by Janeal Falor
“I can come if you'd like, Serena,” Cynthia offers.
Her color hasn't returned yet. If she feels as ill as I do, I can't ask for her presence. I fake a smile. “It's fine. I'll see you before curfew.”
“If you're sure?”
“She said she's fine,” Thomas says. “Get on with you.”
I give what I hope is a reassuring smile as he drags me off. Before I can see if Cynthia moves to follow us or heads toward the tent, we round the corner of the box stands. I hope she makes it to the tent without me, that no one stops her. Or that she doesn't get distracted and not make it back in time. How badly would they punish her for that?
The rotten stench grows, mingling with roasted meats. The noise increases. People talking, laughing, singing. A few vomiting. Spell lights flash all around, haphazardly landing on food, the ground, and people. Everywhere. Nothing is immune to a burst of color. A turquoise one lands on my shoulder. I jerk back, but it's already disappeared. Thomas laughs and threads through the crush. I hope the spell didn't do anything.
After dragging me to the table, he lets go. I inch to the side and behind him. Close enough he can find me, but not so easily seen and remembered. Without bothering with a plate, he grabs whatever food is closest and shoves it in his mouth like an animal.
A woman with lots of jangling jewelry, an orange band, and no ownership tattoo, shimmies close to him. She must still be under her Father's rule. She whispers in his ear. He angles toward her and laughs, some of the chewed meat spitting from his mouth. If the sacrifice and vomiting hadn't already sent my hunger fleeing, he would. He grabs a cup of ale from a passing tarnished's tray, sloshing half of it on the table. With one swig, the cup is drained.
Up and down the table, men and a few women are doing the same with varying degrees of crudeness. Wilted-looking cabbage on plates every foot or so must be the cause of the smell permeating the air since the tournament ended. Even the foul-smelling vegetable is jammed in their mouths.
It's as if no one was murdered. And I suppose there wasn't. A tarnished isn't anyone. Who would miss them? Why do I even care? I don't know. It goes against everything I've been taught, but it's bothering me. I want to push it away, but it lingers.
Without staring, I try to watch the tarnished. They move through the crowd with uncanny ease. Replacing empty plates with full ones. Cleaning spills. Standing in the darkness, waiting and watching for a moment when they are needed. They are the shadows I've always been taught they are. But don't I sometimes do the same with Father and my family? Stand back where I can't be seen, waiting and watching. I brush the thought away. This night really is muddling me.
Father comes by. Once he finds us, he pulls me from the fringes, through the growing mass, back to Thomas's side. A few people examine me, but don't bother long, shifting their attention to my owner. Father stays close. He speaks of Thomas and me, of our engagement ceremony in four weeks, of his position on the council, of his relation to the new Chancellor, to anyone who will listen and some who won't. His voice grows louder as more warlocks gather. I ignore what I can.
The Grand Chancellor walks by the crush surrounding us. He stops to talk to a wiry man, but his eyes never leave the swell of people Thomas has gathered. Does he regret awarding Thomas everything now that he has seen what has come of it all? Not that he had a choice. Laws are always followed unless changed and you can't change law in the middle of a tournament. Too many women present.
A ringing sounds. I strain to hear more. A bell chimes ten more times, barely heard over the din. I allow myself one deep breath and tap Thomas on the shoulder. Nothing. I tap harder.
“It's almost curfew.”
He drapes his arm on my shoulders. “Eleven thirty already?”
“Soon enough.”
His eyes narrow and take on a lusty glow. “I'd best see you back then.”
I edge away. “You don't have to leave the party. I can see myself.”
“Nonsense. The party will be waiting for me when I return. Won't you?” Affirmative shouts clamor all around. “Not a problem.” He turns to his supporters. “I'll return shortly, after ensuring my future bride doesn't break curfew.”
Cheers and laughter follow us as we nudge our way out of the throng. A few other women trudge in the direction of the tents. Why do they have to extend women's curfew on tournament nights? Balls I can understand, but this? I hope he never wants to take me to another tournament. Though, as a Chancellor's wife there is little hope of that.
