“It’s not too late,” he whispered, pleading with his eyes. “But you do have my support, and you always will.” He stepped closer. “Promise me you’ll win. You’ve got to!”
Alarmed by the terror in his eyes, Avery couldn’t stay mad at him. All traces of his trademark confidence were gone.
“Of course,” she said, feigning her best smile. She was relieved to see Kate approaching, so she could escape this awkward exchange.
As she turned to leave, Tuck said, “You were born to lead. Go be a leader.”
Back in the bunkroom, Avery sat on a stool while Kate worked silently, straightening Avery’s hair—pinning each lock so it appeared short rather than long and unruly. Kate used more force each time she pressed a pin against Avery’s head, making her wince.
“Is everything all right?” Avery finally asked, turning to face her. “My scalp would like to make peace.”
Kate stopped and pressed her lips together. Finally she said, “Anything could happen today. The king won’t accept second place.”
“You, too? Nobody thinks I can win. But I will.”
Kate sighed. “I’ve always admired your confidence, but there’s a fine line between conviction and stupidity. You never should have agreed to run.”
She added more pins to Avery’s hair, more gently now.
“The king can’t know you’re thirteen, or even that you’re a girl,” Kate continued, her voice cracking. “We can’t help you if something happens. You’re on your own.”
Tears filled Avery’s eyes as she realized how much her friends cared. Not that long ago they were strangers trying to figure out why they had been captured and hauled to the castle. Now they were family.
Avery turned to face Kate. “I won’t lose,” she said. “I can’t. I’m running for you, for all of us, for our brothers and sisters—for an audience with the king. I’m running to get us out of here.”
Kate’s smile did not reach her eyes. “I know you are, and I love you for it, but you need to run for you. I want you back here tonight, safe and sound.” She reached for a stray strand of hair, but Avery caught her hand and held it.
“You’re my friend, Kate. Please, let’s talk about something else—something happier.” She ran her thumb over the ruby ring that had become a fixture on Kate’s finger. “Tell me about this. It’s beautiful.”
“It belonged to my grandmother. It’s a locket.” Kate slipped it off, opened it, and showed Avery the tiny piece of rolled parchment inside. “She wrote me this message, but I’ll never show anyone what it says.”
As Kate replaced the message and clamped the ring closed, Avery wondered if her own ruby flower necklace had also been a locket. And if so, did it have a message inside? How she wished she could hold it one more time, especially today.
In a final effort to make Avery look as much like a boy as possible, Kate affixed a light cap to her head and pulled it low over her brow. She tucked the final stray strands of Avery’s hair underneath and pinned the cap in place.
“Don’t let anyone talk you into running without the cap.”
Avery stood and pulled Kate into a hug, whispering, “I won’t lose.”
Chapter 11
Henry
The springlike day smelled of musk and citrus with a tang of salt also heavy in the air.
Avery was as excited as she was scared as she surveyed the tents and made her way through the festivities.
The Olympiad was like nothing she had ever witnessed.
One persistent merchant sang loudly and off-key as he sold marzipan cakes to enthusiastic children. Another tilted his head back and spouted a flame from his mouth to rousing applause from a spellbound audience. A third hawked tickets to see his menagerie of exotic animals—rumored to be saber-toothed tigers and pure white lions—caged behind the castle. Every once in a while a random roar sent an unsuspecting Olympiad observer running.
A fourth, slightly subtler salesman caught Avery’s eye. He peddled the ability to leave the past behind.
For a few copper coins, the handsome young huckster asked what guilt a person carried and wrote it on a tiny piece of parchment. He then attached the parchment to a small paper lantern, set it afire, and released it into the atmosphere, supposedly carrying the guilt of the deed with it.
“You’ll never lose a wink of sleep again!” he’d say, his eyes twinkling.
Clever, Avery decided, because he now knew the deepest secrets of the townspeople and could make a few more coins via blackmail or by selling the secrets to the man who printed the daily bulletin.
In search of something to eat, Avery entered a crowded tent and through the din heard a voice bright and familiar as any she knew. “Is that apple sausage?” a young boy asked.
She whirled to see him at a distance from behind, but Avery recognized immediately the little brother she had left in the woods. Henry. He was a little taller and a tad leaner, but his light brown hair and pudgy hands were a giveaway.
She moved quickly—knocking into people, determined not to take her eyes off of him. He stood with a woman Avery didn’t recognize but to her relief looked refined and kind. The woman stopped to talk to someone, and Avery dropped to her knees behind the child.
“Henry,” she whispered and, with a hand on each shoulder, spun him around.
He had a sweet face, a button nose, and an easy smile.
But he was not Henry.
“Sorry,” she said, struggling to her feet and feeling herself flush from her neck to her hairline as pinpricks filled her head and clouded her vision. The boy stepped back, and the woman glared at her and drew him close.
“So sorry,” Avery said, “I was mistaken.” And she quickly moved into the crowd again. She dared not attract too much attention, a girl, after all, in boys’ clothing.
Her heart aching, she slipped into the first tent she saw, anxious for a distraction.
