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Tulip joined us shortly after, and we made our way to the arena through back alleys, stopping to dirty their clothes and muss their hair as we did. Once underground, I split from the pair to join my place with the rest of the Patricians.
Nimh still will not look at me, furious for decisively cutting the plan to expose the Race off at the knee. My attempts to speak to her have fallen on deaf ears, so I have resigned myself to quiet enjoyment of the ceremony.
Our advisors are not on the floor but on the first level of the arena. I look up to see Plume sitting next to Loris and a Helios I vaguely recognize. The light wielder looks at Loris with such devotion that when Loris reaches out to grab his hand, I cannot help but smile. My distraction with the Race and Viola Mistflow seems to have caused me to miss out on a new development in my best friend’s life, and I remind myself to ask him about it later.
Stone sits off to the side, sulking and brooding in a black and ice-blue robe, his arms rigidly crossed on his chest.
I look towards the Racer’s entrance as Viola strides through, chin high. Her whip is loose in her hand, dragging behind her. The arena explodes with applause, and they are on their feet instantly. Her jaw is clenched, the only sign that she is uncomfortable with the spectacle. When I look at her, I can’t help but admire how she is a force to be reckoned with, a brutal beauty capable of such destruction.
The crowd chants her name, and she turns, surveying all the citizens of Ytopie who have spied on some of the most devastating moments of her life. She is tall and regal, a lethal warrior that I ache to wrap my arms around. The crowd continues cheering, paying no attention to Tulip as she enters the arena.
Viola notices that none of the fae stop chanting her name with Tulip’s arrival, and she raises her whip up in the air, bringing it down so swiftly that a loud crack fills the arena. She cracks the whip a second time, and the crowd falls completely silent, all attention on her. Tulip stands beside her, looking embarrassed and bewildered.
Viola turns toward her partner and bows low, a deference to the young girl. She rises and gestures widely with her free hand at the girl she was reluctant to bring with her on this journey. At her gesture toward Tulip, the crowd erupts with her name. The red that fills her cheeks rivals the color of my hair. The women embrace, and the chants become both of their names, a celebration of two equal winners who survived significant trauma to arrive where they are now.
Over the course of the next few hours, additional Racers slowly enter the arena, but none produce the level of admiration that was afforded to Viola and Tulip. I catch some familiarity between Viola and a few of the winners, but none she embraces.
She indeed did keep herself isolated and alone.
When nine additional Racers fill the arena, Mace rises to his feet and strides into the center, steps from Viola. When she visibly cringes away from him, triumph flows through me.
“Citizens of Ytopie! After a grueling nine days, we have our winners! These humans of Krillium represent all the hopes and strengths the Gods have promised us. Their bravery and dedication will satiate and empower the Gods for a year to come!”
The crowd is on their feet, cheering for Gods that don’t exist.
Viola’s face is tight, a brutal mask of indifference as she stares at Mace. If I didn’t know better, I would think he was looking at her with hurt.
“The arena pathway has been closed, and all other Racers will begin their descent down the summit over the next few days. But tonight, go celebrate with your friends and family! Collect your winnings or nurse your wounds. Because tomorrow, you will get the chance to meet our winners during the Champions Gala!”
Nervously, I knock on the door leading to the basement apartment I discovered while following Mace in what feels like a lifetime ago. My arms are loaded with two oversized boxes balanced precariously as I try to keep myself level on the stairs.
The door before me opens, and Tulip’s face visibly relaxes when she meets my eyes. “Oh, thank Gods, I was worried you were Mace.”
“And thank the Gods I’m not Mace, indeed,” I chuckle, moving into the room. Viola sits at a table, hunched over Damaris Forekeeper’s journal.
“Viola,” I call, attempting to break her concentration. She startles a bit and looks at me.
Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes. “Zeph, what are you doing here?”
Suddenly sheepish, I look down at the boxes in my arms. “Well, the gala is tonight. I bought you both dresses.” Tulip squeals, grabbing the boxes from me and laying them on the table without regard for Viola’s book.
“Hey!” Viola begins to shout, but she immediately realizes it’s hopeless.
Tulip spies her name on the tag for the white box and pulls the lid open. Inside is a gown I had Plume commission. If Tulip were fae, there is no doubt in my mind she would be a Spring Seasonale. She embodies the rebirth and growth of spring. She pulls the gown from its box, the fabric cascading to the floor.
The gown appears unassuming at first glance, a muted shade of blue. But when Tulip pulls it on, it comes to life. At the hem, flowers grow with every step she takes. As she spins, admiring the wide skirts, the flowers bloom to life, stretching across the strapless bodice with leaves of green and petals the colors of spring.
When she stops spinning, the flowers shrink, settling around her calves as small, muted blooms. “It’s incredible,” she breathes, running her hands down the skirts to smooth them.
“You’re always in motion, so I thought you deserved a dress that was too.” I pull a pair of silver sandals and a sage green ribbon for her hair from the box.
Grabbing the items from me excitedly, she throws herself into my arms in a squeezing embrace. Over her shoulder, I lock eyes with Viola. For once, her eyes are warm, and there is a smile on her face that I would raze the world to see again.
“Lola, let’s see yours!” Tulip encourages, finally freeing me from her crushing embrace.
Silently, Viola moves to the black box and pulls out the dress I brought for her. Plume may have commissioned Tulip’s dress, but Viola’s was all me.
The dress she pulls out is black and made of translucent organza. She barely looks at it before she goes to the bathing chamber with it.
