30. Chapter 30
Chapter 30
Zeph
I splash water on my face, rinsing off the stray hairs clinging to my clammy skin, still moist from finally shaving the edges of my beard.
It looks much better than it did. I had let it go from the moment Viola arrived, too distracted to pay attention to the way I looked and instead spending all my time focused on her. It feels nice to be cleaned up and presentable again.
My green eyes meet my reflection, and it's everything I can do not to punch the mirror, disgusted by what I see. No amount of shaving can cure the dark bags that are living under my eyes, a physical reminder of the guilt that ruins my sleep every night. Last night's rest was again interrupted by a searing pain in the center of my chest. It was so bad I almost sent for someone with Healing magic, convinced this was the end of the road for me. But it was gone as quickly as it came, and in its place, the gnawing feeling I have had has been replaced with a quiet hum, like my heart keeps skipping beats.
I certainly prefer it to the pain, but it's still not easy to sleep with.
Walking to my closet and sorting through my clothing, I settle on a black shirt with silver buttons and matching pants. I leave the top few buttons undone and roll the sleeves, then slip into the trousers and slide on my boots. Plucking the Mistflow stone from my bedside table, I gently place it into the pocket that is sewn into the front of my shirt, right over my heart.
I never go anywhere without it now.
While I'm sitting and sipping on a mug of tea, my door receives three sharp raps and then swings open, revealing Cirrha and Bracken.
Bracken, the Geomancer proprietor of the Hasty Butcher, has been helping Cirrha and me plan the tournament over the past two days since he heard us discussing it in his tavern. He's been a surprisingly good recruitment tool, convincing half-drunk people to sign up for the glory of being the Winter Champion.
Despite the fact that this tournament is to convince the people of Ytopie that Himureal is a worthwhile God and to find followers loyal enough to follow him into a potential war, I've had a lot of fun planning it. Spending time with Cirrha these past two days has been nice, and it's gotten my mind off of the spiral I go through when I think about Viola and Mace.
Especially because Loris is back to ignoring me.
"Are you ready, Master of Ceremonies?" Cirrha teases. Her willowy body is wrapped in a silver jumpsuit, held up only by thin straps that threaten to slip from her shoulders. Her tightly coiled hair has been sprayed with a shimmering dust.
I finish my mug of tea and place the cup in my kitchen basin, hoping she didn't notice my casual perusal of her form. "Aren't I always? Is the arena prepared?"
Bracken, whose hulking figure makes my large flat look small, nods his head. "All the targets have been strung up. The participants are all in the tunnels under the arena awaiting signal."
Rubbing my hands through my hair to make sure it's falling correctly, I lead the way out of the apartment and lock the door behind me. "How many people signed up?"
"Twenty-three," Bracken says, consulting the crumpled sheet of paper he has shoved in his pocket. "Do you want me to run through the names?"
I shake my head. "No need, I'll see them when I get there. Can't waste the brain space since I'm still trying to figure out what the hell I'm going to say."
Cirrha looks up into the sunlight as she speaks in a clipped tone. "Still no opening speech? Way to leave it until the last minute, Zeph." I roll my eyes at her tone and choose to ignore her barb.
As we walk in relative silence to the arena, I run through my attempt at an opening ceremonies speech runs through my head. When we arrive, I'm surprised to find Himureal already there, sitting on a large throne that has been placed in the middle of the stands. He'll be elevated but still among the people. It's a smart choice. "Who's idea was the throne among the seats?" I ask my co-planners.
"Mine," Bracken says with a wide grin. "I made it out of stone, too. "
"Great idea, really, top-notch." I clap him on the shoulder.
"We're going to go ready the participants. The whole city should be here in about an hour. Take a look at the targets and see if we need any last-minute changes," Cirrha says while leading Bracken to the tunnels under the arena that lead to the garrison they don't know exists.
Himureal looks me up and down before standing and heading down into the arena floor. "You clean up well, high priest."
I smile tightly and motion for him to follow me to the targets. "Thank you, Frostweaver. Come, let's talk through the first challenge."
Himureal has been surprisingly quiet the past few days, staying down in the basement apartment under the Palace more often than not. He also didn't want to talk through the events I had planned. He follows me, though, his long white hair pulled back with multiple small bands in a facsimile of a braid that Stone used to favor.
I don't miss Stone a bit. He was shitty towards Viola the entire time she was here, seeing her not as a person but as a piece in his fucked up game. I'm also starting to realize he pitted me and Mace against each other since our parents died. I wonder what our relationship would've been without his interference. While I wish the outcome could have been different, hindsight shows me he never much cared for me.
The Frostweaver's feet are bare, which surprises me, but I don't comment on it. He's wearing light brown trousers that seem to barely stay up on his slim hips, his hipbones almost on full display, and his chest is open and in full view, opting not for a shirt but instead for a wintery blue vest that hangs open.
