CHAPTER SEVEN
A Trial of Duels and Rivals
The crowd’s cheers and shouts deafened Em’s ears.
She squinted past the blinding sunlight and sandy haze from what little she could see through a thin, barred window.
From the armory, she surveyed the massive, arch-filled arena.
The Yarros Arena was like every other Heir Trials’ location; the kind one might recycle an old set for in a Fan-fiction Theater.
The shadowy stands were filled with mostly Elves, but the occasional Dwarf or Hobbit or Human was in the mixed crowds.
Sounds of their anticipated conversations echoed deep in her hammering chest.
Soon, she’d make a fool of herself in the arena and dump the prophecy into Roden’s hands. It was going to be fucking awesome.
Em struggled to stand still as Gair and Faylorn stuffed her into armor.
Despite the separate women’s armory she’d seen in the deep underground passageways of Yarros, the wizard decided she needed to wear men’s armor for the duel.
Not that it’d be a full coat of armor or very practical; half her attire consisted of a velvet, embroidered tunic, chain mail, and decorative, starry ornaments.
Polo even fetched a white rose crown to twist into her hair.
Em scowled at it all. “Is this necessary?”
“Of course, Highness.” The imp bounced in place, admiring the makeover he bestowed upon her with itchy pastes and creams. “You’re the Almighty Queen of Stars, Princess of the White Rose Valley, and Heir to the Cursed-But-Once-Uncursed-Tower!”
Em sighed, slumping in defeat.
Just a few more hours. You can do this.
“You look beautiful, Em.” Gair raised his eyebrows and flashed a pearly smirk, his aquamarine eyes glittering with soft admiration.
“Nobody asked for your opinion, Gair,” she spat. “Please go home.”
“I go where you go.” Her best friend’s lips thinned as he crossed his arms.
“Nervous, Highness?” Polo asked.
“No,” Em said. “I’m fucking ready.”
“That’s the spirit, lass!” Faylorn slapped one of her metal pauldrons, then wrung his hand with a regretful wince. “You’ll prove yourself today as a worthy leader to all of Novella and that you’re ready for the final battle against Kriqir the Living.”
“Why couldn’t we just go get the dragon relic to prove my Chosen One-ship?” Em regretted the question as soon as she asked it.
Don’t tell them their own plot holes, you ass. You need to get out of this ASAP.
Cause it wouldn’t be as funny.
“The Wood Elves didn’t give you a choice,” Gair said. “Besides, the whole world of Novella has to know you’re the Chosen One.”
Me and the thousands of other Chosen Ones. Em shrugged.
“Look at Roden Trislee.” Polo pointed out the window of their crammed, sweaty armory. The imp burst into a fit of giggles. “He’s brooding again. And someone seriously needs to find him a different eye-makeup brand. That smoky eye is hideous on him.”
They all clustered together and peered across the arena at Roden. The half-elf prepared for the trial like she was, except with the help of the Elf King, Kymil, and his silver wolf. His armor was dark as the expression on his face.
Em and Roden made eye contact.
The creases on his face softened at the sight of her.
Her heart flip-flopped.
Dammit, look away. Twirling around, Em bumped into Gair. He grabbed her arm before she toppled over, and they staggered for balance, gasping. They stood facing one another, close and warm, breathing each other’s hot breath.
“Oh dear–– I’m s–– sorry,” Em stammered.
Gair’s pupils dilated, the aqua flecks glimmering in the light. “You’re fine.”
Heat rushed through her veins. Gair had never been so close to her like that before, so pressed together—his strong form so perfectly pushed against her in all the right places.
No. No. Stop. Em shivered and yanked free, flustered. Don’t give in.
She peeled away from her companions, fighting to catch her breath. Her emotions were jumbled from both love interests. The impatient audience’s loud, bellowing lungs stabbed into her ringing ears.
Focus. She tugged at her rose crown.
“Em,” Faylorn whispered, coming beside her. “The Almighty Queen of Stars, Princess of the…”
“Can you just give me a damn nickname?” Em snapped. “Those titles are ridiculous.”
Yes, please. My fingers hurt typing them on repeat.
“You must take Destiny’s Song, Reaver of Diligence.” The wizard drew the prophecy’s sword from his robes. The golden weapon still championed all the clichés in the quest so far.
“Use it to bring yourself victory,” Faylorn said. “Remember, in these Heir Trials, no one dies. You must make Roden drop his sword first.”
