37. I Give Up
I Give Up
Scarlet
M y heart hammers an erratic beat as the competitors are led back into the muted daylight of the arena. The crowds still roar from the last nail-biting trial through the mystical giant hourglass. Its sands yet swirl lazily, projecting swirling fractals overhead now that the scenes have ceased.
I glance over at Rose, leaning heavily on a healer as she limps along. Her clothing is utterly shredded, one sleeve torn completely off to reveal the thick bandages swathing her shoulder. Our eyes meet and understanding passes between us - the tattoo beneath is now exposed.
Rose gives an almost imperceptible shake of her head, guessing my thoughts. We cannot speak safely here. But I read the resolve in her steady gaze - no flinching or fleeing now. We will see this through, no matter the cost. I draw strength from her courage, squaring my shoulders. Let the fates fall where they may.
Too soon we are arrayed before the royal box, the crowds silencing in anticipation. My stomach feels sick as I clutch Rose's hand like a lifeline. In moments, hopefully I will be crowned champion and this will be all over. I will be able to complete my mission, turn in the crown and maybe find a way to escape from the arranged marriage. My recent donations have been sizable. Perhaps it will be enough to pay off my stepmothers debts.
A fanfare blares and King Remme rises slowly, his face unreadable. But his eyes linger on me a heartbeat longer than the rest. Hope and dread war within me. How do I miss him so much when there was never truly something going on between us? But he presents only calm resolve as he addresses the expectant arena.
"People of Ovehan, you have borne witness to extraordinary courage these long weeks. Any who complete the trials are proven worthy of honor and respect." Nods and murmurs of agreement ripple through the stands.
King Remme continues, "But three among them exemplified the virtues of compassion, justice and sacrifice beyond all others." My nails bite into my palms, apprehension rising. "Bronze medalist, representing perseverance - Darius Fellcipher!"
Polite applause rises as a shocked Darius ascends the wooden winner's platform erected hastily in the arena's center. He appears humbled by the recognition after barely surviving each round through clever tricks. I clap sincerely along with the rest. However devious his methods, he persevered when many faltered. And his skills did save my life once. He has earned this honor.
Too soon the noise dies away and Remme raises a hand for the next pronouncement. "Silver medalist, representing courage and integrity - Lady Scarlet Merheart."
Ice water trickles down my spine. Silver? Weeks of sleepless nights and grueling trials ending in...second place? The arena seems to tilt around me. This cannot be real. I blink back traitorous tears, fighting to keep my composure before the expectant crowds. But inside, grief threatens to pull me under entirely.
Somehow my wooden limbs carry me up the winner's platform steps. I avoid looking at the king, unable to bear what I may see lingering in his eyes. Pity? Or worse yet, disappointment? Focusing on keeping my chin high is taking every shred of willpower I possess.
If I am not champion, then I have failed completely. Nothing can save my family estate now other than being sold off. No escaping Lord Greystone's vile clutches. A bleak future awaits me at home, shackled "duty" to a cruel man. This tournament was my only chance...and I just lost everything.
I jerk back to the present as raucous cheers erupt, jolting me from my spiral of despair. Rose has been named champion and now ascends the platform, beaming triumphantly. Though she sways with exhaustion, her good eye glows with fierce joy. This victory is hers alone - she earned it through blood and sacrifice. I summon up a smile through the anguish, embracing her gently so as not to aggravate her injuries.
"You did it," I whisper hoarsely.
Rose squeezes me fiercely with her good arm. "We did it," she insists. I can only nod, not trusting my voice. At least one of us succeeded today. I will celebrate with her later. But right now, grief scrapes at the ragged edges of my soul. I only wish to escape the probing eyes and find somewhere quiet to nurse my wounds.
Rose seems to sense my need, releasing me with an understanding look. As the king places the victor's wreath of golden laurels on her head, I slip quietly down the platform steps ignoring the cheering masses. Their joyful triumphs are salt in the raw wound of my loss.
I wind silently through emptying passageways under the arena, not paying heed to direction. I want only solitude, to unleash the black wave building within me before it drags me under in public view. This may be weakness, but I no longer care. The trials demanded every ounce of courage and strength I possessed. With the finish line lost, what reserves are left?
