Chapter 28 River
River
They arrived at the ancient city to find it blocked off, with a large crowd of people gathered at the gate requesting admission.
Just beyond the tall iron gates stood the Grand Theatre, where Vestriya Now was to be held. The theater had an unusually round
shape, and where the stone exterior had once been white, it had turned a dingy gray. This was where the earliest Vestriyan
entertainment had been provided, and now it was where they would hold their annual talent competition. The lucky winner would
secure a fully funded touring performance that traveled not only through Vestriya, but also into other realms.
River had conjurated the competition every single year since the spell service in Mythria made it possible to do so. Maybe
she didn’t actually like horseball, but she did love when a Vestriya Now contestant bared their soul through song or overcame
great personal adversity to showcase their triumphant dancing. Regretfully, Mythria had no comparable talent shows.
River herself had gone to see last year’s winners—the Brethren—perform in Mythria’s Vermillion Vale. She found it very poignant
the way their voices blended together, sounding as one as they sang of love lost and hearts in need of mending. They were
worthy winners.
She allowed herself a single pinch of her wrist. Never in her wildest dreams could she imagine she’d be at the actual event.
“Did you just pinch yourself?” Celine whispered.
River said, “Perhaps.”
“You love this, don’t you?”
“Perhaps,” River said again.
“I love that you love it.” Celine’s eyes sparkled with delight, and River had the peculiar wish that she could bottle the
look somehow, so she could hold on to Celine when they weren’t together.
“I wish I had a piece of you,” River blurted out, no longer capable of stopping the red in her cheeks. Celine’s own coloring
flushed, and River forced herself to explain. “It’s just, when Dougal held me captive, I spent so much of my time wishing
for you, and I had nothing but my own thoughts. They weren’t enough.”
Ghosts, this was getting worse by the minute. River had never been so utterly foolish about anyone before.
Celine didn’t seem to find it embarrassing. Instead, she reached her hand into her hair, the mess of curls she always kept
fashioned into a pile on her head, and she pulled out the quill she stored there.
“Here,” she said. “This is my favorite one. My father had it made for me when I was young. Long before the fire. I told him
I always hoped to one day write a book, and he said I should use this quill to do it. I’ve never gotten around to the book,
but this quill is the most sentimental thing I have.”
River tried to brush her off, saying she could never take such a thing, but Celine insisted.
“I don’t have anything comparable to give you in return,” River said, marveling at the quill in her hands. She tucked it carefully
into her satchel.
“Worry not,” Celine said. “I carry you all up here.” She tapped her head.
“Everlasting memory,” they said in unison.
“The nonmagical kind.” Celine winked.
“Only performers, scribes, or important public figures are allowed in,” announced a guard. He said it in a bored monotone,
as if it was the hundredth time he’d repeated the sentiment.
He stood on a platform that had been placed in front of the door. It had been fashioned into an informal stage of sorts. Though
most of the contestants had already been selected, Vestriya Now still made room for last-minute additions to the show, so
as to be sure they saw the best talent of every realm. Auditions were held in front of the waiting crowd, with decisions made
instantly on whether the performer would be allowed into the event.
Thessia, ever the diplomat, reassured their group. “I will bring all of you into the city with me. Having a personal entourage
is not any different than my royal guard, really.”
They made their way through the bustling crowd of eager potential contestants. Some held instruments they intended to play.
Others had juggling equipment, or arrows and targets.
Suddenly, a woman cried out in fear. “It’s Galwell the Gruesome!” she yelled.
“And Mona the Merciless!” yelled another.
It took a matter of seconds for the crowd to redistribute themselves, forming their own blockade.
Celine, Thessia, Hugh, Ario, and River clustered together as Galwell and Mona stood back to back. There was something poignant
about it. Virtuous Galwell on one side and dangerous Mona on the other, both of them with their chins held high and eyes fixed
forward.
The Vestriyan guards shoved their way into the center of the action, crossbows trained on Galwell and Mona. The guards expected
resistance, yet received none.
In fact, the arrest was so void of theatrics that the air hung heavy with empty anticipation, like the threat of a sneeze
that never came to fruition.
With nothing to jeer at, no dramatic scene to enjoy, the prospective contestants scattered, allowing the group to continue toward the entrance once more.
“Excuse me,” Thessia said to the Vestriyan guard who stood at the gate. “Would it be okay if I brought some friends in alongside
me? They’ve all been longing to see the Grand Theatre.”