"What are those scars on your chest, Himureal?" I ask as we walk towards the targets.
"Runes," he states simply. I think, for a beat, that he will leave it at that, but he continues. "My siblings gave them to me. We all have them. Each represents an element of magic we mastered. When each of us was first created, we were like infants, attempting to learn and realize what we could do for the world. It took each of us ages. This was our way of tracking it. They're hard to do on your own, though." He points to one on his chest that is particularly jagged like the lines weren't cleanly cut. "Amaryn did this one. She couldn't much stomach the blood, so the ones she did always ended up a little sloppy. It's my favorite one, though."
"Do you miss them?" I ask softly. This is as personal as Himureal has gotten with me, and I am hesitant to push him, but when else will I have the opportunity? It's not like he brings up memories of them often.
Or ever.
He sighs, clasping his hands behind his back and tilting his head back. "Of course I do. For ages, we were all each other had. I'm sure you miss Mace, despite hating him." He's got me there. "But that doesn't mean I forgive them for what they did or want their return. Believe me, it's better this way."
"What did they do?"
"I'm done talking about this." He dismisses me like I am a fly.
We've reached the targets, all of them in a single row that runs the long side of the arena. "How many competitors?" he asks me.
"Twenty-three. They have to hit all three of their targets." I gesture down the rows. "Every time they hit one, it will be replaced by a new one. We have a team of Spring-type fae to carry them up with Air and secure them with vines. They'll all be lined up on the other side of the arena here." I cross and point out where black lines have been drawn and spaced like the targets.
He's quiet, and I'm about to cringe and step back, expecting a punishment for disappointing him. But he surprises me by nodding. "It's a good challenge. Let's make sure it goes well." And then he leaves, heading back to his throne. I watch his retreating figure and notice an almost imperceptible slump of his shoulders.
Within the hour, the entirety of Ytopie is in the stands, chattering excitedly while pointing at the targets. I'm in the middle of the arena, where Mace stood to welcome Viola as a winner of the Race, and I scan the crowd for familiar faces. Nimh and the rest of the Nereids are close to Himureal, currently his only loyal followers. I spot Taegan, Loris' partner, in the front row off to my left, but Loris is nowhere to be seen. I'm not surprised he'd avoid a tournament for Himureal, though. I give Taegan a brief jut of my chin in acknowledgment, but he avoids my gaze.
Bracken walks out from the tunnel entry and taps me on the shoulder. "You ready?"
"I am. When I tell the crowd to welcome our contestants, send them out." He nods and retreats into the tunnel.
Cirrha, standing in front of me, leaning on a wall, raises her eyebrow. "Are you ready?" Wordlessly, I nod, and then I hear the soft buzz of magic and know she's using her Air ability to amplify my voice.
"Ytopie! Greetings and welcome to the very first Tournament of Champions!" The crowd erupts into applause at my words. "I know this came about quickly, but I am so impressed and grateful not only for those of you in the stands but also for the twenty-three members of our community who signed up to compete to be the very first Winter Champion!" I find myself falling into a persona that is as charismatic as any Autumn using their Influence.
"Today, these twenty-three citizens will compete to win not only the coveted title of the Winter Champion but a spot on the board of Patricians!" A few gasps from people who did not read the signup sheets fill the air, and if I'm not mistaken there are several grumbles of jealousy. "With that, let's welcome our competitors!"
As soon as the words are out of my mouth a line files out of the tunnel, a nice mix of fae of all different disciplines. I recognize several Summer and our lessers, as well as a few under the tutelage of Spring that I met through Plume. But then I see someone that dries out my mouth.
Loris.
His hair is styled and spiked drastically as he leaves the tunnel with his chin held high. He's wearing his platform black boots with buckles up the shin, a pair of white trousers tucked into the top of them, and nothing on his torso but gold and black paint that draws branches of crackling lighting across all of his visible skin.
My voice catches in my throat, and I try to get his attention, but he doesn't look at me. What is he doing here? Why would he bother to compete to be the Winter Champion? He's never had political ambitions before, but could this be about the seat on the board?
This man is my best friend. Why has he kept this from me? He knew I was planning it.
He could have come to me. I know we're in a rough spot right now, but he should have told me he was going to do this.
My spiral about Loris competing has caused a lag in my duties as the master of ceremonies. All the contestants look at me expectantly. Cirrha clears her throat loudly. I shake my head to try to refocus.
