23. Double Standards Are Dragonshit
23. DOUBLE STANDARDS ARE DRAGONSHIT
“There are no ‘ties’ in the Gladius Probatio,” the queen roared from where she stood in her viewing balcony. Beside her, the king appeared a second from keeling over, his skin obviously sallow and clammy even across the distance.
Repeatedly, I blinked, returning fully to my surroundings, though my body felt … too warm, slightly foreign, as if I’d welcomed something new and different into myself.
Rush, however, continued to crouch over me, his blade pointed my way, his body eerily, unnervingly still. Not even the broad muscles of his thighs quavered with the effort of holding himself there without moving.
Like a crab, I scuttled out of his way on my hands and feet. Only once I was removed from the trajectory of his dagger, did I whisper, “Rush. ”
He didn’t so much as twitch. His eyes were dull and flat—vacuous and empty of his own will.
“The Gladius Probatio must have just one winner,” the queen bellowed, her fury so potent that her voice carried across much of the stands without any magical augmentation. “The fight shall continue until only one contestant remains standing.”
Meaning, until Rush stabbed me at her command.
“No,” cried out several someones in the crowd.
The queen’s nostrils flared before she settled her features into a placid calm I had no doubt she wasn’t actually experiencing. After gesturing rapidly at Ivar, who sprinted over, sliding to his knees in front of her, his hands cupping the energy he sent her way to increase the volume of her speech, the queen said, “We are governed by tradition, and have no choice but to follow the path it lays out for us.”
One of the little bird-sized fairies scoffed. I jerked my attention to where they now huddled together near Azariah. Three of them were glaring furiously at a tiny male with violet-black hair—Blackberry, as I’d nicknamed him before. His cheeks were flushed as he pinched his mouth shut, surely praying that none of the sentry ears had picked up on his dissidence. He curled in on himself until he might be little more than a colorful pebble, and the mist swirled across him, mostly concealing him from sight.
If only it were that simple for me to evade the queen’s scouring focus…
“It was my ancestors from long, long ago, from our time in Faerie, governed by the elven monarchs of the Golden Forest, who deemed the Fae Heir Trials the best and fairest way to choose the next successors to the royal thrones when a natural … heir was … absent.”
She paused to swallow thickly enough that I could make out the bobbing of her throat from where I sat in the middle of the arena, unsure where to go, what to do, where I might be safe. Was it an act to garner her subjects’ sympathy? Or was she truly that choked up about the death of her only son, whose killer she’d never bothered to find despite her penchant for punishment?
“There can be just one winner of today’s match,” the queen went on in an even voice pitched to be soothing, reassuring. “Only one competitor will proceed to the Nuptialis Probatio to begin selecting the wife perfectly suited to him.”
A peaceful smile tipped up her lips as she sat on her throne, partially blocking my view of my father. She barked something under her breath at Ivar that had him skittering out of her way as she crossed her ankles and gazed out at the stands, conveying the perfect picture of serenity. The rubies in her crown glinted in the sunlight, prisms of crimson shooting off in a star of directions.
Her lips moved, and from the masculine mouth bobbing around us, emerged the cold command, “Azariah, fix this. Now.”
A squeak and a cute toot slipped out of the unisus from both ends—a rainbow of colors puffing from his wide nostrils and from his rear end enough to make his iridescent tail float upward. He peered all around us before pinning those large eyes on me.
“Don’t look at me,” I whispered. “I have no idea what to do.”
My gaze landed once more on Rush, who still hadn’t so much as blinked, whose grip on his dagger was white-knuckled.
“I can’t,” the unisus started telling me in a soft voice before an ear zipped over to bob directly in front of his mouth. He scowled, a comical expression on his horse face—I didn’t dare laugh.
“I, uh,” he stuttered before shaking out his head, causing his silken iridescent mane to undulate—and the ear to jerk out of the way. “I’m, well … okay, then.”
He cleared his throat, appearing resolved about … something, and announced for all to hear, “Our Majesty is right, of course. We’re beholden to the sacred magic of the Fae Heir Trials in general, and the Gladius Probatio in particular.” From the smoothness of his voice, I’d never have guessed how unnerved he was. No wonder the queen had selected him as announcer.
“And as only one champion is needed to proceed from the Gladius Probatio to the Nuptialis Probatio, I must have been … mistaken.”
A faint squawk wafted over from where the fairies as a whole were doing their best to have the constantly drifting cloud cover erase them from the queen’s view. From that surprise, I guessed Azariah wasn’t often wrong.
“I’ll try again,” Azariah assured.
The queen eased to rest her back against her throne. The king looked queasy enough to vomit all over her.
A lone cry of “Ti-ie, ti-ie, ti-ie” drifted from the crowd. It took only seconds for others to join in, and before Azariah could utter another word, “Ti-ie, ti-ie, ti-ie, ti-ie,” had grown loud enough that the mob’s judgment couldn’t be ignored—not even by the queen.
