Chapter 33 #2
Then, just as Elio and I touched down, I spotted her. Our eyes met, and she gave me a thumbs-up.
Relief flooded through me as the floating clock appeared above the arena.
I waved back at Alara, mouthing Thank you.
Then the starting bell rang, and I forced myself to push down any thoughts other than the duel ahead of us.
As we’d agreed, Elio and I didn’t wait for Dante and Mavia to establish defensive wards around their home base. Nor did we waste any time establishing any of our own.
Before the last echoing chime of the bell faded, a Water spell was pouring from Elio’s fingertips in a concentrated, icy stream.
He didn’t aim directly at our friends. He aimed at the place where they were standing.
Frost bloomed white and thick beneath Dane and Mavia’s feet, instantly transforming the rough stone surface into a sheet of treacherous, glass-smooth ice.
Dante responded instantly with a counterspell to melt the ice.
But Elio was already channeling more power, the blue-white shimmer around his hands bright enough to cast shadows. He drew ruthlessly on our connection to power his spell. I opened myself to him as much as I could, channeling energy into him.
The ice covering our opponent’s home base thickened. Cracks appeared in it, then sealed over as fresh frost layered on top.
Mavia joined her efforts to Dante’s heating charm. Steam rose from the platform’s surface in billowing clouds, but for every inch of ice she melted, Elio froze two more.
Now it was my turn.
I reached for Air and crafted my spell.
The first gust hit Dante square in the chest.
His boots slid out from under him. For an instant, he flailed helplessly with a graceless, windmilling stumble. Mavia grabbed at him, her own balance precarious as her shoes skidded beneath her.
Then I invoked the wind of a summer gale back home, the kind of storm that knocked shutters off their hinges and sent laundry flying from the lines.
Still windmilling his arms, Dante skated over the edge of his home base in a smooth swoop. For an instant, he hung in the air. Then he dropped like a stone to the arena floor.
The safety-net spell caught him at the last moment. He bounced once, swore loudly enough for me to hear it over the grinding stone, and scrambled to his feet.
Mavia lasted a moment longer. She’d braced herself against my first gust, a Wood spell flaring green around the hem of her academic gown as she tried to root herself to a bare patch of stone on the slab.
I didn’t give her time to find her balance. My second gust hit her from the side, timed to catch her as she shifted her weight. She pinwheeled over the edge of her home base. Her gown billowed around her like a dark sail as she plummeted.
The herald’s voice began counting down. “Ten. Nine. Eight.”
The safety-net spell caught her, but not before she hit Dante. They landed on the arena floor in a tangle of thrashing limbs and black wool.
Dante regained his feet first. He cast a levitation spell and rose toward his home base. Mavia followed a heartbeat later.
I didn’t let them get close, hitting them with a sustained blast of Air that caught them both mid-ascent and drove them back down toward the arena floor.
Dante fought it, his counterspell flaring as he tried to propel himself against my wind spell.
For a moment, he gained a few inches of altitude, his body angled against the gale like a swimmer fighting a current.
Then Elio’s next Water spell hit him. Not ice this time, but a focused jet of water aimed directly at Dante’s face.
Dante flinched, his concentration broken, and my wind caught him firmly in its grasp again.
“Four. Three. Two.”
Mavia had given up on reaching the platform. She was trying to reach Dante instead, her hand outstretched, her levitation spell carrying her toward him through the howling wind.
“One. Zero.”
The ending bell rang. The din of grinding and crashing stone ceased abruptly as the floating slabs froze in place.
“Victory to Talisa of Bernswick and Elio Ferraro,” the herald announced. “Advancement to the semi-finals.”
The clock above the arena read 10:47.
We’d won our match in less than five minutes.
The commoner sections erupted. Whistles. Shouts. The rhythmic thunder of hands clapping in unison. Someone seated in the upper tiers—I couldn’t see who—unfurled the “Circle of the Open Hand” banner and waved it wildly.
I felt nothing. No pride, no triumph, no warm rush of satisfaction. Just relief that I was now free to rush to Juno’s side.
Dante and Mavia found us as we entered the tunnel that led back to the seating section. Dante’s wet hair and gown were plastered to him. Mavia’s hair was coming out of its braids, and her academic gown was torn at the hem.
“That,” Dante said, without a trace of bitterness, “was brutally efficient.” He grinned and offered his hand.
I took it. His grip was firm, warm. “I’m sorry,” I said. The words felt thin and inadequate.
“Don’t be. You two won fair and square.” His dark eyes were serious. He turned and clapped Elio on the shoulder. “Congratulations on making it to the semi-finals.”
Mavia hugged me. Her arms were tight around my shoulders, her voice low in my ear. “Your sister’s going to be all right, Talisa. Juno’s tougher than she looks.”
I wanted to believe her. I nodded against her shoulder and pulled away.
Elio and I emerged into the seating section and began climbing the stairs to the nearest exit.
We were halfway there when someone called. “Miss Bernswick. Mr. Ferraro. Stop right there!”
Assistant Chatelaine Julissa stood just inside the archway leading to the exit stairs. She wore an expression of polite implacability.
“Congratulations on your advancement,” she said. Her tone made it sound like a weather observation. “And in case you’ve decided to sneak off and celebrate privately,” her mouth twisted in distaste, “let me remind you: as quarter-final victors, you are required to attend the awards ceremony.”
Her contempt landed like a gut-punch.
Trying to keep my dislike of her from showing, I said, “We were just going to check on my sister in the infirmary tent. We’ll be back shortly.”
She inclined her head slightly. “The awards ceremony will commence immediately after the fourth match ends. Failure to appear will be interpreted as disrespect to the imperial officials in attendance and will result in disqualification from further competition.”
And you’d enjoy it if that happened, I thought bitterly.
“I understand,” I said through gritted teeth. “Thank you, Assistant Chatelaine.”
She nodded once and stepped aside.
Elio’s hand found mine. “Two more matches to go. We have at least a half-hour before the awards ceremony. Let’s not waste any more time.”