He trips into a warlock at the edge of the crowd.
“Oops.” Thomas laughs. “Had a bit too much to drink tonight.” A gray apology spell, the kind I only ever see given to men, floats to the man he knocked into. I don't think the light means anything other than an apology, but maybe the spell does more than I know.
The man grins. “Win the tournament tomorrow and we'll call it even.”
“I will.” Thomas says, earning him a cheer.
I sigh as he pulls me from the crowd. We walk, rather I walk and he stumbles, as we move away from the buzz. The noise weakens, and for a few minutes, there is silence save for his greetings to those we pass. All seem to know him and call after him.
Eventually, we make it to the tented area. Most of the participants and spectators have been housed here all week. Father, and mother, always stayed in the tents before. Another reason for Father to adore having Thomas and his close house in the family.
The first tents are all around my height and gray. Men and women laugh and chatter as they dash in and out of sight. These shelters eventually give way to ones towering over them. The new tents are almost as large as my family home. Though I saw them when we were shown around earlier this morning, I still can't fathom why they are here. Who would bother with such bulky things? They would be a lot of work to put up, take down, and carry from place to place. As we move through the unreasonable-sized shelters, the noise of others fades.
The only people left in sight is a couple, embracing. This close, their height astounds me, but there's something more shocking. Their touch. A Master can touch his possessions, so I shouldn't be so surprised. Yet, this is different. It has a hesitance to it. His arms drape around her. Words pass between them too quiet for me to hear. The woman brushes her fingertip across the man's chin before dancing into a tent with a giggle.
“Stupid Envadi.” Thomas sways closer to me and trips over nothing, pulling on me. “Can't even party properly. Shouldn't even be here. They'll only spy on us more, try and steal our spells and our women. I'll show them tomorrow when I beat the last warlock they have in the tournament. I'll massacre him.”
I lean away from him as he chortles. Suddenly, he switches directions and hauls me between two of the tents. With his staggering, I didn't think he had much strength left, but the little resistance I give might as well be nonexistent.
“What are you doing? This isn't the way.” I tug harder, but he clutches me to him.
He moves closer, encircling me with the stench of alcohol and body odor. I want to scour everywhere he touches and breathes. With all the strength I can manage, I shove him. He falters back, taking me with him. For a moment we totter toward the ground, but I lean backward saving us from falling. He snarls.
“None of that, wench. My possessions don't get away from me. Besides, we'll be married soon enough, I just want a little taste.”
My pulse quickens. “No.”
The leer morphs into a snarl. “Don't you dare tell me no.”
Grabbing a fistful of hair, he yanks my head back. I scream. His hand clamps down on my mouth. Panic bubbles in me. I fight it and let anger boil from deep within. I didn't mean to steady him, as well. If only he would get his hands off me.
Punishments have never included such close contact. Tears build in my eyes. I can't let him compromise me. Even if I have to break other laws to do it. I just want him off. I get ready to knee him in the one place I know will weaken his hold. The one place a woman is never to harm.
<
br /> A hand grabs my shoulder. I'm caught. Will they tarnish me if I didn't commit the offense? Time slows. A fist swings toward me. Before I can pull back, it slams into Thomas's face. He flies backward into the tent wall. It sags against his weight until he crumples to the ground.
I stare down at him. What just happened? Did someone accidentally hit Thomas instead of me? I look at the hand that steadies me, and move my gaze up. He's taller than any man I've ever met. About a foot taller than me. An Envadi.
“Why're you standing around?” He spits and kicks Thomas in the stomach.
I blink. He meant to hit Thomas? And kick him? What did Thomas do to him to cause such anger? If he's willing to do that to another warlock, what are the Envadi willing to do to me? I grasp my trembling hands together. Going to the tent should be my goal, but I can't move. Thomas is still motionless on the ground.
“He'll live. Get a move on.”