“I don’t want it.” Her blood curdled at Destiny’s Song’s humming presence.
“You cannot choose what you want over what you need,” Faylorn said. “This weapon was destined for you, and it will be your guide to ensure victory.”
Em stared at the swirls carved along the blade. Gems clung to the sword’s hilt like bed bugs covering a mattress. If she lost using the famous weapon, then had to humiliatingly hand it over to Roden, it’d crush Faylorn’s dreams.
Losing was one thing, but losing with the prophecy sword? Pure humiliation. There’s no way she’d be considered a Chosen One after a failure like that.
And the thought of it made her smile.
“Take it, Highness,” Polo encouraged behind her. “It’ll make you chicer.”
“Are you scared?” Gair breathed down her back.
“Hell, no.” Em took the sword.
A buzz swept up her arm as the magical weapon connected with her. She staggered under its weight, her knuckles whitening as she tightened her grip. Em stumbled out of the armory into the blistering arena, struggling to hold Destiny’s Song in front of her so she wouldn’t stab herself.
All at once, the crowds outside fell silent, and thousands of eyes locked on her.
Em’s stomach leapt to her throat.
What the hell is happening?
Gair gasped behind her. “Em, look!”
In her hands, Destiny’s Song, Reaver of Diligence, glowed.
An electric hum crawled up her arm. She squinted in the blue illumination. Glittery dust floated off the blade, swirling in waves around her.
Shit! She dropped the prophetic sword.
The blade’s aura died, and it landed in the arena sand with a thump.
“Do you not see this?” Gair ran into the center of the arena, yelling at the crowds and gesturing toward her.
“Destiny’s Song, Reaver of Diligence comes alive in the hands of the Almighty Queen of Stars, Princess of the White Rose Valley, and Heir to the Cursed-But-Once-Uncursed-Tower! It proves she’s the Chosen One!”
Em stared at her trembling arms, weakened by the sudden disappearance of the prophetic sword’s hum. Remaining sparkles stuck to her skin and clothes, shimmering in the bright sunlight.
A whisper filled Yarros. Elvish slurred together with English, because apparently everyone conveniently spoke the same language except the Wood Elves.
“Gair!” Captain Kymil yelled from Roden’s side of the arena. “Get back to the sidelines!”
“No!” The dragon-mutant stomped his foot. “Em is the Chosen One. How can you be so blind as to ignore the truth? Her eyes are green, and Destiny’s Song, Reaver of Diligence glows in her touch!”
Please shut the hell up, Gair.
“The Heir Trials must continue!” The Wood Elf King ordered. “Only a warrior can withstand Kriqir the Living or steal a dragon’s relic from Brolzross, the Nocturnal. Chosen or not, Em must prove her worth in this arena.”
Thank Novella. Em let out a deep breath.
“But grandfather…” Roden began to protest.
“The Glorious Musclewood Covert’s Council of Wood Elves declared the Heir Trials would take place to determine our heir,” the king finalized. “We will not stop the duel.”
“Amen,” Em grumbled. The perfect-haired elf king might’ve just saved her entire life.
She picked up the heavy, humming sword. Beams of light bloomed from the blade again at her touch. How anyone expected her to win this trial with a vibrating, blinding sword was beyond her. Thankfully, it was another cover for her sabotaging the trials.
She squinted beyond her sword’s bluish haze as Roden approached her from the other side of the arena.
“I’m ready!” she shouted, earning a cheer from the crowds.
Polo Took-Took let out a loud whistle over Gair’s continued protests.
Being a Chosen One is fucking weird.
“I, too, am ready.” Roden flexed his broad shoulders.
The rivaled Chosen Ones faced each other weapon-to-weapon, waiting for the signal to begin their duel. After she lost this fight, the prophecy would go to Roden, and she could forget all about this shitty plot forever.
“I hope you like weird,” Em muttered.
“Excuse me?” Roden blinked.
A fanfare of horns burst forth, echoed by whatever vocal capabilities the audience had left.
Roden swung the first strike, and Em could barely react. She ducked, blocking her face with her glowing sword. The weight of crashing blades sent momentum through her shaky arms. Glitter flew off Destiny’s Song into her eyelashes.
They staggered, thrust, and smashed blades, trying to knock their opponent’s weapon free.
Metal ground against metal. Em grit her teeth past the painful screech.
Music harmonized with the crowd’s cheers with the intense violins.
