Chapter 35
Chapter thirty-five
Beckham brought me armor the next morning.
I dressed in a simple knee-length dress, similar to the one I had worn in my duel against Lochlan. A dark-red overshirt was assigned to me, along with a fitted breastplate, elbow pads, and wrist guards. Armor was a strong word for the flimsy pieces, but it was better than going in with nothing.
But what were we going into?
I reached out to Atlas a few times, but he was completely silent. It was strange not to receive even so much as a tap from him. Still, I sent him updates, telling him about the armor, the light breakfast, and even Beckham’s nerves.
Beckham’s hands were shaking like mad as he fitted the armor over me. He could barely look at me, averting his gaze like he didn’t want any glimpses of me to be his last. After I was fully ready, I turned and grabbed his hands, not even causing the boy to wince as he continued shaking in silence.
“Don’t mourn me yet,” I told him, squeezing his hands just enough to make him meet my eyes. They were glassy, but the tears had yet to fall. “I’m not done fighting.”
He gulped, nodding silently until his voice found him. “And neither am I,” he said. “No matter what happens today, my lady, I promise I’ll keep fighting. Me, Mara, and all the others.”
He pulled his hand away, reaching into his shirt to retrieve the healing stone he rarely let be seen. He placed it in my palm, wrapping my hands around it and pressing them closed. His eyes shut, and the stone warmed in my palm until it became almost too hot to endure.
“W-what are you—” My voice faded as the heat flooded my muscles and restored energy that I didn’t realize I had lost.
The leftover remnants of the poison, the fatigue from malnutrition, the exhaustion that came from being paranoid at night, all of it disintegrated until I felt like the strongest version of myself I had known in months.
“How did you do that?” I asked as he pulled the stone back, quickly slipping it back into his shirt. “I thought you had to steep the stone in a liquid to transfer its effects.”
“I’ve been practicing.” Beckham toyed with the chain, a small smile twitching across his proud expression. “My father used to be able to heal anyone by projecting the magic directly into the patient’s blood instead of through another fluid. I wanted to carry on that legacy, and today I have.”
I lifted my arms, shocked at how much lighter the armor felt now that my strength was rejuvenated. I stood taller, breathed clearer, and felt a thick fog lift from my mind. Beckham was right, he wasn’t done fighting either.
Now, can I win for us all?
The guard came to escort me to the final event, and the halls were as dismal as a funeral procession.
Every servant, dressed either in red and blue, looked at me with pity.
It was a look I was all too familiar with, but it felt different this time around.
I wasn’t a worthless prisoner whose name they’d never even bothered to learn; the pity I felt now was personal.
They knew my name, my purpose, and genuinely struggled to watch me walk toward that arena.
I had made a name for Diaspro. Mother would be so proud. Father would writhe in his grave.
The weapons room was terribly drafty despite still being inside. No one explained the competition to me or anything that I should be doing, but when they wheeled out a weapons rack, I calmly selected a few options.
There didn’t seem to be a limit on what I could take, so I chose a well-balanced sword, two daggers to hide in my belt and boot, and of course, a slingshot.
I wasn’t sure how much ammo to bring, so I chose a small bag, deciding it would be better to keep things lightweight in case I needed to maneuver easier.
It would have been nice to know how many stones I needed to carry, but until I got through today, I wasn’t sure how many enemies I had left.
Once I’d completed my selection, the guard escorted me out into the arena.
The open sky was grey and cloudy, dusting the arena with a constant flow of light flurries that left the ground slick and icy.
The surrounding walls kept the majority of the wind out, making the cold feel like nothing compared to the icy hell we’d endured only days before.
The other competitors were lined up along the edge, each fitted with their own armor and choice of weapons.
A guard stood behind each girl, likely to keep them in check while they were armed.
It felt strange to see only four other competitors lined up.
Ciara’s departure had left an eerie feeling in the air, causing everyone to seem a little more on edge than normal.
Sybil swept me a rather dirty look as I walked past her, but I wasn’t in the mood to entertain her disdain.
I took my place beside Mara, my heart stiffening as I noticed her soft shivering.
She carried only a bow, quiver, and a short sword that looked far too heavy for her. I thought back to the moment she had first tried to use a bow in the hunting event; she likely chose the weapon because it was the only one she had any experience with.
“Diaspro?” Mara whispered, her little finger brushing against mine like a child trying to get her parent’s attention.
“Yes?” I whispered, hooking my little finger around hers.
“I just wanted to thank you.” Her voice was hoarse, her finger ice cold. “For being a friend to me.”
My heart seized, her soft words too gentle for my rigid soul to take in.
“Of course,” I whispered. “Let’s stay friends, okay?” I tightened my finger around hers, but she didn’t return the squeeze. Instead, she let her finger drop, her watery smile turning to me as the snow clung to her pretty blonde hair.