The large tent was dominated by a gigantic chandelier and a huge table surrounded by velvet-covered chairs. Well-dressed men and women scurried about, carrying platters of food and drink to several other tables, each graced by elaborate candelabras at either end, at least a dozen candles glowing in every one. Avery couldn’t help but covet a tenth of the excess lighting for herself and her peers.
Guards stood sentinel near the entrances.
And she suddenly understood.
This is the king’s tent.
His Majesty was, no doubt, observing any of the vast number of tournaments happening simultaneously throughout the castle grounds. She wondered if this would be where she might finally encounter him if she won the race.
“You must be a runner!” a buoyant voice said from behind her. “Not enough meat on those bones to be a boxer!”
Avery turned to nod and recognized one of the king’s advisers she had seen from observing the royal study through the kitchen floor. He laughed as if he had just told the funniest joke ever.
Avery pulled her cap a little lower.
“Cheer up, boy!” the adviser said, clapping her on the back. “It’ll be over before you know it. Half a dozen races will be run on that track today. And I’ll let you in on a little secret. Win and you’ll be given a greater reward than you could possibly dream of in that little head of yours.” He poked her in the temple, and she winced. “Our king loves a winner!”
He laughed and moved on, grabbing a chicken drumstick off a servant’s platter and tossing it to Avery. She caught it and nodded a thank-you before biting into it.
In truth, Avery had been thinking of little other than the opportunity to talk to the king. Because the race time was near, she limited herself to the one chicken leg and went in search of the stadium. She couldn’t be late.
After a long walk through teeming crowds, Avery crested a hill and came face-to-face with the arena built for the Olympiad. Its magnitude and majesty stunned her.
She trembled and her knees went weak.
Chapter 12
The Race
A g
rand oval building of marble rose before her, boasting three levels of stands supported by massive round pillars and covered by silk awnings to protect spectators from the sun.
Her legs froze, and she considered running the opposite direction.
But then she pictured the faces of those she loved and she pressed forward.
As she entered the arena, her stomach tightened with each step.
She half expected the track to be paved in gold, but just like the king, the exterior of this stadium was much more impressive than the interior. She soon realized her race would take place on little more than an enormous rectangle of cleared ground.
As the twelve competitors began gathering, the crowd roared.
The sea of faces made Avery wish she was oblivious to how many people were watching. Only when someone called for the runners to take their places did Avery assess her competition for the first time.
None looked like eager recruits.
She would run against a crop of lanky boys who, no doubt, felt the pressure to impress their own masters.
One—tall and gangly with a shaved head—looked more uncomfortable than the rest. He bit his lower lip and shook.
He looked familiar, and she briefly caught his eye, but Avery couldn’t place him.
Like the rest, he didn’t look happy.
A few peeled off their shirts and tossed them aside. Avery’s shirt and cap would draw additional attention she didn’t need. But so would winning. She shed only her boots and socks.
“To your marks!” a man called. Avery wriggled her way to the center. “Eight laps,” he continued, “one half mile,” pacing before them and droning a list of rules.
Avery whispered a prayer and waited. And the boy she thought she recognized wiped his brow, exposing a wrist crisscrossed with scars.
Thomas. The shaggy hair had been shaved to the scalp, but it was him.
At a trumpet blast, the runners exploded. For the first lap they ran shoulder to shoulder, but soon Avery and three others separated themselves from the rest. Thomas’s long, loping stride appeared effortless and gave him a comfortable lead near the end of lap two.
Avery’s throat tightened as she realized Thomas would be difficult—if not impossible—to catch. She thought of her parents and her brother, and though adrenaline surged through her, by lap three Thomas had put even more distance between them.
The shouts of the crowd thundered in her ears.
By lap four Avery heard nothing behind her—no panting, no footfalls. And Thomas was either far enough ahead that she could not hear his shoes hitting the track, or perhaps his gait really was as smooth as it looked. By now he and she were clearly the only runners with any chance of winning.
He seemed to be enjoying a jog in the park.
Avery pushed herself harder than ever. This was so far beyond her training that she realized that had been like child’s play. By lap five, just past a quarter mile with that much more yet to go, everything in her screamed to stop. Her every breath burned and her legs felt like lead.
Tears clouded her vision, and she wondered if she would ever see her friends again. Winning looked impossible. Forget an audience with the king. She couldn’t even imagine surviving to face the gallows.
By lap six she knew the scouts had to have alerted the council that things looked hopeless for her. She envisioned Tuck pacing—regretting the decision to let her compete—Kate crying, and Kendrick mumbling.
Had the scouts recognized Thomas? Was he the one missing from their number who had not been kidnapped but perhaps paid to run against the kingdom?
Everyone was right. I shouldn’t have run.
What was wrong with Avery that death actually seemed a relief to her now? She began to contemplate the worst way to go.
What if she simply veered off the track and out of the stadium? Could she elude the guards before they realized what she was up to? Sure, her limbs were tying up, her heart and lungs already taxed beyond capacity, and she had no idea if she could reach the cool, dark privacy of the woods.
