I am hypnotized by this godsdamned healer.
Trumpets blare, and every contestant is paraded around the arena before the queen. Some on horseback, some on foot. A few carry their family crests embroidered on banners, but most do not. All of them are just toys to her.
She sits on her cushioned throne, embedded with gold and jewels, enjoying the suffering of my people. Her depthless brown eyes watch them, a mocking smirk on her red lips. I want to cut the smile off her face with a dull blade and watch as the blood stains her blonde locks.
They have no idea the monster they bow to. The demon they are so desperate to serve. It makes me sick.
When Baltas is called, I walk beside his horse to stand before the royal platform. The stands fill with cheers at the mere sight of him. Baltas is a large, muscular fae, and they can already tell he’s got what it takes to win. The louder the cheers, the more faith they have in the competitor.
I lock eyes with Queen Daphne and bow alongside Baltas, but refuse to lower my eyes to the ground. When she waves her jewel laden hand in dismissal and looks away, I spit on the ground.
A handful of females wave their tokens in Baltas’ direction, hoping he’ll take theirs and they can claim his wins as their own.
My friend deliberately takes a thin green ribbon from an unfortunate-looking woman who gives him a dazzling smile that makes her ten times more beautiful than any of the higher-born females.
He ties the ribbon around his right arm when we get back in line.
When Arina is called, the people have lost interest. Or they refuse to show support for the only female in the tourney. I spot her friend from the bar in the stands, cheering and waving a piece of fabric in the air, and I can’t help the smile that crawls across my face.
This friend is the key, and I was right to use her as leverage.
The only other person who claps for her is the queen, and Arina’s shoulders go a little straighter as she stands from her bow. Daphne gives her an encouraging nod, and Arina grins.
A handful of dignitaries give speeches, and I add each one to my mental list of traitors. At the top of the list is the blithering lackey who gives the formal address.
The ceremonies end, and each competitor is ushered to their respective areas on the field. Some chatter amongst themselves, but all Baltas and I do is observe in silence.
The blade throwers are permitted to practice on the new targets. Surprisingly, Arina does not join them. She is also watching, taking in her surroundings. I wonder if she is marking the exits or if she can even focus on anything at all.
Trumpets blare, marking the start of the tournament.
The clanging of swords, thunking of blades into wooden targets, and pounding of hooves before riders collide and woodsplinters joins the clamour of the crowd, who have definitely picked favorites and are likely betting away their already dismal livelihood to thugs.
Between Baltas’ jousts, I watch her until finally it’s her turn.
She does not look my way before heading to the three blades presented for her on a table. Arina picks up each one, measuring and inspecting them, weighing them.
She tucks two of the blades into her left hand and holds one in her right as she walks up to her mark.
The stands are quiet. Everyone is equally as enamored as I am with the female healer who dares attempt to rise above her station. The queen’s favor has drawn them in.
Her chest heaves, and I hold my breath alongside her. She has to do well in these games to have a chance at eliminating Dolan. At least, that’s the excuse I give myself for caring.
One foot scrapes at the sand as she takes her stance.
The first blade flies, striking the closest target through the middle. Before I can blink, she’s spinning, switching the second blade to her throwing hand and sending it soaring for the second target. It thunks into the dead center of the painted white circle.
The crowd doesn’t dare make a sound as she plants her feet, taking the third blade above her head with both hands, and chucking it with all her might toward the final target.
It tumbles, handle-over-blade, again and again, before landing in the bullseye with a thwack.
The crowd takes one long, stunned pause before erupting in cheers of disbelief. I can’t help but join them.
There’s no chance any of them bet on her today, but they’ll want to tomorrow.
Arina
The sea of tents in the meadow on the other side of the lists is almost impossible to navigate in the dark, but I don’t mind. I’m still buzzing from the triumph of the morning. I get to move on. I’m one step closer to victory.
