“There’s no such thing as sport in Eki,” she explains. “No such thing as a fight for practice. They put real blades in the hands of children. If you make it to adulthood, your training is complete.”
“The Festival of Sport was like that too once. My mother told me that hundreds of people and thousands of animals would die at a single festival back in her great-grandmother’s day.” It was the abolition of slavery that ended the barbaric practice. It turns out people who aren’t in chains aren’t as happy about putting their lives on the line for the entertainment of others.
By the time the archery final comes around at the end of the week, the crowds in the arena are near capacity. It’s the next-to-last day of the tournament. Only tomorrow’s finals in chariot racing, the 100-foot dash, the fire-born trial, and trial of the blade will draw a larger crowd.
The sound is deafening. From the arena floor, which has been cleared of all except the torch and the three targets, I can barely hear Ronan’s amplified voice, his grandmother lending him her power once again.
“Welcome to the archery final! Our three competitors have bested a field of over one hundred, but only one can reign as Sai’s Champion of the Bow.”
He pauses for a cheer, which is so loud I nearly drop my bow. I’ve skipped my armor tonight, wearing instead the light Selaran clothes that keep me much cooler in the late afternoon heat.
“Will it be Linus of House Santori?”
The man on the far-left waves to the crowd. He’s about ten paces away, but I know his face well now after five rounds of the tournament. He’s a small, slim man of around thirty with a sharp goatee and tightly proportioned features. His House, Santori, is a minor house loyal to House Alta, the Royal House, and he receives an enthusiastic reception from the home crowd.
“Or will it be Calliope of Parthis?”
The response for Calliope is a bit more tepid, which isn’t surprising considering that Parthis is quite a distance from here. At least I think it is. I don’t recall the geography of Velmora in much detail.
Calliope is unfazed. She waves enthusiastically, her dark curls shaking. She’s dressed in the same black leathers as the first day of the tournament, and she seems unaffected by the heat. I bet it’s hotter in Parthis, wherever it is.
“Or will it be Sylvie of House Verran?”
A shiver travels through me at the sound of my name on Ronan’s lips.
There’s a much bigger cheer than I was expecting considering my House. There are some heckles, but they’re largely drowned out by the cheers. Maybe I won some fans at the sword fight after all.
“Archers, take your mark.”
This is it. I step up to the white line that has been painted on the dusty arena floor. There will be three rounds with three arrows each round. If the scores are tied, and they’re likely to beconsidering everyone’s performance so far, we’ll go into sudden elimination where we shoot one after another until someone fails to get a bullseye. The last one standing wins.
“Nock—”
The crowd noise fades as I nock the first arrow. Nine arrows between me and victory. There isn’t much of a reward for being Sai’s Champion other than pride, but I find myself wanting it anyway.
I want to hear Ronan say my name again. I want him to place the laurel wreath on my head.
I want him to tell me how proud he is of me.
“Draw—”
I take a deep, stilling breath as I draw my bow. The target is just like the targets in the courtyard of the castle where I was raised. I’m there again, eleven years old. Everyone is still alive. I’m passing time waiting for them to come home. Larus is on the sidelines, telling me to keep my arm steady.
The bullseye is in sight. I stare at it, unblinking. I line the arrow up with it, aiming just above to account for the drop. The afternoon wind is still.
Even the crowd is silent.
“Loose!”
I shoot the bow, and I know immediately that something is wrong. Not with my shot—it’s a bullseye. But the other arrows don’t hit their targets.
A blood-curdling scream comes from the crowd, and then all hell breaks loose.
The stands echo with shouts and trampling footsteps as I look to my left. Linus is on the ground, bleeding.
There’s an arrow in his ear.
Calliope, shrouded in shadow, is running for the track.