Could she somehow reach her home, beg someone, anyone, for news of her family, risk everything for one last grasp at freedom?
And if she were caught before she escaped the stadium? It would mean the gallows for her anyway, so why not make a desperate lunge for a guard’s weapon, take a few of them with her before she was swarmed?
Having completed the seventh lap while entertaining such macabre musings had distracted her, Avery suddenly became aware of every fiber of her being. Not an inch of her body wasn’t crying out for rest, for comfort, for oxygen, for water. And yet she also realized she had not lost any more ground to Thomas as they pounded into the first turn on the final 110-yard circuit.
The crowd was on its feet, and it appeared Thomas was finally laboring, too. No human could maintain a sprint for an entire half mile, and he seemed to be working harder to swing his arms, pump his legs. Avery still couldn’t imagine catching him, let alone overtaking him, but what did she have to lose if she died trying?
With the roar of the crowd deafening her, she fought to keep her eyes from rolling back in her head. Convinced beyond doubt she was going to die anyway, she kept running as her mind filled with images—images of her dog, her little brother, her mother, her father, all the friends she had made at the castle.
I will die trying! she told herself. I’ll spill myself, all of myself, spend all I’ve got left right here, right now, on this track in front of the king and queen and the scouts and the crowd and everybody.
She filled the art gallery of her mind with beautiful visions of Kate and Kendrick and Tuck, the dear friends she had come to love.
And Avery realized she had drawn within five yards of Thomas and could actually hear his labored breathing. For the first time he had to have heard or felt or sensed her closing in on him, for he glanced to his right and must have seen her out of the corner of his eye. He wobbled as he appeared to try to accelerate.
Avery lowered her head and tightened her fists and demanded from herself anything more that might be left anywhere deep within her. She willed herself to keep pounding, pounding.
The finish line drew within sight, and Avery’s whole body burned. Her bare feet slap, slap, slapped the track as Thomas’s shoes kicked grass and soil into her face. And with her last ounce of strength she moved right to pass him.
But he veered to block her!
Avery thrust out her hands to ward him off, then she shot left and dove across the line ahead of him.
Thomas, too, fell and rolled, stopping just short of the finish and having to crawl the last few feet for second place.
Avery lay on her back, gasping, trying to take in that she had actually won. Thomas rested on his side, clasping his chest, shaking violently. She wanted to ask him why he had left and how, but words were impossible.
Panting, Avery struggled to her feet as men and women rushed to kneel over Thomas. As someone brought her water, she worried he was seriously hurt and wondered whether losing might cost him his life.
A young servant used a gold-handled knife to cut a branch from an olive tree and hand it to an old man leaning weakly on a cane.
“Over here, young man,” the old-timer said, extending the branch to Avery, and she realized he was the king! How he had deteriorated even just since she had seen him last!
Though he no longer looked the part of a strong ruler, he certainly appeared pleased by her victory. His alarming green eyes were still bright as sea glass.
This was as close as Avery had ever been to the man powerful enough to, with a single word, spare her life and those of her friends.
Yet she could think of not a single thing to say.
Someone in the crowd hollered, “Say something!”
Queen Angelina, wearing a gold-colored gown with a gaudy gold choker and heavy gold earrings, strode up next to the king. Her fiery red hair cascaded down one shoulder, and Avery thought she would look beautiful if she didn’t know how dangerous sh
e was.
The young servant whispered, “Runner, remove your cap in the presence of the king!”
Avery started to curtsy, caught herself, and bowed low.
The servant reached over and angrily yanked off her cap, and Avery’s thick mane of dark hair tumbled out.
Chapter 13
“Stop Her!”
The crowd gasped, and it seemed all eyes in the stadium had turned to Avery.
“Well, look at that,” Angelina said. “A little girl!”
“I am not a little girl,” she bit back before she could stop herself. “I’m thirteen!”
The crowd rose as the news rippled through the stadium, and Avery could see that the king looked shocked, too. As fast as she could, she bolted from the arena.
“Stop her!” Angelina cried out, but Avery had already recovered her breath and despite aching muscles zipped through the crowd, between the tents, over the hills, back to the castle, and into the Great Hall, glancing over her shoulder before stealing onto the stairwell to safety.
She didn’t stop at the bunkroom or even the kids’ Great Room.
Avery climbed all the way up and out onto the tiny balcony under the sloping rooftop where she reached to hoist herself up, startled when a hand clamped atop hers.
A strong arm pulled Avery onto the roof.
She landed with a thud, and relief washed over her as she found herself looking into Kendrick’s concerned face. He handed her a cloth and a mug of something warm and fragrant, and despite her best efforts, tears began to fall.
“How did you know to meet me here?”
“You underestimate how well I know you.”
“You know what just happened?”
He nodded. “It will be the highlight of castle gossip for months.”
For once, Kendrick’s bluntness comforted her. “What do I do now? I’ve made a mess of everything again.”
“Well, you certainly can’t risk anyone recognizing you and reporting you to the king. He and Angelina will be turning over every stone to find you as it is.”
The Ruby Moon Page 4