“Only performers, scribes, or important public figures are allowed in,” the guard repeated, not bothering to look down at who was speaking to him.
“Of course,” Thessia said. “It’s just, I assured them as queen of Mythria and co-host of this year’s festivities that I could
make it happen.”
The guard’s expression fell. “My apologies,” he said, extending a hand to help Thessia up the small staircase that led to
the stage. “You can come in right away. But I cannot let you bring in anyone who is not a performer, scribe, or important
public figure.”
Celine flashed the small parchment she carried in her skirt pocket to verify her credentials. “I’m with the Mythria Spectator,” she said.
The guard waved her up.
Thessia and Celine hesitated at the gate.
“Go on, then,” said the guard. “We can’t have you up here all day. Auditions are about to start.”
Celine and Thessia looked back with worry, but the guard urged them forward again. The tall gate closed behind them, leaving
River, Ario, and Hugh to exchange their own looks of concern.
Hugh was technically still king, but everyone now knew their divorce was on the horizon and he was soon to be a commoner again.
Ario was in disguise and could not declare himself the prince, since the realm believed him to be bedridden and gravely ill.
River was a recently kidnapped Deathrose Guild defector with a constant target on her back.
“We . . .” Hugh started, tapering off with no real plan in sight.
“Are going to teleport inside,” River whispered into his ear, grabbing for his hand.
“No. We will have to be in hiding the entire time we’re here. It’s better if we have legitimate permission.” He stepped forward,
flashing the dazzling smile that all of Mythria had come to cherish. “We’re performers!” he proclaimed to the guard.
“Indeed!” Ario confirmed.
Knowing the worst thing she could do was throw them both under the wagon, River forced herself to go along with it. “Correct,”
she muttered, fighting for composure.
The guard let out a long, laborious sigh. “And what are your talents?”
“I’m a poet,” Ario announced.
“Go on, then,” urged the guard. “Let’s hear it.”
Ario let himself up onto the stage. He cracked his neck in both directions, shook out his shoulders, and took a deep breath.
He turned to the crowd and began his performance.
Clouds in the sky,
Way up high.
Over us
They lie in the sky.
Why?
I don’t know.
It looks like they fly
But they don’t.
For a long while, the crowd stood silent, waiting for the catch. When they realized there was none, laughter broke out, loud
and enthusiastic.
Even the guard cracked a wide, toothy grin. “A gag act,” he said, delighted. “My favorite kind.”
River clocked Ario’s disappointed brow scrunch. Nice job, she mouthed, tipping her head to him.
The guard let Ario through the gate, then quickly fixed his face back into its usual stoic stare. “Are the two of you performing
a joke act, too? Because we can only take a few of that kind. They lose their appeal if we do too many.”
“We’re legitimate performers,” Hugh assured him.
“And what’s your talent?”
“I play the harp,” Hugh told him.
“He’s very good,” River said, though she had no clue if it was true. She imagined it would be, though. Hugh was the kind of
guy who seemed to be good at a lot of things.
He looked around and grabbed a harp from a passing musician who’d just been rejected. “May I borrow this? Thank you so much,
good sir.” He put his hands on the strings, and with only the first notes plucked, River knew she was, in fact, correct. He
played the chorus of a popular Sir Noah Noble tune, putting past winner Noah himself to shame. Hugh’s musicianship was impeccable
and full of raw emotion. He’d have even given the Brethren a run for their farthings last year.
“You’re in,” said the guard. River swore he almost swooned.
“And she sings,” Hugh said, pushing River to walk up the stairs alongside him.
“No,” River said.
She could teleport inside, and all of this would be solved. There was no need for this charade to continue with just her left
to secure entry.
But she didn’t want to.
Instead, she stood on the platform’s wooden ledge, letting her heels hang off the edge. There was no time to turn around and estimate how high up she was. She had only her instincts—and a healthy dose of adrenaline—to see her through.
With a precision she’d honed over decades, River swung her arms up as she pushed off her toes. As she rose into the air, she
drove her shins over her head, tugging her arms tightly to her right shoulder so that her body would begin to spin as she
flipped. The platform was high enough that she completed two full twists while upside down. She landed in a perfect squat,
taking one step backward into a dramatic finishing lunge.
“I’m an acrobat,” she proclaimed.