Chapter 14
Morana
My hand trembled while I applied red pigment to my eyes.
The act of adorning colour onto my face used to calm me and now I'm stroking red eye make-up to represent the colour of the eyes of my enemy along with golden dust to represent an entire vicious kingdom.
Yet the only thing vicious here was my reflection, a blazing stare that shone with anger, anger that went well with the dark red colouring and deep umber of my eyes.
Every movement I made, the gold sequins on my clothing attire would jingle. The tunic was close to being impractical, it almost felt like a golden heap of cloth. Those behind me sensed my ire.
"I can't do this," I whispered.
"Only yourself and Ezra had bad blood with the king," Dezimus stated with a hushed voice. The darkness in my mind began to swim, arising from its slumber and from the slumber came the little girl who haunted me. The girl who ruined everything. The girl the king hated.
The girl I killed.
"The thing that sits there is a spawn from the bastard himself. They can't let her go out there,” Ezra argued.
"Quiet, fool," Dezimus growled and looked around consciously. "There's Apollon guards swarming the whole arena, mind your tongue," he ordered.
It was nearly time for the performance to start.
It was Dritan's three goddess blessed warriors who'd be showing off their skills in combat.
Those fools put a bitter name on goddess blessed.
Klarc was egotistical, self-righteous and an idiot.
My anger seemed to grow while wondering if Fala had known all along.
She wouldn't ... she cares... she knows most out of everyone what this means for me.
An uneasy feeling settled over me as I thought of Red and Kya sitting among the notorious guests.
"Why would the bloody crown Prince of Apollo need a bodyguard anyways?" Ezra spat.
"He is royalty, why let him have to waste his powers when someone can do it for him." Elijah played with the tip of his hilt nervously as he spoke.
"Quieter," Dezimus growled, his paranoia becoming evident. Ezra grit his teeth and Elijah huffed.
"It's because there's nothing unique about the prince.
They say he lacks the old blood from which his ancestors had descended.
His immediate family has a bit more of the blood but the prince has the least. The power you feel radiating from him is only a spec compared to what, his father—the king—has," Dezimus whispered.
"How do you know?" Dezimus ignored Ezra's question and the secrets within me were quietened from further discussing what Dezimus had just revealed.
I silently watched my reflection, the scented oil they gave me for my performance smelled too sweet, too rich.
It was overwhelming and beginning to give me a headache.
It would serve some use.
The scent of cliftolight blood was toxic, it had made my eyes water when I had first killed one.
It was somehow ironic that I had a terrible gut feeling about today's performance. The shadows had whispered and I chose to ignore it.
"You aren't going to perform, right, Mor?" Ezra asked for reassurance that was beginning to pain me and also... surprisingly irked me. My mind began to drift, and I could not help but wonder if the crown prince looked like his father.
A frightening kind of beauty.
I looked into the mirror and smirked. An almost sadistic kind of smirk that would have surprised me if it weren't for the darkness in my heart beginning to fill up like a canister.
"They want a performance. I'll give it to them."
"No, no, no!" Ezra repeated in outrage. "You'll get yourself killed." He was livid, he knew first-hand how cruel royalty could be.
"From the cliftolights or from them?" I argued.
"You're emotionally unstable at this moment," Dezimus answered for Ezra.
"You don't know what I am capable of," I growled. Darkness clouded my mind in smoke. It had never gotten this bad. My friends had all gone silent and the room had darkened by a fraction. I made eye contact with Ezra’s, that begged.
Elijah and Dezimus were quiet and tensed. The darkness shrank away at the sight.
"Today will be my last performance. I want to make it count. After this, I want to start a life elsewhere," I said softly. Ezra's expression shifted immediately.
Leaning down to where I sat, he took my hands in his. "It will be our last day then."
"Our last day indeed." The shadows swirling inside me seemed to sing. My heart squeezed at the fact that Dezimus and Elijah remained where they were, I knew them better than anyone. They were upset.
They don't trust you.
They don't believe you can do this.
The shadows in my mind swarmed and gossiped.
"Well, isn't this just heart-warming? Look, brother, I told you they all fuck behind closed tents.
" Klarc Adonis nudged his eldest brother Braze, whose face was clouded over in thought.
Klarc always made foolish comments but fortunately I did not waste my time on brittle brains.
There was no need to speak to the brutes that Dritan called goddess blessed.
Yes, they were strong, perhaps stronger than the few drops of elder blood, but not worthy of their power.
Ezra snorted. "Are you tired of fucking your own brothers, is that it?"
Klarc pushed through his brothers, making his way to Ezra. I rose from my seat, the dark wisps of my hair outside my diok moving with me. I trace the fire blade at my hip and sparks arise.
Klarc froze, refusing to let fear pass his eyes. I gave him a slow feral smile, showing the canines I keep well hidden. I tilted my head to the side. My eyes zoomed in on his throat swallowing where his pulse thumped.
"You have a performance to get to," I spoke lowly.
His eyes flashed. This time Klarc was the one smiling.
"And you don't."
I laughed. The brute had knocked his head around so much that he couldn't possibly think.
"We're fighting the cliftolights. The crown prince expects it," Braze, the eldest and more sensible brother spoke.
My stomach dropped. "That's not true."
Braze looked me dead in the eyes.
Solemnly.
He didn't want this.
Disbelief. This whole night was filled with the feeling of disbelief.
"You will die. All of you will die. And then they'll kill everyone else!" I shoved Braze. The man let me, it was as if he already accepted his fate.
"Valin?" I asked. "Is this truly what you want?" The youngest of the brothers, the quiet observant one, cast down his eyes.
"We want glory. His Highness will see our talent and choose whomever is most worthy." Klarc smirked.
"It was you!" I raised my voice. "Are you so thick-headed, that you're willing to sacrifice your brother's lives? How could you suggest this to the prince?” Klarc basked in the urgency and emotion he got out of me.
This damn brute.
"I'll speak to Fala. There is no chance she will let this happen," I breathlessly spoke. Pieces of my mind crumbled slowly. Ezra pulled me by my elbow. "It could be a sign. The royalty of Apollo sits there. Our enemies," he whispered.
How could he think that this was a way out for me? It was the worst turn the night could take.
"No," I simply said. My composure was lost, and I was summoning the fire spirits within the blades who eagerly responded to my call.
"Morana. Stand down." A voice of steel cut in.
"It's true. You will not be fighting them," Fala confirmed from the opening of the tent.
My heart thundered, no cliftolights means no performance.
No performance means no raise. That did not matter much, as we would all die from the hands of the cliftolights if I was not allowed to fight them. I swallowed and I gave a forced nod.
It was an order from her.
I trusted her.
I obeyed her.