“What the hell is that?” Em screamed to her companions watching on the sidelines. The glowing blade and continuous cheers from the throngs were distracting enough to not lose right away. The music made it worse.
“Soundtrack, to set the mood!” Polo yelled back.
“Why?”
“It’s classic! By some guy named Zimmer, Scorer of Musicks.” The imp shouted.
Em dodged Roden’s harsh blow and nearly tripped over her own feet. Her lungs screamed for air, but the crowd appeared to have used it all, so her head spun.
Roden paused his attacks, watching her past his violet irises. Sweat clung to the bulging, hard muscles along his veiny, tanned arms and dripped from his dark hair.
Em bounced on her toes, flexing her sore fingers on her sword’s ornate hilt. She needed the right moment to lose without it being too obvious.
Spin and swing overhead. It’s literally the stupidest, most overused method in action scenes. She twirled and prepared to throw her blade against Roden’s. But he merely side-stepped her, throwing her off balance as she stumbled to skid to a stop.
She’d been an open target, but he purposefully hadn’t taken advantage of it.
They stared at each other. Contrasted to the loud audience and violent music, the rivals stood still, surveying one another, sword-to-sword.
C’mon, hit me.
She teased her blade at his, but he merely shifted back, avoiding her.
Em heaved between breaths, sweat sliding down her spine beneath her clunky costume.
Think of something, something fast. Fear tugged at her. You’ve gotta lose!
With a yell, she swung toward Roden’s legs. He hopped over her blade with quick agility and landed in the sand on both feet without twitching. He didn’t even counter her attack.
“What are you doing?” Captain Kymil shouted Em’s thoughts at Roden.
Does he know I want to lose? Her hammering heart skipped a beat.
Roden’s violet eyes narrowed, the slightest smirk twitching on his lips.
Em jabbed her sparkling sword at him. Roden ducked, dodged, and spun away but never lifted his blade against her. Frustration enraged her as she chased him around the arena. Her awkward armor knocked against her on all sides, and her glowing sword made it hard to see him, but she kept chasing.
The half-elf outran her with ease.
Hit me, you bastard! She yelled past her anger. I need to lose!
In a rush, Roden burst to life and whirled on her. He must’ve found a pattern in her attacks, blocking everything she threw at him and countering with his own flurries. Glitter spat from her glowing blade into her eyes.
While her sore arms tried to keep up with his, relief swelled through her.
Roden wasn’t giving up after all, just testing her abilities.
Typical. But Em could lose, and that’s all that mattered now.
Roden’s next strike sent clanging bells through her head and agony up her arms. Her fingers numbed under the impact, unable to feel the weight of her sword.
Now’s your chance!
Em flexed her throbbing hand and let go. The hum of Destiny’s Song faded from her arms as it fell in slow motion and hit the dust. As the sword’s glow flickered out, the sun became too bright.
The arena soundtrack shrieked to scratching a halt.
Silence lingered for a moment.
Em and Roden both stared at her weapon in the sand between them. A smirk tugged at her lips, but she was too busy gasping to let it slip through.
“No!” Gair’s shout cut across the arena.
Someone blared a victory anthem through the Yarros’ hidden sound system. The crowds shouted in joy or disappointment.
Gair swore somewhere behind her, and Polo Took-Took burst into obnoxious tears.
Em watched Roden, heaving.
He hunched across from her, gasping, sweat dripping from his hair. A determined expression was still plastered across his perfectly chiseled face.
“Congratulations!” She didn’t need to fake her smile, holding out a swollen hand to him. When he ignored the offered handshake, Em retrieved Destiny’s Song and knelt in front of Roden, offering it to him. Its gleam flickered to life again.
People shushed each other as the Yarros Arena took a deep breath to listen.
“As winner of the Heir Trials, you’re now the prophesied Chosen One, Roden Trislee.
” Em bowed her head low to hide her grin.
Excitement swelled in her as the words left her mouth.
She could almost smell her farm’s camels again in her heavy, sweat-soaked armor.
“The Almighty King of Stars, Prince of the White Rose Valley, and Heir to the Cursed-But-Once-Uncursed-Tower.”
Roden’s gloved fingers curled over hers. Em shivered at the contact and let the sword fall into his hold. She pulled her hands off the jeweled hilt as he took it from her. Once again, the blade’s glow faded away.
At last.
Em took in a sharp breath of relief. She was no longer the Chosen One.