by Rebecca Grey
"You're welcome," Juilliard calls as I pull open the flap and let it drop in place behind me.
I smile to myself. Maybe one day I'll thank one of the Elves for something, just for the pure amusement of seeing the look of shock on their faces. Not today though. Probably not ever. It's just a thought.
New players, from the teams just now making it in, head toward the medical tent. Teams Riveria and Marcrux. The strong hold up the weak. It leaves me to wonder if the spider had finished with poor Noor. Timing had been the only thing that had helped us get to where we are.
Focusing my eyes on the purple tents, I ignore their questioning gazes. Yes, take it in, the Human survived. I remain focused on where I'm going, trying to stay aware of the Hybrids around me too.
Three dark plum tents are lined up in a slight crescent shape, a fire pit nestled in the middle. All the tent flaps are closed except for one, where I see Hedda sitting with gun parts all around her.
"I thought you were going to take a nap?"
"I did." Hedda looks up. Black oil is smudged on her fingers as she messes with the pieces of the weapon.
"I was only gone for like twenty minutes?"
"It was a fast nap." She points her face downward again, but her eyes follow me as I poke my head in.
On either side of the tent are our own cots, made up with plain black bedding. At least we won't be able to see the blood stains so easily. Sitting on top of my bed, my daggers await. I step over Hedda and her mess. Part of tension that's been sitting in my chest all day is released as I pick up the weapons and the belt.
I turn my back to Hedda and the open door. Soft worn leather slides across my stomach, the buckle cold as I clasp my belt around my waist. I tuck the daggers into the top of my pants and frown as the material is telling of what's underneath.
A loud clatter echoes in the large room. I turn quickly. What now? What else could they possibly do to us? The sound repeats and Hedda starts assembling her gun with a trained speed.
"What is that?" I whisper. Grabbing the hem of my shirt I shove it down and watch the room. All I can see are the backs of other tents.
But Hybrids move toward the noise as nosey as I intend to be. Hedda clicks the final parts into place and holds the weapon in her hands. I look at her then the gun, but it's clear she isn't letting it go anytime soon. She stays near me as I follow the growing crowd.
The door to the arena has lowered. Men and women dressed in black and white scurry to and from a smaller door to its left. They bring out food for one table and various bags with large white tags tied around their ends for the other.
"What is this?" I ask Hedda. She shrugs.
My question is answered quickly though, as the announcer comes through the door. One of the cameras buzzes behind him like a gnat and steadies in the air, filming the encounter. I want to slap that thing right out of the sky.
"You'll see we’ve readied some food for completing your first event!" He moves with a growing smile to the other table. "This table," he pats the edge. "has large sums of money. They are not as great as what you'd win if you complete the Games but the king is offering everyone the chance to exit the games now. So should you desire to take the offer, you can pick up the bag of your choosing and be on your way." He points to the door behind him.
"What's the catch?" Someone shouts.
"No catch. It's your chance to leave."
"Temptations." Hedda leans into me. "They do this every time The Oasis Games come around. The king offers something and it's yours if you just give up. Funny thing is, I've never heard of anyone quitting the games and actually making it out."
"So it's just to thin the herd?"
"Yeah."
"Why would the king offer this?" I shout over the crowd. "Is he afraid that his son can't win if he doesn't make it easier on him?"
Heads snap to attention. Gasps leave a few open mouths. Gazes find their way to me until the entire room is looking my direction. The brush of Hedda’s arm leaves my side as she tilts away from me, as if that could disassociate us. I smile at the attention, meeting their gazes one by one.
I’m not looking for some grand act of defiance or to get under the king’s skin, those are just a wonderful bonus. No, I’m looking for their reactions. I’m looking for rage or any other emotion an offended prince might wear.
There are six Elvin males. Excluding Marcello and Juilliard, there are four left. Quickly, I’m sorting through the faces, looking for those with pointed ears. The males from Teams Riveria and Marcrux, I struggle to come up with their names. Lachlan. Credence.
