Chapter Nine
Our journey to the capital is quiet.
The watercraft glides smoothly along the waterway, tracing a line through tucked-away landscapes: farmlands that stretch like quilted patches, quiet little villages nestled among the hills and sprawling valleys painted with wildflowers.
I don’t know what I expected, but it’s all so new and bright and very different from the green forested landscapes of Stellargrove.
Leaning over the side of the watercraft, I let my hand dangle in the water.
I try to stroke the fish swimming into the current, some orange, some yellow, some white, but their slippery little bodies evade my touch.
At the front of the watercraft, the helmsman can’t conceal his unease. His anxiety is pungent, reeking of sulphur. It swirls around his balding head, faint wisps of murky energy, pooling against the canopy overhead.
He’s unsure about us. Which he most definitely should be.
Taron and I are each in our own bubble of thought. I try to distract myself with the scenery, but, eventually, when the silence begins to gnaw at my sanity and the clouds above transform into mocking replicas of Elara’s cheekbones, I find myself glancing at him across from me.
His head is resting in his palm, eyes tracing the expanse of heliocorn fields streaking past us – delicate golden stalks that erupt gracefully from the upturned earth, crowned with pearl-shaped white kernels.
Sunlight filters through the woven canopy on to his face, creating a dappled, shifting pattern that streaks across his pale skin. He has dark rings around his eyes, and his jaw is tight. He looks annoyed, but I can’t sense it.
Yesterday in the parlour, I at least saw the faintest threads of something coming off him, but, now, not a lick of negative energy stirs in the air around him. I wonder if he’s suppressing his emotions on purpose. If he is, he’s good at it. Almost as though it’s a normal part of his daily life.
“Where did you learn to fight like that?” I ask.
There’s a twitch in Taron’s brow. “What do you mean?”
“The way you took down Maeve and Wren. Have you received any training? Are you enrolled in an Academy?”
He smirks, which I take as a no.
“I was just giving you a compliment,” I insist.
“I don’t remember asking for one.”
Jerk. I can’t tell if I said it out loud or not, but, when his eyes meet mine, I divert my attention, deciding to explore the contents of Maeve’s bag at my feet.
What I find is nothing short of absurd: make-up, jewellery, an assortment of hair accessories. A pocket mirror. A bottle of perfume.
I shake my head. “Perfume? Really? No idea how she thought any of this would help her survive the tournament.”
“Check the guy’s stuff if you want.”
“You’re not interested in it?”
Taron shrugs. “Not really. I’ve got everything I need.”
I arch a brow, partly irritated, partly intrigued by his confidence. Especially considering the squished state of his own rucksack on the seat next to him. Does he even have anything in there?
“You’re quite sure of yourself, aren’t you?” I ask.
He responds with another infuriating shrug, and I grit my teeth.
“OK.” I dig into Wren’s bag, hoping for something a bit more practical than a pocket mirror.
Inside are two spare lighters, some seeds I think are meant to explode when set on fire, and an empty water pouch.
There’s also a scroll tied with a red-and-gold ribbon – a new instalment of the Games Master’s Post. It has yesterday’s date on it, and mentions the chosen competitors travelling to Rava for some banquet.
That would explain the gown Maeve wanted to collect from the tailor.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” I say.
Taron frowns, so I brandish the letter. “How was I supposed to know about the banquet?”
“There’s a banquet before every tournament,” he says dryly.
“Still, a heads-up would’ve been nice.”
“Madame Vera will take care of it.”
Of course she will.
I close the scroll and dig through the final compartment in Wren’s rucksack. My fingers close around a crinkly paper bag, and as I pull it out, a smile plays around my lips. I grab a boiled sweet from the bag and pop it in my mouth. Teardrop berries and honey flavour.
“Score,” I say. “Don’t come crying to me when you start getting peckish.”
Taron doesn’t even look up.
I pucker my lips in frustration. This is absurd. Our lives are at stake here. We’re supposed to be a team. How are we meant to survive the deadliest tournament of the decade, when my teammate won’t even look in my direction, let alone talk to me?
I twist in my seat and blurt out, “Who are you?”
Taron looks at me. His jaw remains clenched in restraint. As if emotion is something he keeps locked behind his teeth. His too-stern features have a statuesque quality to them.
“What does Madame Vera have on you?” I ask. “Are you a thief? Did she bribe you with money? What did you do to get tangled up in this mess?”