“I’m going to miss you, Diaspro,” she said cheerfully, her shaking hands shifting in front of her as a single tear trickled toward her smile. “Promise you won’t forget me, okay?”
What?
“Mara, what are you say—“
“You two, quiet!” the guard behind me barked, silencing our conversation with a fierce strike to my heart.
Mara’s smile remained, soft enough to go unnoticed by the crowd but big enough to crinkle her scar. Something wasn’t right with her; why did she sound like she was preparing to die?
Had the Guardian reached out to her too?
My breath caught as I thought back to the note they had delivered her during the last event. They had the means to contact Mara directly—what if they’d told her that they couldn’t save her unless I failed?
She wouldn’t…
“Welcome to the final event.” The steward who had been hosting from the start stood at the top of the arena, his loud voice booming over the rows of spectators.
I’d barely even noticed all the people who had filled in the seats while focusing on those in front of me.
The king was seated in his prime location, his raven eyes glued to the competitors like a bloodthirsty predator.
The princes weren’t sitting with him like usual, but as I scanned the crowd, I was able to eventually spot Cedric positioned at the edge of the stairs.
Lochlan and Atlas were much harder to find, and I eventually gave up looking to try tapping at my ring some more.
Still nothing.
His silence didn’t sit right with me, but I didn’t have any time to consider the reason for it yet.
“Today’s event is a battle of strength, endurance, and intelligence,” the steward continued, a slow hush washing over the crowd. “Simply put, it’s a combination of all the skills that have been tested thus far, but to a greater extreme.”
He pointed toward the arena gates, and we all watched silently as they creaked open and a single soldier stepped out.
He didn’t look to be anything impressive.
His armor was a grim shade of black, making him stand out in the snow while his helmet covered most of his face. He waved briefly to the crowd.
“Allow me to introduce just one of today’s enemies.
” The steward waved back, and the soldier stepped back behind the gates.
“There are fifty of them total behind those gates, each one varying in strength and ability. One by one, each competitor will select a number of enemies to challenge and defeat. For every foe defeated, the competitor will earn one point toward their final score, but if they fail to defeat any of them, they will lose those points instead. For example, if you were to challenge three competitors and defeat only two, then you would lose three points on your final ranking.”
The final ranking?
I thought back to the list of scores that had haunted me since the first event.
With so many points available to win or lose, those scores meant almost nothing in the grand scheme of things.
They certainly gave people like Avalyn a head start, but if Mara couldn’t defeat anyone, she’d be back down to zero in no time.
This isn’t good. I can’t help Mara score any points if we’re all fighting separately.
“However, as I mentioned earlier, these enemies vary vastly in their level of strength,” the steward said.
“Some have never held a sword until today; some are well-trained soldiers; and a few are true masters. “When you select your number of enemies, the soldiers will be sent out randomly, so there’s no telling the strength of the enemy you’ll be facing. ”
“Interesting,” Brisa commented, twirling a small throwing knife in her fingers. “So there’s some strategy at play here. If you calculate your odds right, you could end up going up against the easiest enemies and scoring the quickest points.”
“Hardly,” Avalyn scoffed. “They said it was random. The idea is not to get overambitious so you don’t overwhelm yourself and lose points.”
“It just sounds like luck to me,” Mara said.
It’s definitely more than luck. The word random sounded like a pretty lie as I thought back to Septimus’s confidence last night. I had no doubt that he had arranged for the worst foes to go up against his least favorite competitors.
I see what the Guardian meant now…
There was no way to protect Mara in a one-on-one battle where the worst fighters were assigned to her. Unless…someone took the brunt of those fighters before they could get to her…
I understand now.
“Lady Diaspro has been selected by the king to go first.” The steward pointed straight toward me, and my shoulders tightened under the hundreds of eyes that pinned me down. “Please step forward and tell us how many enemies you’d like to challenge.”
How kind of him to let me suffer first.
I stepped forward, my boots thudding softly in the murky brown snow that mixed with the arena’s dust. All of my days at the palace dragged behind me as I left them in my path—my memories with my servants, my attempted romances with the princes, and the threats from their king were all buried under the snow as I fixated my thoughts on the fires that came before it.
Becoming Aemastia’s queen was everything I needed.
But I wasn’t here for me. I was here for Ivalon.
I stopped in the center of the arena, looking inside my bag of ammo, briefly counting the stones inside. There wasn’t enough, but there was more than one way to make a giant fall.
I glanced up at the king, his wickedness oozing from his eager posture and dark eyes. He was so confident that he had won, and it was still likely that he had done just that, but I wasn’t going to give up without one final stand.
Mara can’t lose any points if there’s no one left to fight.
“I choose to battle all fifty.”