Nyte Guard: Chapter 7 - The Tournament

Perhaps because I’m dreading it, the next two weeks pass far too quickly. Constance doesn’t reach out again, but whenever our gazes happen to meet, I can see the question in them: Are you ready?

I don’t tell Quell about the meeting. A big part of me wants to, but every time I try to make myself bring it up, the words get stuck in my throat. Constance was right about one thing: Quell would never let me go through with wielding the Scimitar. I don’t particularly want to, either, but doubt gnaws at me. I’d previously claimed I’d do anything to stop my brother from making a pact with the Scimitar. Does my hesitation now make me a coward? 

“Nye?” Quell gently prods. 

I blink, glancing away from the carriage’s window. Desert landscape passes us by, cacti and rock formations emerging and retreating into the shadows of the night. It’s half a night’s trip to the grounds where the tournament will be held. 

“Hm?” I bury my anxious thoughts swirling around Constance and the Scimitar. “What’s up?”

“I—I’m not sure,” Quell says, fidgeting with the pages of a book. It’s rare to see him with a text in hand and his nose note buried in it. “Things have just felt… off recently.”

My stomach churns. He knows. Somehow, he knows. “What do you mean?”

Quell lets out a sigh. “Look, I know you don’t like talking about feelings and stuff, but you and I both know that nothing’s felt right since our fight.” 

I relax. Right. The argument. I hadn’t forgotten about it, exactly, but it’s been preoccupying a significantly smaller portion of my attention than Constance’s proposal. 

“Yeah.” I grimace. “I’m sorry I stormed away like that.” 

Quell’s brows are pinched in a frown. “How it ended matters significantly less to me than the content of our argument.”

I thunk my head against the side of the carriage. “Do we have to talk about this? Unless you’re about to come clean to your parents, it’s just going to go in circles.” 

Quell uses his thumb to flip through the corner of the book’s pages, producing a repeated thwip, thwip. 

“I will talk to them,” he promises. I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “At some point. Sorry. It’s just hard. I’ve always been the good kid, you know?” 

I snort. “Not really.”

He nods, continuing to mess with the book. “Right. Well, it wasn’t like I had much of a choice. Didn’t have illusion abilities like my siblings, so it was hard to stack up against them. Constance was the trailblazer. Liz the troublemaker. And me—I guess, I just tried to be whatever made my parents’ lives easier. That’s all I could do, really.”

I can see it, though I can’t relate. “I was the black sheep. Never what my parents were looking for. I stopped trying to earn their affection pretty soon after I realized that. The only reason I stuck around at all was because of Álvaro.” I smile wryly. “He, at least, got me. He needed me.”

Quell hesitates. “During our argument, you said you thought I was ashamed of you. Is that where this is coming from? Your parents?”

I heave a sigh. As Quell had originally said, he knows I don’t like talking about all this “feelings” stuff. 

“No,” I say. “It’s about an ex. It wasn’t the healthiest relationship.” I chew on my cheek for a moment. “I’m sorry I put that on you. I know it’s not the same.”

A relieved smile spreads over Quell’s face. “That’s okay. I’m just glad it wasn’t something I did.” He winces. “Um, besides not disclosing our relationship with my parents, I mean.”

I give him a flat look. 

“Which I will do!” he hurriedly adds, the page thwipping becoming faster. “I just want to do it right, you understand? You said you didn’t want to merely be seen as a concubine, and I don’t want that either. So give me time to work something out. Please?”

He’s leaning forward, eyes wide, hopeful and earnest. Aw, hell. I can’t be mad at him when he gives me that look—especially considering none of this is really his fault, ultimately. I hate being a secret. But he didn’t choose to be born into this society any more than I did. 

Besides. When he says he’ll work something out—I believe him. 

“Alright, alright,” I say, waving him off. “We’ll figure out your family crap after the tournament.” Especially considering I’ve enough family crap to figure out before then. 

Quell grins. “Thank you, Nye. Really.” 

I wonder if he’d be thanking me if he knew how seriously I was considering taking Constance up on his offer. 

#

The tournament grounds are an old site partway between the Moonfall palace and the Drakefang Mountains. Apart from the tournament for the Crimson Scimitar, I’m told the site is used yearly for different festivities. A permanent population has taken up residence around the grounds, forming a large town of villagers whose livelihoods largely rely on the festivals and holidays they assist in hosting. 

The caravan takes us to a small estate that was erected to host the visiting royals. I say small, but only because that’s the descriptor the Moonfall kings used; I guess it’s small compared to the palace. The sprawling complex is at the top of a hill overlooking the tournament grounds, and must have at least a hundred rooms. 

When Quell and I step out of the carriage, I pause to take in the sight. The town beneath us is lit up with red and orange lights, and people are moving around the tournament grounds like a swarm of ants. 

Quell points out a section of raised, covered seats closest to the royal estate. “That’s where we’ll be sitting.” He drags his finger to a nearby section, also covered, but not as high. “That’s where the competitors will rest.” The rest of the stone seating area, I assume, if for the public. 

