Chapter 8
Arina
The sea of tents in the meadow on the other side of the lists is almost impossible to navigate in the dark, but I don’t mind. I’m still buzzing from the triumph of the morning. I get to move on. I’m one step closer to victory.
Just when I think I see a familiar landmark or face, I get turned around again. My bones ache, and my eyes are heavy. All I want is to fall onto my sleeping mat and stay there forever.
After my event, I went back to the healer’s tent to help. There were several deaths today, unfortunate losses, but accidents happen. Hundreds of injuries from broken bones obtained in hand-to-hand combat to gaping gashes sustained during jousting.
When the last patient was brought to us, we had to put a salve and bandage on the wound because none of us had even an inkling of power left to give.
It had been a good distraction, though. I had not realized how much I wasn’t thinking about the tournament and my task until we had finished cleaning up, and I started making my way to bed.
Finally, I locate my little one-person tent that Phil and I had set up for me earlier. I’m so grateful I don’t have to walk all the way back home. Besides, I’d rather sleep here than have to face Demitra each day after the tournament.
When I open the flaps, however, I start to regret my decision. It takes every effort not to scream at the unexpected sight of him.
“I noticed you didn’t take any opportunities to eliminate our problem today.” He’s sitting on my sleeping mat, and I jump when he speaks.
I had felt him watching me. All day long. Similar to the feeling in the tavern the other night, his eyes on me carry a weight and darkness that I have never known. This tournament is pressure enough without knowing he’s out there spying on me. Expecting me to murder for him.
“I’m not sure what opportunities you saw, but I am doing this my way, which means I refuse to rush it.” It’s not like I had ample time to commit a murder. Not one I’d get away with, anyway.
He stands from the mat to loom over me.
“You had better come up with a plan soon. Your stunt today landed you more attention than I like. I can only promise your safety for so long. And Dolan is dead-set on ruining everything.”
His words are sobering. “Is that a threat?”
One side of his mouth curls into a smirk, and he tilts my chin so I’m forced to meet his eyes. “Think of it more like a promise. Secrets are like snakes. The best way to kill a snake is to cut off its head.”
I stand my ground, refusing to let him see an ounce of weakness. If he could read my mind, he’d know I’m all but terrified, but my words are confident when I respond. “If you’re so set on killing me, why don’t you just do it?”
He drops his hands, flexing them at his sides. “There are bigger problems to deal with at the moment, little snake.” His exasperated sigh tells me it pains him to say the next words out loud. “Is there anything I can do to help move things along?”
It occurs to me that maybe I could use his expertise, but I fully refuse to ask for help. When I don’t respond, he says, “You can trust me, you know.”
I don’t know why it sets me off. “Of course I can’t fucking trust you. How could I? I don’t even know your godsdamned name.”
“That’s fair. But please answer the question.” He expertly dodges my anger.
Can he help me? “Not that I can think of. You’ll just have to be patient while I come up with a plan. If that’s too challenging for you, maybe do your own dirty work.” I sneer.
He clicks his tongue.
“My tent is the next one over if you change your mind,” he tells me as he leaves me alone to simmer. There’s nothing comforting about the knowledge that he’s sleeping a few steps away. “Oh, and Arina?”
I raise my eyebrows, acknowledging him.
“Consider cutting that damn braid off. It’s going to get you hurt.”
I play with the frayed ends of my braid. I want to tell him to fuck off, but I know he’s right. My hair is a hazard, a weakness. I’m too stubborn to listen, though. I’m proud of the patience it’s taken to grow it to this length, and I’m not willing to part with it.
Still, I give him a curt nod.
Before he turns to leave, he shoots a look at me that I can’t quite place.
“Raiden,” he says.
“Huh?”
“My name. It’s Raiden.”
I stare at the spot where he was standing for far too long.
As exhausted as I am, sleep evades me. Instead, I toss and turn, wondering what type of ass I’ll make of myself when attempting to joust.
Worst case, I die.
Best case, I’m matched against Dolan and somehow manage to wound him, or even eliminate him entirely.
My mind doesn’t stop creating scenario after scenario, all of which end badly for me. If I weren’t struggling to sleep because of the violent imagery in my mind, I would still have been kept awake by the combined sounds of revelry and snores surrounding me.