Taron’s attention shifts back to the scenery. The heliocorn fields have given way to steep hills, scattered with deep-blue lakes and tall trees. Rava Academy is meant to be here somewhere – people always talk about the great lakes that surround the school.
It’s the most prestigious of the Principal Academies, offering specialized training in all elemental talents. It’s also named after the capital, so we must be getting close.
I brace myself for more silence, expecting our conversation to end here. When Taron speaks again, his words catch me off guard.
“Just because we’re both under Madame Vera’s thumb doesn’t mean we’re suddenly friends.” The low, raspy timbre of his voice reminds me too much of my dream.
I half-expect his face to morph into Elara’s – no, the hollow, emaciated monster that stole her likeness. But Taron stays Taron. Gaze distant. Mouth a straight line.
“The only reason I’m here with you is because you were stupid enough to get yourself involved with that woman,” he adds. “If it wasn’t you, it would be someone else sitting here with me. So how about we both do ourselves a favour and skip the get-to-know-each-other chat?”
His words sting like a slap to the cheek. But I refuse to back down. The stakes are too high.
“Listen,” I tell him, changing my approach, “the Reckoning is dangerous. The other competitors are trained killers. If we want to make it out alive, let alone win, we’ve got to be able to communicate. We need to work together, Taron.”
He looks at me again. This time, those intense blue eyes trace the contours of my face with a depth that makes me feel exposed and vulnerable. I shift uncomfortably.
“Fine,” he says, looking away again. “What do you want to talk about?”
“OK…” I rub my palms across my lap. He relented more easily than I thought he would. “What happens when we arrive in the capital?”
“The Obsidian Banquet is at the palace tomorrow night, and the competitors usually set sail for Aurora Isle the day after. That’s all I know.”
“OK.” I have a bigger question – one I hesitate to ask. “Do you know what Madame Vera’s wish is?”
“Why does that matter?”
“Well, if we win the tournament, how are we supposed to make her wish if we don’t know what it is?”
“As victors of the Reckoning, we’ll have the opportunity of relinquishing our wish to anyone of our choosing.”
“What if I wish to bring my sister back?”
He rolls his eyes. “That won’t work.”
I blink in surprise. “Why not?”
“There are rules. The first is that the wish must be unanimous. Both of us have to want it. And the second … well, the way your sister died isn’t something the wish can fix.
” He lets the silence settle. “The wish is rooted in creation and life, whereas a Soulreaper’s talents twist what’s natural and corrupt it.
They don’t simply take a life, but strip the soul and tear it from the weave of existence itself.
The wish can heal wounds and return what’s been lost, but it can’t replace something that’s been removed from the natural order of life and death. ”
“Oh,” I manage. A shiver runs through me. I’m determined not to cry in front of him, but it’s hard to stay strong. Madame Vera is my only hope.
But how can I trust the person who put me in this situation? The person who took Elara from me?
“How much do you actually know about the tournament?” Taron asks. “Have you heard of the Astrals? You must have been taught about them in school.”
I nod. “The Astrals are the founders of the Reckoning. Three soldiers who rebelled against the tyrant, Valerius Halo.”
It’s said that three hundred Stellar Years ago, Valerius, a rich farmer hailing from a then-respected Soulreaper family, discovered a fallen star in his fields – a radiant crystal.
He had it set into a crystal amulet for his wife, but soon realized it held immense power, capable of granting his every desire.
Except, the star could only grant one wish per person.
Valerius was consumed by greed. He broke all the laws of the Soulreaper’s Decree by manipulating the souls of the poor and the desperate, forcing them to make wishes on his behalf.
The repercussions were catastrophic. He claimed the thrones of all three principalities in the Triumstellar Accord and plunged society into suffering and despair.
That’s when the Astrals came to be. Three soldiers on the Principal Guard who came together to challenge him. They emerged victorious, and the Halo family name descended into the shadows.
The Astrals realized the danger of letting the star fall into the wrong hands, but they believed in unity and still wanted to share its power with the people of the Accord.
So, the Reckoning was born. They made a wish to bind their immortal souls to the star and become its guardians.
They wished for a place where the star’s power could be safely harnessed and shared with the world in a controlled manner – a place that would be tethered to its magic, existing only every ten Stellar Years, when the conditions were just right. Aurora Isle.