyes. A muscle in his jaw twitches almost imperceptibly, then he brushes off their hostility with theair of someone used to getting his way. Only this time, no one’s budging for him.
Savannah reaches the pot first. She takes a wooden bowl from the stack on the ground, dips the ladle into the broth and fills it to the brim.
“Hey, leave some for the rest of us!” Gigi growls, and that’s all it takes to set off a stampede.
As I’m about to surge forward, a hand wraps around my forearm. Taron’s grip is firm, his touch cool, and I glance up, startled by the sense of calm in his expression as he observes the other teams. They swarm around the stew like savage animals.
“Better let them have at it,” he says. “There’s plenty.”
I want to argue, to say I can’t just stand here and watch them tear into our only meal while my body screams for food. But the way his hand lingers on my arm, fingers softly pressing into my skin, makes me pause.
As hard as I try, I don’t understand him – how he can be this person now, so calm and controlled, when I’ve seen him be something else entirely.
I can’t help but wonder if this is the real Taron. The one I’ve only caught glimpses of, the one I want to trust. Even if I know I shouldn’t.
Chapter Twenty-five
The flames in the fire pit sway like living entities. They dance and flicker, casting shadows that play upon the faces of the four teams surrounding me.
What remains of the stew is simmering at the bottom of the cauldron, the rich scent of meat and vegetables having long given way to a haze of wood and smoke, clashing with the crisp evening air.
I sip slowly on my stew where I’m perched on a roughly hewn log close to the flames, letting the warmth seep into my aching bones. I like the silence. It allows Aurora Isle to serenade us with the wild symphony that is the jungle at night.
The rustling of leaves. The chirping of crickets. The distant calls of creatures nestled in the dark, untrodden corners of the foliage.
I keep forgetting we’re on an island, and that somewherebeyond the trees lies a roaring sea. Now and then, I catch whiffs of its salty tang. But mostly the air smells like fresh earth, not so unlike the forest back home.
I stare into the fire at my feet, the heat from the flames twisting and curling into the night like ribbons. They rise towards the stars, and I imagine reaching out, grabbing hold of a ribbon to see if I could yank a star right from the sky.
If only it were that easy. I’d give it to Madame Vera, let her make her wish and, in return, I’d get my sister back. No trials. No bloodshed. Just a single star to end it all.