They exchange looks themselves before meeting my line of sight. Some shade of amusement. Less offended, more so interested to see how this will pan out for me. Or… maybe they think it’s silly of me to underestimate the prince like that.
Then there’s Mavi and Jefferson. Mavi’s blonde hair has fallen into his face, but that doesn’t hold back the dark glare that points this away. Jefferson’s dark hair is pulled back from his face, so he can’t hide the snarl parting his lips.
“No,” the announcer snaps. “This is a courtesy. A kindness offered by the king. An escape before a brutal and painful death.”
“Oh, my mistake.” I shrug one shoulder.
Most of the group turns back to look over the food, over the temptations. Part of the attention still lingers. Credence and Lachlan. They both still watch me.
Which one? Which one of you is the prince?
The announcer frowns, but turns his gaze away from me. He forces his lips into a much more pleasant smile. "I'll leave you to it. And I'll see you all tomorrow for the next event."
Tomorrow. Tomorrow doesn't give me time to heal these stitches. Tomorrow doesn't give me the time to figure out who the prince is. Tomorrow hardly gives me enough rest to be ready to break down my body again.
Maybe they're right. Maybe a Human can't survive these Games. Not at this pace.
I fold my arms over my chest, watching to see if anyone makes a move for the table. A few do. An Elf girl. The male Satyr and the Dwarf. They flip open the cards on the end of the bags, looking with wide eyes at the amount scrolled across the tag. None of them pick them up. None of them head for the door.
Some of the crowd makes a move for the food while others moan and turn back to their tents. One quick look around tells me that neither Marcello or Juilliard had bothered to come out for this. They wouldn't have quit anyway.
Credence stalks toward me. His forehead wrinkled with frustration. He stops looking down his nose at Hedda then curling his lip at me. "Awfully brave of you, Human, to spout off things like that when the king already wants you dead."
"The king may want me dead, but I'm the best entertainment the crowd has. Will he or won't he kill me? How long can I survive?" I smile, but my fingers curl into my biceps.
He rolls his eyes taking a large step around me, but I follow him. "Did I personally offend you?" I ask.
"Your existence offends me. I shouldn't have to be breathing the same air as you."
I snort and step aside, dramatically gesturing for him to walk on by. Well, I can't count him out of the running for the title of prince. He sure does act like one.
I turn to speak to Hedda, to ask her who she thinks the prince is, but she's gone. Her curvaceous form teeters, gun still in hand, next to the food. She nudges a couple Hybrids out of the way with the barrel.
I inhale deeply, but the expanding of my lungs pulls at my stitches in an aching annoying manner. At some point, Juilliard's meds are going to wear off and I'll be in much worse condition then I am in currently.
Curious, I walk up to the tables. The food looks edible. Sandwiches, cuts of meat, platters of vegetables, and bowls of roasted potatoes. Hedda helps herself to a plate of everything. I grab a sandwich, taking a tentative bite. Tastes like a sandwich... so I take another bite and move toward the temptations.
Six bags. Six chances for Hybrids to bow out of the games gracefully. Or maybe not bow out at all if
what Hedda had said is correct. I open one of the cards. Five thousand legends. I open another. Ten thousand legends. One more. Twelve thousand legends.
That sort of money could change your life in The Bend. That sort of money would get you killed if you weren't careful. It's the kind that would get me killed.
"Thinking of taking the bait?" A voice says softly beside me. I lift my attention and meet the sea-green eyes of Mavi. His scowl from earlier is replaced with a sloppy grin.
"Not at all, just curious what they think someone would take in place of the reward for winning the Games. Have you come to ponder if it's worth running away?"
His hands fall to his lean waist, his shoulders bouncing with a laugh. "No Human, I came to talk to you."
"Me?" Now this is an interesting turn of events.
"I came to apologize, because I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot." He smiles, but I don't believe that it's genuine for a Saints damn minute.
