Chapter Sixteen
The energy in the palace gardens has a tension to it that doesn’t match the calm of the evening. Honeysuckle perfumes the air, but beneath the sweetness there’s an undercurrent of something more intense.
Like a storm growing slowly and more powerful with each passing moment.
The lights strung through the manicured hedges give off a soft, twinkling glow, and shadows dance across the glossy silks and satins draped from the branches overhead, forming a canopy for the competitors to gather under.
The scene is beautiful, yet it feels like a facade. The palace gardens, perched at the mouth of the sea, offer a view that I’m sure very few have seen. To stand here, you must be either incredibly lucky – or terribly cursed.
Beyond the palace, the Sea of Storms churns under the night sky, a restless beast with waves that crash against the rocky shore.
And there, drifting among the shadows, is a ship. An elaborate vessel with sails as dark as night, dotted with shimmering constellations. Its figurehead, a fierce dragon, has ruby eyes. As it looms, it feels like it’s watching us.
Taron and I find ourselves towards the back of the competitors, a crush of craned necks and awestruck whispers.
The Obsidian Eclipse is a gentle show. Our three moons, each in its respective phase of full, half and crescent, are slowly converging into one, layer upon layer, until they form a single beaming sphere.
For the first time in ten Stellar Years, they dance in perfect accord, and, somewhere on the dark horizon, Aurora Isle is ascending from the depths.
I can’t remember much of the last Obsidian Eclipse. Only that Elara and I watched it together on a hill in the valley, lying shoulder to shoulder with our fingers intertwined. The streets of Stellargrove had been pulsing in celebration, and our foster mum didn’t notice us sneaking out of our room.
“It’s not like I expected an earthquake,” I remember saying. “Only that I’m a little underwhelmed.”
“A whole island is emerging from the bottom of the ocean right now, Tal,” Elara chastised me. Even at seven, she spoke like she was seventeen. “Just because we can’t see it happen, doesn’t mean it’s not magical.”
“Where do you think you’ll be in ten Stellar Years?” I’d asked her. “When the next tournament comes around?”
“Living in the capital, hopefully. I want to become a baker. Own my own little shop by the waterside.”
“We’ll make it happen, El. I promise.”
Now, a knot twists in my throat. I realize a tear is pooling in the corner of my eye and I quickly wipe it away. I see Taron glance at me and then away, pretending not to notice.
Fritz and Harry stand in front of our gathering with two solar spotlights beaming down at them. Even in the harsh light, their skin looks velvety smooth, not a hair out of place on their heads.
High Prince Seraphius gives the men a nod from a balcony above, where all the dignitaries and royals have gathered. They’re peering down at us like caged animals, binoculars poised in their hands. Why do they need binoculars?
“Good evening, dear competitors,” Fritz begins, and the two girls who bickered over Cyrus before are now giggling behind their hands. “Here we are again – Fritz and Harry, your favourite Reckoning victors. Feels surreal, doesn’t it, Harry?”
“Major déjà vu vibes,” Harry agrees. “It feels like only yesterday that we were standing here, staring up at the sky.”
“The Obsidian Eclipse is a beauty, all right. But this year, we return not as competitors but as facilitators,” Fritz says. “We were beyond honoured when the High Council invited us to present this year’s Introduction.”
Several competitors exchange curious glances. I try to find Taron’s eyes, but his attention is fixed on the dignitaries above, quietly whispering among themselves.
Fritz and Harry prowl along the gathering of competitors. I hold my breath and feel all my muscles clench.
“Twenty-four teams – isn’t that something, Fritz?” Harry says.
“It really is,” Fritz agrees. “Congratulations, folks. You’re all here because the stars deemed you worthy. But it’s not the stars you need to impress tonight. The Introduction is a show of talents. Your chance to make a good first impression.”
Two stable boys emerge from the shadows, carrying an odd assemblage – a wooden post, potato sacks and hay.
When they set it down, I realize it’s a mannequin.
The moment they place it in front of us, contorting its head to unveil a crudely painted face, the realization hits me.
We’re not showcasing our talents but rather our proficiency in killing.
“Behold your target,” Fritz says. “When introduced, your team must step forward and inflict as much damage as possible in a single blow. That’s all you have, so I suggest you make it worthwhile.”
I feel like I’m watching from a distance as he calls out and introduces competitors, one team after another – a bizarre spectacle, to say the least.
The first few teams seem to falter under the pressure, managing only to nudge the mannequin with their assaults. After each presentation, Fritz and Harry allow the observing crowd a moment of contemplation. Should anyone wish to bet on a team, they simply raise a little yellow card for collection.
Mei and Rhius are the twelfth team to go and, even though they only manage to topple the mannequin, they still garner two bets. Both cards are collected through the air, fluttering like butterflies into Fritz’s hands.
“Next up, we have the Young Prince Cyrus, fourth in line for the Solaran throne, and his teammate, Gideon Kepper,” Fritz announces, allowing the pair to step forward.
“We know the Young Prince as a formidable Helio” – mocking laughter ripples through Cyrus’s siblings on the periphery – “while Gideon’s records show he’s been a valiant volunteer in the fire brigade, using his Aqua talents to save lives. ”
Cyrus sweeps his hand over his head, gathering light from the spotlight and weaving it into a radiant spear. Behind us, the fountain gurgles. I turn my head to see Gideon coaxing a stream of water through the air.
One nod from the Young Prince and Gideon manoeuvres the water like a ribbon, enveloping the mannequin before letting the water seep into the hay-stuffed core.
Like he’s twisting a knife, Gideon rotates his hand and the mannequin puffs up, like a bubble swelling from within.
