Chapter Thirteen #2
He shrugs. “Sounds convincing to me. Besides, we’re all strangers at the end of the day. We can just make stuff up if needed.”
“You can’t be serious?” I ask, stopping and grabbing him by the shoulder to slow him down. “I mean, how did we meet, for instance? Why did we decide to enter the tournament together? People will ask us these things.”
Taron stares at me for a beat and, when I don’t yield, he sighs. “How about this? We grew up together in Moondance Haven. Years of being privately trained together, becoming best friends and all that jazz. People will buy that.”
“Best friends? OK, I guess it’ll work.” I nod to myself. Then Taron goes back to walking, so I have to jog behind him to keep up – there’s more to plan. “Now, what about our backgrounds?”
“We don’t want to add too much detail. Throw in that story about being financially cut off, and all those rich bastards will baulk at the sight of us.”
“And our reason for entering the Reckoning?”
“We want to win,” he says. “And we want the wish, like everyone else.”
Taron’s story is simple. Which, I guess, makes it work. But I still have concerns.
In a few hours, we’ll be facing down a banquet hall full of bloodthirsty opponents from elite Academies with years of combat training and full mastery of their talents.
What will we be telling them? How do we act around each other?
We are strangers, after all. Well, at least I know more about Taron’s fake identity than I do his real one.
The way he confronted Cyrus in the tavern, those nightmares last night, his reluctance to talk about his life…
I still don’t know what he meant yesterday when he said he wanted to free himself. Is whatever he needs to free himself from something I need to worry about, too?
“What if there are other competitors from Moondance Haven in the tournament?” I ask. “It’s a relatively small village. They’ll know we’re lying.”
Taron quirks his shoulders. “There’s no use worrying about it. Madame Vera knows what she’s doing.”
My doubts linger. “And what if, by some cosmic joke, we actually win the whole thing? If our faces end up on every paper, people will soon find out that we’re not who we pretended to be?”
“Madame Vera will take care of it. She always does.”
I watch Taron in silence. I’m so focused on figuring him out that I nearly trip over an uneven stone in the road. He seems so sure of himself – of her. How do I know I can trust him when he’s putting all his faith in the woman who killed my sister?
I’m shaken from my thoughts when a street urchin, quick as a shadow, snatches something from Taron’s jacket pocket.
“Hey, thief!” I shout.
Taron pivots, attempting to seize the boy, but he’s swift and slips down an alley.
“Come back here, you little runt!” Taron is fast. He races after the thief, and I struggle to match his pace.
We round the corner into the alley, and the thief is almost at the end when Taron’s arm shoots out, fingers curling with purpose. In an instant, the thief is jerked back through the air as if pulled by invisible strings, crashing on to the ground before us with a thud.
Taron towers over him, his boot pressing down on his chest. In the dim light of the alley, the thief’s face is revealed, marked by fear and tears tracing lines through the grime on his cheeks. He’s only a teenager.
“You stole from me.”
“Please, don’t hurt me, sir,” the boy pleads. “I … I’m only an orphan… I’m hungry.”
Taron’s jaw is clenched, his chest still heaving from the pursuit. “Get up,” he growls at the thief. When the boy hesitates, Taron, using his talents, lifts him to his feet and shoves him against a wall. He stands there, regarding the boy with a hard stare.
“You’ll starve to death if you keep getting caught like this. Even worse, thrown in a cell by the Principal Guard,” he says through gritted teeth. He puts out his hand, and the boy drops the stolen object into it.
I can see it more clearly now – an antique pocket watch with the three moons engraved on it.
“Learn to be better.” Taron takes a step back, freeing the boy from his invisible hold against the wall.
The kid drops to his knees. “I … I’m sorry, sir.”
“Stand up and stop apologizing.” Taron’s voice seems to soften as he adds, “If you’re hungry, try staking out the back entrance of taverns. They don’t always take in food deliveries right away, so the wagons just stand there unattended.”
“Th-thank you, sir.”
“Take this.” Taron hands over the last bread roll. The boy takes it gratefully. “Now go – get out of here.”
The boy spins and runs off without a backwards glance. Taron keeps watching the end of the alley until his footsteps fade.
My mind is a-swirl. This can’t be right. Taron is meant to be cold and heartless, yet here he is, displaying a flicker of compassion.
“What?” he says, noticing me watching him.
“You didn’t punish him,” I say. “Why is that?”
Taron scoffs through his nose and marches away. “A street urchin like him isn’t worth wasting my energy on.”
Something about his tone doesn’t convince me. It’s intriguing, to say the least. That advice he gave the boy about food deliveries almost sounded like he was speaking from experience.
After a long, silent walk back to the Lucky Fish, we arrive to find Mr Bo waiting angrily behind the bar.
“You’re late to check out,” he snaps.
“Sorry,” I tell him. “We’ll fetch our stuff now.”
“Too late. If you want to use the room, you’ll need to work another shift.”
“But we’re leaving in…”
“You want your stuff, you work. Oh, and there’s a delivery for you.”