"Oh, you mean when you bickered with Marcello and threatened to have him removed from the Games? I'm not sure how you would have managed that. Or are we talking about the time in the elevator? Which misstep is it?"
"Marcello and I... I don't see either of us ever finding a way to truly get along." He stares past me. "Then again." His eyes drift back to me. "It won't be an issue if one of us dies during the Games."
"Very true." I nod along, watching him. My feet are bare and the smooth floor underneath is cold. I shift my weight, leaning closer. Lines form around his mouth, but Mavi doesn't move away. He notes the hole in my shirt and the bandage on my side, saying nothing.
“As for the elevator, I can’t really say that I’m truly sorry. It was immensely entertaining on my part. Though I understand why that would make you upset.”
I roll my eyes. "I may consider overlooking what you did for the next five minutes, if you can tell me about these other Elves?"
"What do you want to know?" His slender brow lifts.
"I want to know who the prince is."
He chuckles at that. "Everyone wishes to know who the prince is."
"But why do I get the feeling that every Elf here knows and is just keeping it to themselves?"
"Well the king would have their head on a spike if they spoiled all the fun. Who do you think is the prince?"
I take another bite of my sandwich, thinking and chewing before I respond. Others are still milling about, giving Mavi questioning looks. "What would you do if I said it was you?"
"I'd be flattered. Aren't princes supposed to be handsome and charming? So if you think I'm the prince, you must think I am those things."
It's my turn to laugh. I give an unladylike snort that makes Mavi's smile grow just a little more. "You and Marcello must be related, you talk so much alike."
Mavi's smile falls. "We are very much alike. Both very loyal. To a fault."
And I wonder what that's supposed to mean.
"Who do you want me to think is the prince?" I force the subject back to what I truly need to know.
"No one. Pretend the prince does not exist. That will suit you better. Suit your team better. You've already made it quite hard on yourselves, though I must say I'm surprised you came through as quickly as you did."
I pout. "Guess I'll just have to be on the lookout for a handsome and charming Elf." Swiftly, I turn to give him my back. I shove the last of my sandwich in my mouth and head for my tent.
Pieces. All of the information I'm gathering are pieces to a very large puzzle.
#1 TEAM MARCRUX:
Thomos - Male, Orc
Lachlan - Male, Elf
India - Female, Elf
Rafferty - Male, Dwarf
Costello - Male, Orc
Danisha – Female, Dryad
#2 TEAM RIVERIA:
Lux - Female, Elf
Alastar - Male, Darf
Amory - Female, Orc
Credence - Male, Elf
Rumi - Female, Orc
Bullie – Female Vampire
#3 TEAM ASHFORD:
Mavi – Male, Elf
Davison – Male, Human - DECEASED
Rake – Male, Saytr
Calik – Male, Vampire
Dakota – Male, Werewolf
Jefferson – Male, Elf
#4 TEAM WINDSOR:
Nilsa – Female, Human
Juilliard – Male, Elf
Marcello – Male, Elf
Finnegan - Male, Vampire
Sloane – Female, Vampire
Hedda - Female, Orc
#5 TEAM CUTTINGTON:
Bekke – Female, Elf
Isla – Female, Vampire
Orchid – Female, Vampire
Winona – Female, Dryad
Noor – Female, Werewolf - DECEASED
Washington – Male, Faun
Sleep in the Safe Haven doesn't feel very... safe. Every sound, no matter how small makes my eyes flutter open, and falling back into a slumber is that much harder. Hedda sleeps through the whole night. I know by the way she snores heavily.
It's not like the way that Marcello had softly purred in his sleep, this sounds more like the poor woman is choking on something in her nasal passageway every two minutes. So with sleep still in my eyes, I pull my new boots on.
There is a commotion of movement even outside of our tent as the teams ready themselves. Weapons being sharpened, bodies washing in the running waters, voices carrying in low quick whispers, and practiced swinging of swords colliding.
Hedda stretches her arms over her head, shouting a yawn. "Shit." She blinks her eyes, standing and slinging her gun over her back. "Want to go search out something to eat?"