Cyrus wipes his thumb across his nose as his stare glides over his siblings, and then, with a burst of power, he springs into the air.
He hurls the spear at the mannequin’s heart, and the impact echoes like a bolt of lightning.
The mannequin shatters, bursting like a balloon.
Water streams out like blood, straw spewing like guts.
Cyrus gives a lazy tweak to his overcoat, savouring the crowd’s collective hum of wonder. The boys scurry to replace the mannequin.
Fritz starts amassing yellow cards. I glance at Cyrus, expecting to see him glowing with triumph. But his jaw is tight, eyes ablaze with frustration. And I don’t need to be an Astro to figure out why.
His father, High Prince Hevio, has his attention on his eldest son, Cullen, and the two of them are engaged in conversation. Even when the applause for Cyrus cascades through the crowd, his father and brother remain indifferent.
It’s tough to watch, made even worse when Kara and Savannah are called out next, only to have the High Prince fix his attention on them.
Naturally, they’re amazing. Savannah’s talents as a Psam allow her to weave sand into any weapon she fancies – a bow and arrow in this instance.
Kara effortlessly crafts a light spear to match Cyrus’s, and their performance bursts forth like a firework.
No sooner do the stable boys replace the mannequin than they’ve already destroyed it, sending tattered shreds of potato sack and strands of hay flying through the air.
Basking in the cheers from the onlookers, with yellow cards whipping about like leaves in a storm, the two keep their fingers entwined, eyes locked in a moment of bliss.
It’s ridiculous. As if they’ve just clinched the tournament. All three rulers, including the High Prince Hevio, rise to their feet, yellow cards clasped, ready for collection.
Cyrus is seething. His lips form a tight line. I half-expect him to spit on the girls’ shoes when they slot back into place beside him, but he manages some semblance of composure.
“Don’t get too cocky,” I hear him sneer through the corner of his mouth. “I’ll be coming for you the first chance I get.”
Savannah smirks. “Not if we get to you first.”
They can’t stand each other – perfect. My attention lingers on the trio, and I’m not fully focusing as Gigi and Gunther take their turn. Other teams follow, each with varying levels of popularity.
At last, in the fading applause, Harry’s voice wafts across the gardens, “Finally, we have Maeve Speck and Wren Hull.”
For a split second, I don’t respond. Then I realize. That’s us. “Hey,” Kara whispers, “he’s calling you.”
I hesitate. If I had known there would be a showcase tonight, maybe I’d have discussed it with Taron beforehand and concocted some sort of plan. The other teams all have a rhythm, an understanding born from actually knowing one another.
Taron catches my eye and gives me the faintest nod.
“Both hailing from Moondance Haven,” Fritz announces as we step forward, waiting for the stable boys to replace the demolished mannequin, “Maeve and Wren aren’t enrolled in any Principal Academies, making them our only privately trained team this year.”
A disapproving murmur rustles through the crowd, and I can’t muster the courage to meet their self-righteous, judgemental stares.
“Let’s get this over with,” I mutter, channelling a bit of Kara and Cyrus in my performance.
I conjure a long, ethereal spear crafted from my own negative emotions.
It’s mostly a concoction of apprehension, woven with anxiety and a sprinkle of self-loathing for my lack of confidence.
I’ve seen what Taron is capable of, so there’s no reason to doubt our ability to do some real damage to the mannequin.
I turn to my left to see what Taron has done. He’s just standing there, hands behind his back and chin raised with indifference.
No, this is not what I need right now.
“Wren,” I whisper, “what are you doing?”
“I’m not some fool to be put on display,” he says, loudly enough to draw scoffs from the crowd. If anything, their disdain only fuels him. He readjusts his stance, legs parted slightly, shoulders rolled back.
“You’re going to let me do this on my own?” I hiss.
Silence.
I can’t believe him. Is he serious? After everything he’s done to get here, after enduring being Madame Vera’s little dogsbody, doing all her dirty work – this is where he chooses to take a stand? I’m not just angry … I’m furious.
He can’t do this to me. I didn’t abandon my entire life, leaving behind everything Elara and I built, only to be humiliated in front of a garden full of pompous big shots.
My fingers clench around the spear, feeling it solidify against my skin, fuelled by the burning fury inside me. I don’t know what overcomes me but I lunge forward, arm pulling back and hurling the spear with a loud scream.
A voice in the depths of my mind urges me on, chanting my goal, the prize at the end of all this misery. A sister’s freedom, traded for victory at any cost.
The moment stretches as the spear punctures the mannequin’s head. It tears it right off and continues flying all the way back towards a distant tree. When the energy dissipates and the spear vanishes, what’s left is a hole the size of a fist, dug into the bark from the impact.
I close my eyes and breathe, suppressing the urge to laugh. My voice is a whisper in the evening breeze, a wish spoken only to myself. I wish… to win this thing.
Seconds pass, and everyone is silent. Somewhere, someone coughs. Then whispers spread like fire through the competitors, followed by suppressed laughter.
It’s humiliating. Mortifying. We’re the privately trained team who can’t work together to save our lives.
We don’t get a single yellow card, even though my spear clearly tore the stupid mannequin’s head right off. If any of the other teams were still unsure whether we’re a threat, they surely have their answer now.
“Right. That was … interesting.” Fritz garners nods from the balcony as he herds us back into the group.
I catch a flicker of something in his expression.
Malice, maybe. “That’s the last of our competitors.
But fret not, folks, because there’s more fun yet to be had.
A few moments ago, Harry here got handed something very special. ”
“Very special indeed.” Harry brandishes a scroll tied with a red-and-gold ribbon. “It would seem the Games Master has a message for our competitors.”