He shifts far enough to the side that I can skirt past him. If he wants to keep his anger directed at Thomas, I won't stop him. My feet can finally move. I need no more encouragement. Not looking at Thomas again, I dart past and break into a run. The large tents give way to orange tents my height. My breaths are short, painful gasps.
More people mill about, mostly women, but a few warlocks stand guard around the edges of the tents. While steadying my breathing, I slow to a fast walk until I'm safely inside my tent. A slew of women look up as I stumble in. The cots fill the tent barely leaving room to walk.
As soon as she spies me, Cynthia weaves her way to me. “What happened?”
“I—I...”
“You're shaking. Follow me.” She guides me to my cot and helps me sit. The tent is almost full. Most of the women must be in already. And they're all watching me.
I give a shy smile and say loudly, “Too much partying for me, I think.”
The women return to their own business, a low hum of words. A few snippets of Thomas's name. My hands shake.
Cynthia settles next to me and leans closer. “What really happened”
I pick a twig off my dress. “Thomas insisted on walking me.”
When I stay silent Cynthia says, “Did something happen with him?”
A cold wave washes over me. I rub my arms. “Almost. It almost did.” My voice catches. “But Cynthia, someone came.” The women around us are still paying us no mind. Just to be safe, I lower my voice further. “Before he could do anything, Thomas was knocked out by an Envadi.”
She gasps. The women closest to us look at her. She gives a false laugh. “There were mimes? I shouldn't have come back early.”
After the women turn away from us, I whisper, “What's a mime?”
She shrugs. “Don't know. I've been listening to the others. Did anyone else witness it?”
“No one. Only Thomas and he were there.”
“Chancellor Thomas. You've got to remember that.” She shakes her head. “Is he angry?”
“I don't know. He wasn't conscious when I left.” I swallow when I realize what that could mean for me when he wakes. “The Envadi said he'd be fine. Thomas had a lot to drink though.”
She lifts her eyebrows at me. “And you left him?”
“I had to return before curfew. Besides, he was making me uncomfortable.”
She bites her lower lip. “Turn around. I'll help you out of your dress.”
I twist until my back faces her. As she unfastens my dress, I think of Thomas and the Envadi. Their barbaric ways are widely known. The one that attacked Thomas had continued to kick him after he was down and unconscious. Yet, I don't know what would have become of me if the Envadi had not come along. Which of the two is really worse? I can't decide, but my mind keeps remembering Thomas laying on the ground, the Envadi looming over him.
Chapter Six
As Cynthia and I leave the tented area, Father strides toward us. I keep my expression serene despite the quivering inside me.
“Why weren't you here sooner? Chancellor Thomas's duel is about to start.” He squeezes both our upper arms and directs us to the box. I hold back a wince at his grip. “He was furious he didn't see you this morning, Serena.”
Fear pricks my heart. I took as long as I could getting ready, even applying extra face paint to delay this moment. We enter the box. “Did he say what he wanted?”
“What do you think he wanted?” Father lets go and I scurry to my chair.
To tarnish me for my crimes, for not letting him be my Master. For leaving him unattended while unconscious with an Envadi. My sins are many.
“You're his bride,” Father says. “Everyone was asking after him this morning and he wanted you at his side. Once he came to himself that is. Woke in the Envadi section of camp not remembering how he got there. Drank a bit too much last night if you ask me. Took some extra spells to fix that.”
I relax into my chair. He doesn't remember what happened. Cynthia and I exchange a glance. The wrinkles in her forehead smooth.
Though I shouldn't speak, I can't help but try to take the conversation somewhere safer. “Is he the first duel of the day?”
“Yes. He's paired against that Envadi. Massive brute that. Must be what's gotten him this far. No other Envadi have made it to the last day. Should be easy enough for Chancellor Thomas to best him. With any luck, he'll take the day. Not that he needs the prize money now.” Father chuckles. It stops when he looks at me. “Why am I wasting this talk on you halfwits?”