I want to go search out one of the Elves. Credence maybe, since he'd given me such a snide conversation yesterday. What I don't want to do is make small talk with Hedda while she quizzes me on how the Human digestive system works, as if that's something I understand myself.
"As long as you can promise me silence," I say. My movements are slow and there's a pang in my ribs like a thorn in my side. It's not a thorn though, just these damn stitches. I lift my new shirt to get a look at the bandage. Blood from my shirt had either stained the top of the bandage, or I managed to pop a stitch in my sleep.
"Does it still hurt?"
"Like a bitch. Maybe it's better if I find Juilliard before the Games start today. Have him take a look." My pride says 'don't do it,' but my general sense of wanting to make it through the Games today says 'you better fucking do it'.
"Eat first." Hedda grunts and opens the tent flap, holding it for me.
I run my hand down my torso, flattening my shirt back down and brush my finger over my daggers through the material of my pants. One step and then another and I'm bowing under the open doorway.
Large lights are glowing above, illuminating every space. Buzzing drones with pointed cameras watch from above. One lowers, flying by our heads. What a welcoming wake up. I swat the camera away like the annoying little bug it is and Hedda chuckles.
"Wait up ladies!" Marcello pokes his head out of the tent and calls with Juilliard not far behind him.
Hedda slows, but I don't bother. Marcello catches up to my side anyway, looping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into his side. His curls are stretched with water and it's clear he's washed off the stench of the day before.
"Lucky you getting to take a bath. Juilliard says I can't get my stitches wet for forty-eight hours." I look up at him, not entirely hating the weight of his arm across my back.
"I could offer you a sponge bath," he smirks.
"You'd like that, but I'll politely decline." I whisper, gently taking his hand and lifting it off of me.
"I'll leave the offer open in case you change your mind." Marcello winks and I have to force myself not to smile, not even a little bit.
Juilliard and Hedda remain quiet behind us as we pass by the other teams sitting around their fires. With the gold tents in view, my eyes go straight for the Elf males sitting and eating bacon s
traight out of the pan suspended over their fire. Mavi and Jefferson talk amongst themselves. They almost look... pleasant as they smile and joke.
Marcello only frowns in their general direction. Bright blue eyes look up as Jefferson notices us passing. Mavi follows his stare. He smiles softly at me and offers a slight wave. To me? Is he waving at me? Turning my head right then left I'm not sure that there are any other possibilities so I wave back. It's a short, curt wave, but it's better than nothing.
"What was that?" Marcello says, a clear edge to his tone.
"I'm making friends." I blink innocently.
"Nilsa, you aren't even friends with us and we are on the same team. I find it hard to believe that you'd have any interest in having Mavi as a friend. Unless you just like to torture me."
"Oh, I do like to torture you." I poke my elbow into his side, testing out Juilliard’s work on his rib. "How's your injury?"
"Don't change the subject."
Juilliard steps up to my other side. "Did you go snooping yesterday after I asked you not to?"
"Snooping?" Marcello's voice is hollow and hoarse.
"She's trying to figure out who the prince is." Juilliard answers before I can and I scowl at him. That's exactly what I'm trying to do, but he's putting it in such a bad light. It's for my own good... for the good of our whole team. Damn the king.
Marcello stops. His hand reaches for my elbow, pulling me to stand next to him. Hedda hisses as she digs her heels in, trying not to ram into my back. With a shake of her head she walks around us, mumbling about needing breakfast.
"What are you doing?"
"Marcello," I shake his hand off. "I'm going to go eat. Whatever do you mean?" I bat my eyelashes for good measure.
He pushes out a rush of air trying to gain composure of himself, but I can see an angry red creeping up into his cheeks. Seeing it makes butterflies twist and turn in my stomach, they take flight when he levels me with his heated silver gaze. His hand on my arm burns red hot, even through the fabric.
He steps a little closer. The air between us crackling with an unspoken energy that threatens to steal my breath away.