All I know is I have to find a way to warn the queen that she’s in danger. Even if it means losing my life in the process. I’ll never forgive myself if I don’t at least try.
I roll out of bed at the first hint of daylight. The Smog is always more bearable at the break of day, when the sky is brightest, and there’s hope that maybe it can’t possibly last forever.
Stumbling from the opening, I trip over something large at the mouth of my tent, landing on my backside in the grass. It knocks the wind from me, and pain shoots up my spine.
I crawl to the shadowy mound that almost broke my neck
What in all the hells?
There’s a note tied to the lump that says:
A gift for the little snake. Riding boots for your joust.
R
I eye the boots, wondering if they might be some kind of trick. Then I inspect the wear on my old boots. I really could use new shoes, so I reluctantly pull off my old boots and replace them with the new ones, stowing the worn pair back in the tent.
Not long into the morning, I begin to believe these boots might be good luck.
I’ve somehow managed to win or draw every joust. My body hurts—my ass in particular—but I’m alive, and I’ve also managed not to make a complete fool of myself. Yet.
My heart does a somersault in my chest as Dolan and his horse saunter up next to me.
“This is hardly a fair competition. What’s a lady doing in such a violent tournament when you should be up in the stands, cheering me on?” He sneers before digging his heels into the sides of his horse and taking off across the field to his position across from me.
Of course he’d be my last opponent. At least I’ve had some time to practice, and I feel capable in my saddle.
The starter waves the flag, indicating that we should line up our horses. I lower my lance. It’s heavy, and my arms are so tired.
The stress and frustration build in my chest as my horse gallops along the tilt rail, and I release it all in an ear-splitting bellow.
My lance meets his shoulder and cracks, but his barely grazes my ribcage. The impact throws my own aching shoulder back, and I want to scream but bite down hard on my lip until I taste blood.
The collective gasp from the crowd has my head on a swivel.
Dolan.
The horse he was riding stumbles to the side, and I think for a moment she might fall onto him, but she recovers as the rebel loses his seat in the direction they’d been going, toppling to the dirt face first.
Not only did I shatter my lance, I’ve unseated him.
The crowd roars.
His horse rears, and my skin tightens. She’s going to come down on his head. I want to turn, to look away before hoof meets skull, but I’m frozen in the saddle.
Dolan manages to roll and scramble to his feet in time to avoid certain death.
Damn. The relief that I didn’t just witness a gruesome death swirls with the odd pang of shame I feel at not having succeeded.
I have seen my fair share of injuries, and I’m not one to shy away when there is mending to be done, but I don’t relish in the sight of gore. Even if the bastard might deserve it.
I pull my reins to the right, spinning to find Raiden in the crowd, but he’s nowhere.
The handlers at the gate take my mare as I dismount. I make it three steps before Dolan is upon me.
“You almost killed me, stupid bitch!” he spits, and bright red blood coats his teeth. His hand raises, as if he aims to strike me, but before he can, long, thick fingers wrap around his wrist, pulling him backward.
“I know you weren’t about to strike a fellow competitor, Dolan. Let alone a female.” It’s the first time I’ve been truly grateful for Raiden’s deep growl. The first time it hasn’t been aimed in my general direction.
A crowd is gathering, and the last thing we need is to bring more attention to ourselves. Raiden releases Dolan but shifts to stand between the two of us.
“She fucking cheated!” he yells, and I swallow a snort. “There’s no way this healer trash unhorsed me otherwise.”
“I watched the entire thing, and you’ll be hard-pressed to find a soul to agree with you. I suggest you drop it. Now,” Raiden whispers coolly. But his eyes are demanding.
Dolan’s face is already starting to bruise from the fall, and I can’t stop myself from saying, “You’d better run along to the healer’s tent and have them fix your face before your head gets much larger than it already is.”
I’m hit with an odd sense of pride when Raiden covers his mouth with a fist to hide the smile I’ve pulled from him.
“This isn’t over! I’m coming for you, wench!” Dolan shouts at my back. He has no idea that I’ll be the one coming for him before the tournament is over.