He storms out of the box. I don't watch to see if he's going to Thomas or somewhere else. What happens to Thomas gives me no concern. Win or lose, I'm still his. Unless he does remember something from last night that he didn't want to discuss with Father, only me. I shift in my chair. Even if he does want to talk to me about it, I'm going home tomorrow. I won't have to use this facade much longer. By the time we are living under the same roof, as a Chancellor he should have other things to occupy him. Still, I'll have to come back and return to masking my feelings toward him.
Except he could require me to stay. The contract is sealed. As his possession, he could force me if he so wished. I rub my forehead. No sense worrying about that. No one has required that of their possession before they've become wed.
“You look ill.” Cynthia moves closer to me. “It appears you have nothing to worry about. Chancellor Thomas is going to duel and win from the sound of things. He'll be in a good mood after that.”
“I suppose.”
“He will.” She relaxes in her chair. “Do you want any breakfast?”
“No. But get yourself something.”
“It's probably not a good idea. There's likely to be more deaths today. More of them happen today than any other day.”
“You've been talking to the servants again?”
“A woman in our tent last night.” She shrugs. “We likely won't have to witness most of it if we don't want, but there's still a chance. Would you like me to get you the soothing tea to ease your nerves?”
“No. Mother's not here and Father won't care if I'm myself while he's in the Grand Chancellor's box.”
“Mother said I should take it today and get you to, as well.” She pauses as if thinking to herself. “I think I'll abstain. I'm not curious what it's like.”
“It's strange to feel calm about everything whether you wish to or not.”
“I can imagine. You're always so weird after drinking it.”
“Happy to hear it.”
“I didn't mean anything by it.” Cynthia jostles her necklaces between her fingers. “You just seem so different. I don't want to be anything other than myself.”
“As you should.” The brewed concoction makes me feel distant from myself and leaves me with a headache. Though usually when I take it, the headache is the least of my problems. I've gotten adept enough after hexes and beatings that mother rarely makes me take it anymore. The threat of more deaths must have Cynthia nervous, though she tries to cover it with chatter.
“Two Arllos and three Chryos made it to the f
inals. Can you believe it?”
“I don't really know. Is that unusual?”
“Apparently. And with the Envadi that Chancellor Thomas is up against, it's quite the foreign showing. Hope they don't beat us. It'd be rather embarrassing.”
The duelers gather on the field, but I don't spy Thomas or the Envadi he's pitted against yet. Not that I'd recognize his face, but it would be easy to tell him apart by his size.
“Chancellor Thomas will be a fine match for you. I know it's hard now, but it'll get better,” she continues. “Everyone likes him so much. He's definitely the favorite of the day.”
“For some,” I murmur.
The first duel is announced. Thomas struts onto the field waving and casting all sorts of colored spells that don't appear to be doing anything other than flashing about. Without knowing more it's hard to tell for sure.
He pivots our direction. His hand reaches toward me as if he could touch me across the many yards between us. I tense as the memory of him pressed against me invades my thoughts. I don't want to think on it. But Father did say he was furious. What punishment does he have in store for me?
A burst of maroon, gold, black, and green fly from his hands and sail straight for me. I start, but the spell comes to a stop before hitting me. The crest that has followed me around the first day forms. The crowd cheers. I let the tension ease from me.
Sometime during the display, the Envadi has made his way to the circle. Thomas resembles a gawky teen next to the stoic giant. The Envadi simply stands, wearing the black dueling outfit with a white band on his arm, doing nothing to give away his feelings. They're far enough away that details are difficult to pick out. If they were physically fighting, Thomas would never best him. But magic comes from the blood, not size.
The judge motions for them to enter the circle and the audience grows quiets. They face each other, Thomas grinning and the Envadi expressionless. At least from what I can see from here. Why do men always wish to fight? At least here it's with each other instead of picking on us.
The judge signals for them to start. There's no slow building of spells. They both blast at the signal. Thomas's lights are bright and zinging. Sometimes sparkling or jumping to the air. The Envadi's are nothing like them. A few bright-colored spells fly from him, but mostly dark, serpentine ones. Those stay focused around his opponent's spells instead of darting about like Thomas's magic does.