Her Majesty ’s displeasure was pronounced enough to score deep lines to either side of her mouth. She stood again, Ivar hustling over.
More joined in the call.
“Silence,” the queen said.
Some sputtered into quiet. Others only shouted, “Ti-ie, ti-ie.”
“You will be silent,” the queen growled, imbuing her voice with the command she wielded with an iron fist.
It took several moments, a few brave fae continuing the chant, but the queen stared out at them with a cold ferocity that had even their words guttering into nothing.
She pursed blood-red lips in glaring disapproval. “If you were qualified to decide matters important to the realm, you’d wear a crown. Insolence cannot and will not be tolerated.”
Her thinly veiled threat clung to the air like an arctic cold, reaching me even in the heat that continued to warm me from the inside.
“Azariah,” she said, not a sound to interrupt the strength of her order. “Proceed.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” the unisus said. Then, to the ear, “My queen, you must release the drake of your control if I’m to appoint him the winner.”
An instant later, Rush tumbled forward, hastily dropping the blade to break his fall. I jerked, hands launching toward him. The cuts along my arm and shoulder stung, but I swallowed a hiss of pain as I managed to push against his chest and help keep him from faceplanting.
My skin glowed a golden yellow against the brown of his fighting leathers. Stunned by the external evidence of the warmth within, I stared at it.
Nose to nose, his eyelids fluttered as awareness swept away the dull darkness from his irises. As his eyes focused, they took me in, that moonlight once again bright—and now stormy as a tempest capable of rending apart mountains.
He dragged his stare across every part of my exposed flesh, his mouth slack at the light emanating off me.
Then he patted the back of my hands in a muted request to release him. When I did, he offered me a hand up, frowned as he stretched his thighs and calves, and spun toward the viewing balcony without easing his grip on me.
“Oh, ah … ah-ha-ha,” Azariah squeaked at the in tensity of Rush’s glare up at the queen. “People, creatures, and beasties of all sizes, ladies and gents of the fae and everything in between, I beg you to behold our winner of the Gladius Probatio, the great drake of Amarantos, Russshhhhh Veeeggggaaaaaa!”
But as unenthusiastic applause made a round across the bleachers, Azariah’s mouth slammed closed and his nostrils flared wider than I’d ever seen them. His large eyes grew until they pushed against lush, extremely long lashes. His throat bobbed wildly.
I was still studying him as Rush, unaware of Azariah’s reaction, yanked me forward to stand beside him, his fingers weaving through mine.
Something as soft and fluffy as thistledown sprinkled onto my cheeks, down across my gaze, and I tilted my face up to behold what looked like a million dazzling snowflakes falling from the clear blue sky. They glimmered in a vast array of colors, a perfect match to the rainbows that adorned the interior walls of the arena. With my free hand, I skimmed a cheek and came away with a smattering of these flakes—soft, airy, beautiful— magical . The shimmering rainfall was in celebration of the winner of the Gladius Probatio, I realized, the queen’s version of confetti.
The crystalline spheres the giant frogs had solemnly held up all these days of ceremony erupted in a blaze of golden light, similar in tone to my glow. First went the one in the center that housed a mockup of Embermere and its royal palace atop a grand hillock. Next, one to either side of it, then the one after, and the next. When the globes vanished, sparks of light showered the frogs until they, too, vanished in a poof of green power that dwindled like an afterimage … before fading entirely.
Moments later, the royal orchestra ran out onto the field, hauling large and small cases, in three coordinating lines, servants bringing up the rear carrying seats for the performers. No sooner were the chairs set in place for them than the musicians sat and hurried to unveil their instruments. Undoubtedly, they were on the queen’s unreasonable timetable.
Dozens of dancers, these dressed not in silver, sexy, lacy unmentionables, but in white, loose, gauzy outfits that oscillated with the cloud cover that ebbed across their slippered feet, glided into the arena. The gossamer floated around them as if on its own breeze. They diverged into two groups as they swept around us, the diminutive fairies finally flying away, carrying their rope between them, and when I turned to watch, I once more noticed Azariah?—
Who appeared to be choking, gasping and trying to suck in air—like a fish out of water.
“Azariah?” I said.
Rush and the remaining eyeballs whipped around to face the unisus.
“Azariah?” Rush repeated sharply. “Are you all right?”
The unisus shook his head, his usually downy mane limp against his long, regal neck. His eyes bulged as he wheezed; the air he pulled in through open mouth and nose seemed insufficient.
Freeing my hand from Rush’s, I marched over to him. “What can we do to help?”
Azariah pawed at the ground, dispersing wispy, happy mist.
“Is it a spell doing this?” Rush asked.
Azariah nodded, fright shining across his dark eyes. My chest tightened as my hands fluttered around his body, unsure what to do.