At last I stumble out into the street outside, empty still with the stands full. Soon the masses will swarm out. Gasping raggedly, I stagger to a bench nearby and deposit my worn and tired body into the seat.
I surrendered everything - my good name, my inheritance, my happiness - for the slim chance at victory here. And still I failed. Now I am utterly alone against the cold future looming before me. No options or hope remain.
Anguish and fear crash through me until I am spent. Somewhere in my fit, I scraped my knuckles the bench. But the physical pain barely registers through the yawning hollowness within. I am hollow, emptied of light and will. What purpose is left to me now?
The heavy tread of footfalls eventually intrudes into my fog. I tense, hastily wiping the tear tracks from my face. But I remain seated with my back to the entrance - I cannot muster the strength to don any mask before strangers just yet.
A hesitation, then soft footfalls approach my sheltered corner. Whoever it is, they tread lightly as one wishing not to startle or impose. I hear the whisper of cloth as they settle on the flagstones a respectful distance away. For long moments we both simply breathe, two islands alone in the street.
At the scrape of footsteps, I tense. But the tread is too light for a guard. A dark silhouette limps closer, backlit by the distant setting sun.
"Fairy Godmother?" I rasp in surprise.
She settles beside me with a sigh. "I thought I might find you here, child."
I look away, fresh tears threatening. "I apologize for slipping away. I just...needed space."
She lays a wrinkled hand on my shoulder. "No apologies needed, my dear. I cannot imagine the pain this brings you."
I clench my fist. "I sacrificed everything for victory. But it wasn’t enough!"
Fairy Godmother rubs my back gently as I fight to compose myself. She doesn't fill the silence with false assurances or platitudes. Simply listening, sharing the sorrow. It steadies me like an anchor in a storm.
Finally I sit up straighter, the immediate anguish spent. Fairy Godmother squeezes my hand.
"What comes next feels an impossible weight," she says. "But remember, the future is not fixed. It can be reshaped."
I look at her questioningly. She takes a deep breath as though bracing herself.
"There are secrets I must share, pieces that may bring clarity. But you may see me differently after." Worry creases her brow.
I clasp her weathered hand. "Nothing could change how much you mean to me. Please."
She searches my face, then nods slowly. "I didn’t fully know, but I had suspected, that I may have been unintentionally involved in the king’s curse.”
I sit up straighter. She’s rarely spoken of her history.
“I was there the night it was cast,” she admits quietly. “A dear friend got me access to the secret gathering of mages after the coronation. We were told the new king was in mortal peril, cursed with something that would destroy everything. My friend thought my healing gifts could help.”
I listen intently as Fairy Godmother continues her tale. "When I arrived to the secret gathering, the king lay close to death, wracked with agony by the curse's dark magic. We were told only that it would kill him and any he touched. To stay far away. I found it odd that he was dressed entirely in gold as was the bed the king lay on, but I figured that was just part of the coronation. Showing his wealth and power… typical egotistical royalty stuff."
Her eyes take on a faraway look. "I have some skill with blessings, so I wove a counter-spell to negate the curse's lethality. I also granted him the gift to not need food or drink, to sustain him."
She focuses on me again. "Without knowing the curse's effects, I made one final addition - a catalyst that I hoped would allow him to eventually gain control of the magic inflicted on him."
I absorb this silently. Fairy Godmother had been there at the start, trying to help.
She continues, "I never learned what powers were invoked, or saw what artifact they used to bind as his catalyst. But after seeing his reaction to you trying to steal the crown...I began to suspect it was the implement chosen."
I sit up straighter in dawning realization.
Fairy Godmother pats my hand. "I wanted you to know the full truth."
I squeeze her weathered hand. "Thank you for confiding in me. Your actions saved his life - do not carry guilt for that kindness."
She smiles sadly at my determination.
I sit quietly for a time after Fairy Godmother finishes her tale, turning over this new information in my mind. One question nags at me that I cannot let go unspoken, even if only in my own head.
If the curse was going to kill him and anything he touched, how was I able to make contact without harm? When I grabbed his leg and he fell as I escaped or when we kissed…
This didn’t make sense.