Chapter Thirty-Six Taissa #3
Taissa hides a smile as Kion looks as if he’s regretting all of his life choices.
“Look,” he growls a moment later, and there’s a layer of grim finality to his tone that calls her to attention.
“There’s more at stake here than we’ve ever faced before.
Fuck, the fate of this sport—of carriwitchet—is resting on our shoulders.
Ours. Look at all that it has given us.” Kion meets every single player’s eyes.
“A place to be heard,” he says to Mahina, who nods, eyes darkening.
“A family. Safety,” he says, eyes moving to Knox and óríon. To Bronte, “A constant.”
“A way to chase dreams,” Isla adds in a whisper as Kion turns to her.
“And a reason to live,” murmurs Adriel, looking down at the floor. Mahina slings an arm over his shoulders.
“Joy,” confesses Taissa as Kion’s eyes land on hers, lingering a moment longer than he had on the others. “It’s given me joy.”
His throat bobs. “Now it’s time that we give something back to it. You’re all excellent players. Excellent. We can do this: I know we can. You know why?”
“Because we’re the Stymphs?” asks Isla shyly.
He points at her. “Bloody right. Look. Only one of us needs to win the race. There are eight capable riders in the room here. More than capable. Chances are, we win tonight. We need to win tonight. Losing isn’t an option, not right now.
You cling to that horse, and you cling tight, because if you fall off, we’re one step closer to losing everything. ”
“This has taken a depressing turn,” mumbles Bronte. Kion’s eyes snap to her.
“Rihowl. You’re a fucking peril on the field. You bring that tonight, yeah?”
A light begins to shine in her eyes. “You got it, Cap.”
“Magnússon. Show these púcas what the wrath of a prince feels like.”
Troll óríon nods sharply.
“Pollack. Kehele. One of you falls off, the other needs to keep going. Both of you are strong together, but I promise you, you’re just as strong on your own.”
Adriel and Mahina nod, now gripping each other’s hands tight.
“Adaway. Your kindness is your greatest strength.” Taissa watches as Isla blushes. “But I bet it gets tiring, yeah? None of that tonight. Tonight, you’re allowed to be mean. You’re allowed to be horrible. Try it out. You might like it. Tanaka.”
Knox looks vaguely wary. “That’s me.”
“I give you a lot of shit, lad. You know why?” Kion holds his gaze.
“Because I’m irresistible?” he asks with a cheeky grin, but Taissa can still see the shadow of worry in Knox’s eyes.
“Because with some shaping, with some discipline, you have the potential to be one of the best who’s ever played.
In the past, I’ve told you not to go for glory on your own.
I’ve yelled at you for breaking formation and grabbing the spotlight.
Tonight, forget about that. Tonight, chase glory like your life depends on it. Because it does.”
Taissa holds her breath as Kion turns to her. “Cho.”
“Locke.” A corner of her mouth quirks.
His eyes soften, even though his voice doesn’t. “Your greatest strength is your resilience. Not just as a player. I know I’ll see that shine tonight. Because you’re always, fucking always, shining, sweetheart.”
Her throat closes up tight and she blinks rapidly. Kion’s eyes crinkle in the corners as he gives her a small nod.
“That was so cute that I’m physically sickened,” grumbles Knox, and then throws his hands up into the air. “Isn’t anybody going to tell me that I’m shiny?”
“You are,” says óríon, “not shiny.”
“Poor Knoxy,” croons Bronte.
“All of you, shut up,” snaps Kion, and that’s that.
The Summer Eclipse has begun.
Already the sunlight is weaker than it should be this time of day, casting eerie shadows as the team files out of the inn, looking for all the world like a group of excited Unseelie tourists come to celebrate the Wild Hunt.
(Knox attempts to stare up at the sky with unprotected eyes, because of course he does, forcing a scowling óríon to slap a hand over his face.)
Although the inn is situated on part of the Sliabh Réaltach mountains, the festivities are occuring at its peak, with the Wild Hunt a downward race toward the base of Sliabh Réaltach.
It’s a harsh hike toward the mountain’s peak.
Although a small mountain (as Irish ones tend to be) by the standards of, say, the great ranges, Sliabh Réaltach is not minuscule, either.
Apparently, for the Unseelie, the hike is half the fun.
For Taissa, whose legs are screaming in pain despite the various performance glyphs she inked onto her skin, the hike is a punishment sent from the deepest possible hells.
Bare of most trees, Sliabh Réaltach is still steep and craggy, with ridges that she does her best to balance across, and flaming torches pressed into the rocky ground to guide the groups of hikers forward.
Taissa grimaces as her new trainers are exposed to lovely bogs, the mud causing her to nearly slip as she traverses a crag, grabbing Kion’s arm before she can plummet off the cliff altogether and roll down to the mountain’s base like a wine barrel.
“Easy there,” says Kion, sounding amused.
Taissa punches him in the arm.
As they climb higher and higher, it’s as if the entire ground turns to a bog. Mourning the fate of her new trainers, Taissa mutters vehemently under her breath, and is relieved when (upon climbing higher still) the bog turns to rock.
And then she begins cursing all over again as the rock crumbles beneath her, forcing her to use her hands to make progress. Above, the moon creeps slowly in front of the sun, not yet near totality, but strange enough that the air feels…different, somehow.