Chapter 12 Ceremonial Attire
Ceremonial Attire
Asharp knock at the door pulled me from the shallow, twitchy half-sleep I’d managed to fall into. I blinked at the ceiling, heart pounding, already knowing what was waiting for me on the other side.
Carl-One poked his head into the room. His curls were askew, and he wore an expression far too solemn for his normally cheery attitude.
“It’s time,” he said.
I sat up slowly, every muscle tense. My staff leaned against the wall where I’d placed it the night before, its dark wood catching the faintest pink light that creeped into the room. Somehow, it felt heavier today. Or maybe I just understood better what it was I was carrying.
Carl-Two stepped inside, balancing a box almost as big as he was in both hands. “Delivery from the king,” he announced with a grimace.
He set it down in front of me, treating it gingerly, as if it was something precious. There was a crimson ribbon tied neatly on top, gold detailing embossed across the surface in intricate, swirling patterns.
I couldn’t restrain the laughter that escaped as I lifted the lid.
Inside was an outfit that looked like it had lost a fight with the fabric: straps of leather, strategically placed bits of metal, and what I could only assume was a skirt if you squinted really hard.
I stared at it. “Is this…a joke?”
Carl-Two shook his head. “King Damien sent a note with it. He called it,” Carl-Two shook open a small card, squinting as he read it word for word, “…the ceremonial combat attire. To be worn by all official challengers.”
I snorted. Of course it was. “I’m pretty sure this wouldn’t be enough fabric to even cover one of you.”
Carl-One offered helpfully, “The King says it ‘emobies the spirit of agility’”.
“Right. Because nothing says agility like exposed thighs and a nip slip.”
I looked down at the outfit again. Closed the lid. Opened it again, laughed, then closed it with a snap. “Nope.”
“But—”
“Nope,” I repeated. “Tell the King he can wear it himself if he’s so passionate about it.”
“You can’t disobey the King, miss Liss!”
“Oh no? What’s he going to do about it?”
Instead, I reached for the crimson tunic Rena had sent down to me yesterday.
It was plain but sturdy. The fabric was breathable, functional, and didn’t look like it belonged in a fantasy-themed strip club.
It wouldn’t leave me exposed to an errant slice of a blade that could end my life within seconds.
Tarran met me in the corridor, her gaze dipping to the simple armor I’d chosen. “Not wearing the outfit, I see?”
“Obviously.”
A rare flicker of amusement passed through her eyes. “Good. Would’ve been hard to take the trial seriously otherwise, seeing you in that.”
I tried not to dwell on her words, nor consider how that could have been flirting.
Together, we made our way to the arena. The walk was quiet. No fanfare, no decorations, just stone corridors that echoed with our footsteps and the weight of the task ahead.
The training yard was empty now, its usual energy replaced by a hushed expectancy that made my skin crawl. A single narrow gate stood at the far end, tall iron and etched with deep symbols I didn’t recognize. Beyond it, the arena stretched onwards.
Kellis stood to the side in full ceremonial armor, all his manly bits fully covered. He didn’t smile, didn’t nod. If his eyes weren’t already on me, I wouldn’t even be sure he registered our presence. As we approached, he held out a small scroll bound in a simple crimson ribbon.
“Read it,” he commanded. His lips curled ever so slightly as he took in my perfectly modest outfit, but he wisely chose not to comment.
I took the scroll with shaky fingers and unrolled it. The parchment was stiff, stained slightly with age. I was not the first to have held this.
Challenger of Valor,
You now stand at the edge of your fate. Beyond this gate lies your reckoning. You are granted one weapon, one breath of preparation. Know this one truth: your body is your shield, your will your blade.
Do not fail.
I exhaled slowly, my fingers clenching my staff a little tighter.
Kellis stepped aside, opening an arm to gesture toward the giant, foreboding gate. “When the gates open, you step forward. That is all.”
Tarran stepped in close. We didn’t touch, but enough that I could feel her calming energy, like a forcefield battling for dominance against the wall of terror building in my chest.
“You can do this,” she said. “Remember your training. And remember, the book wants you to succeed, or else it wouldn’t have helped you with its magic nudge.”
I said nothing, trying to swallow but the dryness of my throat making me cough instead. “I’ll be on the other side,” she continued. “Whatever happens.”
Carl-One and Carl-Two stood on the other side of me, each beaming up at me with a grin that was slightly shaky on the edges, as if they were trying much too hard to hold them in place. “Muffins are ready for you when you’re done,” Carl-One said, patting the bag he held.
Carl-Two reached out and gripped my hand, giving it a firm squeeze with his smaller one. “Knock ‘em dead, Miss Liss,” he said, his voice strong and steady.
I nodded.
And then, the gate creaked.