AllFreeNovel
Share Us
One minute together, and all the joy of the morning had trickled away. I bite my bottom lip and squeeze the pendant tighter. How on earth am I going to get through this conversation?
“Well,” Hawke says, finally breaking up the tension in the room. “I’m sure you have much to catch up on, but for now, we need to take you to the competition. If you still wish to participate, that is.” He inclines his head to me.
“Of course.” I leap to my feet.
He nods. “It begins soon.”
“Are you ready?” Mark asks. Genuine concern laces his voice, but that’s not what settles heavily on my chest.
I assumed it’d be Sigurd taking me there. After yesterday—well, the day before—and the flowers. I’d been looking forward to seeing him way more than I should, especially since it’s his fault I’m stuck here.
“Our king cannot show preference,” Hawke says as if he can pick the words right out of my head. My skin turns clammy. Maybe he can. “He is concerned that your competition may already think the games biased in your favor, and such thoughts would not benefit any of us.”
“Right.” I swallow the tightness in my throat. “And they won’t think that if I arrive with you both?”
“Mark is your family, and therefore, so am I. It’s customary for family members to support their contestants.”
Family.I hold back a snort. The old men at Jolene’s are closer to me than these two, but I suppose someone has to take me there. Finding my way there on my own might be a struggle. That’s assuming the guards at the main doors would let me out—they haven’t yet—or my eagle friend has a larger buddy I could ride. A sigh slips out. A few of the birds lounging on the roof might just be big enough, but they haven’t come down here.
“I don’t suppose you can tell me what today’s competition is?” I ask as I take their hands and brace for their horrible method of travel.
Uncle Mark opens his mouth, but Hawke speaks first. “No, but you’ll find out with the other contestants soon enough.”
“All right, well, beam me up, Scotty.”
Hawke’s lips twist as if I’ve splattered him with mud, but at least Uncle Mark laughs. I hold my breath and squeeze their hands in a death grip as the room bends and warps. No matter how long I’m here, I’ll never get used to this. I pinch my eyes shut, begging the spinning to stop.
When I open them, I’m not prepared for the sight that greets me. Instead of the colosseum of two days before, we’re standing in an open field. If I had to guess, I’d say we’re likely somewhere in the valley below the castle. Wooden stands are erected around us in a half-moon. Fae cram them full, but there’s a tenth of what there was last time. Today’s attire seems more casual too, with more muted grays and blues rather than the riot of color from before. I guess it’s like the Olympics, where the opening ceremony gets all the attention and the individual games draw a smaller crowd.
Hawke drops my hand almost immediately, but Mark clings to it. “Good luck today, Wren.” He draws me in closer. “You’ll need more than luck, but you can do it.” His other hand clasps over mine. “I believe in you.”
“Thank you.” It’s all I can squeak out as a sinking feeling takes hold. More than luck, huh? Unless we’re making cocktails—unlikely—I’m probably the least skilled person here.
I join the other competitors where they cluster around a raised stage. The announcer from before—at least I think it’s the same one, hard to tell with his outlandish outfits—speaks in low tones with a few other well-clad fae, likely preparing to present the day’s contest.
Galen stands alone, and I weave my way toward him, dodging hard stares and words spoken in a language I can’t understand.
“Good morning.” I give him a little wave.
He nods his tanned head. “To you as well.”
Unsure what else to say, I scan the crowd. I have to lean around Galen to see the royal box. Whatever strange tug I felt—or thought I felt—from the bond on my wrist before is gone, but it’s still easy to find Sigurd. The royal box is uncovered today, and the light reflecting off the silver buttons and trim on Sigurd’s attire gives him a regal look—no crown required.
I bob on my feet, hopeful to catch his attention, but his gaze slides right over me. A flicker of pain runs through my chest. Did I do something wrong?
“So, what could a human favored by the king wish for?” Galen asks, following my gaze.
“Favored?” The back of my neck heats as I recall Hawke’s words from earlier. “I’m not favored.”
“You’re…” His brows wrinkle as he shifts on his feet. “Ah, I forgot you humans can lie.”
I purse my lips. “I’m not lying.” Okay, maybe a little. “Look, I just want to go home, but I can’t, not without the cauldron’s help.”
He flinches and leans in closer. “You’re here against your will?”
“Sort of.” Without thinking, I grab at the fabric wrapped around my wrist. It’s meant to look like an armband. My gaze drifts to Moria. She brought one to match each outfit. They came with stern instructions not to be removed outside Sigurd’s quarters.
The look Galen gives me might as well burn straight through the fabric.