"Our contestants did not know what they signed up for so they had no time to prepare for the three challenges that await them!" My voice is shaky still at the shock of seeing Loris, but it grows stronger with each word. "Today's challenge is archery! Our contestants must hit the bullseye on three targets to continue onto the next event. Utilizing any magic they possess, as well as having access to bows," I gesture to the wall behind each competitor where arrows and bows have been mounted, "they just have to complete the task. No points will be awarded for the quickest completion. Today is all about success! If you succeed, you move on. If you are unable to complete the task in thirty minutes, you are cut from the competition."
The crowd is whooping, excited sounds rising around us. I look at Himureal, who looks pleased, and raise my eyebrow, silently questioning if he wants to speak. He shakes his head just enough for me to realize he has no intention of being included in this part of the event.
"I need to get out of the line of fire," I chuckle, "so I will move to the stands. Competitors, after the first target is hit, Tempests and Dryads will attach your next one." I move to the stands, front and center, just rows down from Himureal. "And with that, let's begin!"
As soon as I say the word, magic begins to fly through the air. The sound makes my ears ache, but I grit my teeth and bear it to watch the competition. The first target is hit by a Tempest who uses air to simply lift the arrow to the center and guide it directly into the bullseye. The next is by a Summer, who is apparently just very good with a bow because he uses no magic to achieve his bullseye.
Over the next ten minutes, multiple people hit their target and move on to their second, but Loris stays leaning against the wall, looking at his fingernails as if he has somewhere better to be, and this event is an inconvenience to him. Why would he bother joining just to act as if he has nothing better to do?
The two Nereids who joined are struggling, their Water magic not helping them at all, and their shots with a bow all going wide. The Geomancers have tossed small rocks at the vines, some cutting through but others not. And there is no one with one of the less physical magics who has even come close to hitting their bullseye.
Ten minutes are left, and four Tempests, a Summer, two Bayal, a Geomancer, a Dryad, and three Spring fae have all completed their targets, and Loris hasn't even started. He's no longer looking at his nails, though, scanning the crowd. I follow his glare and notice his eyes have locked on Taegan, who gives Loris a tight nod.
Loris struts across the area and stands right underneath his target, his quiver on his back. Lightning crackles through the air, and an impossibly small bolt burns right through the vines holding the target above Loris' head. He catches it and simply pushes the arrow into the bullseye, just as the others who knocked their targets down did, only he got his down much faster. As quickly as they string up the next target, he has it in his hands again, tossing it aside with an arrow sticking out of it. When he completes the third one, he walks back across the arena and leans against the wall for the remaining five minutes of the competition.
Loris has always been known to be one of the most powerful Storm wielders we've ever had, but this level of control and the ability to produce such small, precise lightning strikes is unlike anything I've ever seen him do. It seems he has kept that part of his skill secret, and there is no doubt there are those who would want to utilize his magic for their own gain. A brief glance at Himureal shows his eyes lighting up as he stares at Loris, who has returned his attention to his nails as he picks them with the end of an extra arrow.
"Time!" I call, and all the magic ceases, and with it, the sound, giving me blessed quiet. "Those who did not hit your three targets, we appreciate your desire to honor the God of Winter, but you have been eliminated. Please leave the arena."
Only twelve remain of the twenty-three contestants. One of them is Loris, who now has his hands in his pockets and a bored look on his face.
"Congratulations to our competitors who have moved on to our next challenge! It will be held here in two days, so do not miss it!"
Himureal clears his throat and stands. I rapidly motion to Cirrha to use Air to pull his voice. "Competitors," he says, his drawl bored. "That was an excellent showing of skill and control. I can't wait to see what you all have up your sleeves – or lack thereof -next." His eyes trail to Loris with that statement.
As soon as he's done speaking, he exits, climbs down the stairs, and leaves through the main entrance. The audience quickly follows, and I head to the arena floor, where the remaining competitors await instructions for the next challenge. I'll leave that to Cirrha and Bracken.
"What are you doing here?" I hiss at Loris, grabbing him by the arm and stepping away from the other competitors.
"Why, I'm here to be the next Winter Champion." His eyes are half closed like he's tired, but I have known him long enough to recognize the look of feigned indifference he has painted on his pointed face.
I'm angrier than I expected at the situation, but I don't think it's that he's competing. I think it's because he kept it from me. "You don't even believe in Himureal. Why would you even want to be his champion?"
He runs his tongue across his upper teeth before sucking on them. "I have my reasons, Zeph. Perhaps I have decided I am ready for a career in politics."
"That's bullshit, Loris. Be real with me, I'm your best friend."
Now he laughs, pulling at his ear in a nervous tic he's had since childhood. "I do not recognize you anymore, Zeph."
"I'm doing what I have to -"
"To get Viola back, I get it," he interrupts. "And that's fine, but you're selling your soul to do it." He pushes past me, heading towards the exit. "As I said, I have my reasons."
"Wait!" I call, hoping to get him to confide in me, to tell me what's going through his mind.
"No thanks. See you in two days, high priest."