“A direct spell on you?” Rush followed up, far calmer than I felt. “Or the spell of the Fae Heir Trials?”
At the second question, Azariah bobbed his head so eagerly that he finally drew the attention of the nearest dancers, who abandoned formation to surround the magical creature while the orchestra tuned its instruments.
Rush stepped closer, blocking out the onlookers. “Is it because you announced me as winner when the magic’s telling you it’s a tie?”
My heart stuttered in my throat, where the desperation to aid Azariah lodged.
Fervently, Azariah pawed at the ground some more. A thin tendril of air whistled through nostrils wide enough to pull in big gulps of it.
“Will it work if I announce us equal champions?” Rush asked, eyes narrowed in concentration.
Azariah again shook his head, his movements sharp jerks at first, then wobbly, as if he were moments from collapsing.
You fucking bitch , I sneered in my mind, before adjusting to utter aloud, “Your Majesty, Azariah will die if he doesn’t honor the magic of the trials and announce Rush and me winners.”
The dancers looked from me to the unisus to the viewing balcony, as if wondering how I could be addressing the queen without raising my voice.
“No,” came the reply, startling the fae in airy pale gossamer. The one word pounded a nail into my panic. Azariah tossed his head and reared, pounding heavily onto the earth when he landed, sending a wave of tremors rumbling beneath my feet.
“You’ll let him die ?” I snarled at the nearest ear.
“There are no ties in the trials,” the queen’s voice spat. Most of the curious dancers returned to their positions, smart enough to value self-preservation.
Azariah’s eyes rolled upward, and he stumbled. Rush raced forward to prop him up, but the unisus had to weigh ten times what the warrior did.
“How can Azariah announce the tie if he can’t breathe?” I asked Rush urgently under my breath.
But the ear picked up my question anyway. A moment later, the queen’s voice hissed, “He doesn’t. Rules are rules. We can’t defy the magic.”
“You are defying the magic,” I grumbled across a breath, panting with frustration. “That’s the problem.” You are the freaking problem .
Rush leaned into Azariah and braced his legs as he prepared to take on more weight than I imagined he could hold. Azariah wobbled, his eyes glassy and now empty of that earlier terror. His tail and mane drooped; his front legs buckled, bending at the knee, and he roughly fell onto them, Rush nearly crushed as he backed his legs out of the way and then immediately pressed his weight into Azariah’s side to keep him from toppling.
The crowd was breathless. Even the orchestra stopped its squeaks and discordant tuning.
In my desperation for something to do, any way to save the beautiful creature, I looked blankly toward the dugout, searching within my harried thoughts for some solution.
Roan Drum perched anxiously against a column, and he caught my eye. Those limpid green irises of his brightened as he nodded his encouragement.
But to do what, I had no idea.
“He’s dying,” Rush grumbled. “I’m going into his mind to see if I can get it to force his body to breathe.” His eyes lost focus, but Azariah was already going limp beneath him.
“Do it, lassie,” the dwarf shouted. “Don’t wait. Do it now.”
Whatever it might be, I still wasn’t sure, so I didn’t think, didn’t second-guess whatever might come out of me. I felt into whatever power was heating me and making my skin glow like one of Pru’s orbs, sprinted to the other side of Azariah’s body to leave Rush to do his thing, and smacked both hands to the unisus’ furry coat.
It was damp and matted with his sweat .
I sucked in a deep breath and shouted, “The magic of the Fae Heir Trials has determined that there are two winners of the Gladius Probatio.”
Shocked gasps floated toward me from the dancers and orchestra.
“Don’t you dare—” the queen’s voice began.
I didn’t so much as look up at her as I yelled, “The Gladius Probatio has ended in a tie. The two winners are Drake Rush Vega of Amarantos, and me, Elowyn Xiomara Ashira of Embermere.”
My hands heated, their luminescence spreading across Azariah’s side, quickly coating his prone body in that identical golden yellow.
“Xiomara?” I heard someone whisper in amazement, that I shared a name with the queen’s mother, but I strained my ears for Azariah’s breath.
The glow finished its circuit around him and began to fade.
“Oh no, it’s not working,” I groaned, unsure why I’d thought it would in the first place. “Rush, get him to breathe!”
“I’m trying,” Rush muttered, his face pinched with effort.
Azariah’s body went slack and he rolled toward me. I leapt out of the way, snatching my hands away. Rush nearly toppled on top of the unisus as he knelt next to him, pushing his power into his mind.
I stared at Azariah’s chest with fierce intensity. Come on, breathe, dammit, breathe .
“No,” a dancer uttered while another let out a garbled cry.
Stunned silence swept around the arena like a harsh, unforgiving winter gale.
Then—
Azariah sucked in a breath that sounded like he was dragging it across an eternity of rough stones.
His eyes popped open—and seared into mine.