The arena itself is not what I was expecting. I guess I’d been imagine something more like the Colosseum. And to be fair, it is nearly as large and grand. But the floor of the amphitheater looks more like a ropes course than a tournament ground. There is a basin of fire at its center, large stone pillars of random heights sprinkled throughout, chains connecting some of the pillars, a basin that looks like it’s designed to hold water along one side, and even a small forest of desert trees on the other. 

“How are they supposed to duel in there?” I wonder aloud. 

Liz and Darian, disembarking from a different carriage, join us. “Just wait until they finish setting it up,” Liz says with a grin. “This isn’t even the half of it.”

I look at Quell questioningly.

“According to the plans they shared with us, they plan to release all sorts of dangerous beasts into the arena, too,” he says. 

I stare at him. “What?!”

“Oh, um.” He chews a lip. “I’m sure Álvaro will be fine, though! His class is something beast slayer, right?”

“Monster Hunter.” I massage a temple. “Which makes him good at tracking animals. What sort of dangerous beasts are we talking, here?”

Liz shrugs. “Some drakes or wyvern. A carrion cactus or two. Maybe a scorpid.” 

“Not helping, Liz!” Quell hisses. 

I look between the siblings with mounting horror. “What is this, some sort of gladiator fight to the death?”

Darian claps me on the shoulder. “Don’t worry, kid. I’ve seen similar games in Duneshade, and people hardly ever die. In fact, you get extra points for pulling other competitors out of danger.”

“Hardly ever?” I croak out. 

“Go away!” Quell pushes the women away from me. “Shoo!”

Liz laughs, allowing herself to be bustled off. She waves to me over her brother’s head. “See you later, Nye!” Then she links arms with Darian and heads toward the estate.

Quell returns to me with the most artificial comforting grin I’ve ever seen. “It sounds worse than it is, really!”

I wearily rub my head. “How does it work, then?”

Quell visibly has to contain his excitement at the opportunity to teach me something new. He only lasts about five seconds before all pretenses are discarded. 

“It’s called a Hero’s Contest,” he says, eyes lighting up in excitement. “The idea is to find the most heroic competitor—though that premise doesn’t always play out. There are three matches, one per day, each one encompassing a certain aspect of heroism. So losing one match doesn’t mean you’re out; if you’re not strong, you can make up for it in bravery, for instance. Although, generally speaking, frontrunners tend to place high in the final ranking. That’s beside the point. The eventual winner will have the most cumulative points out of the three matches, plus the spectator vote.” 

Quell wrinkles his nose. “That one is a bit too much of a popularity contest in my eyes, though it’s only overturned the would-be winner in a few cases. People tend to like competitors who are already doing well.” 

None of this is particularly making me feel better about my brother’s presence in the contest. “Was Darian right, that other contestants would help my brother if he gets in trouble?”

“For the most part,” Quell says. “I mean, they don’t go around looking for other contestants in trouble; usually you’ve got whatever challenge you’re dealing with to take care of. But she’s right that it’s good to help other contestants out of dangerous situations if you’re able to; good for the audience vote, and the judges sometimes aware bonus Hero points for such feats.”

“So no one will try to kill anyone?” I ask, skeptically. “Aren’t they all supposed to fight each other?”

“One of the three trials probably will be combat,” Quell reluctantly admits. “Though, killing your opponent isn’t very heroic, is it? A gracious victory is as important as a gracious defeat.” 

I feel vaguely better about this explanation. But given the ocean of anxiety I still feel over my brother’s wellbeing, that’s not saying much. 

Of course, I could stop it all here. I glance up toward the estate, where Constance has emerged from a carriage with his two parents. His hunched form is soon swallowed by the building. If I asked him to lead me to the Scimitar, I could shield my brother both from the potential danger of the tournament, and the certain danger of the Scimitar. 

Even if I’d be taking that burden on myself. 

Quell might never forgive me. Álvaro certainly wouldn’t. But would it be worth it, if it’s done out of love?

My stomach roils like I’ve swallowed poison. I still have a week to make up my mind. The Contest doesn’t start for another four days, and then it will last another three beyond that. I still have time to come to a decision. Plenty of time. 

#

I blink, and the days are gone. Each night my stomach has felt more sick than the last. Tonight, the tournament begins. 

“He’ll be okay,” Quell tells me, setting down his book to reach across the breakfast table and squeeze my hand. “I’m sure of it.” 

“Yeah.” At this point, I can’t even tell if I’m more worried about Álvaro getting hurt, or me taking the Scimitar, or Álvaro winning the tournament. They’ve all sort of mashed together in a general ball of anxiety. 

The door to the room opens, and Quell snatches his hand back, but it’s only Liz and Darian.

“Real smooth,” Liz remarks. “I’m sure Mother and Father have no idea.” 

Quell glowers at her. “Good morning to you, too.” 

Liz collapse into a chair and grabs a piece of cactus fruit and pops it into her mouth. “Gods, I can’t wait until all this is over. Maybe one of the contestants has an electric spell that could zap the whole arena and cause them to win by default. Then we can finally get back to Duneshade and resume some sense of normalcy. Er.” She glances at me, pausing mid-chew. “I mean, they could zap everyone but your brother.”

“Real smooth,” Quell teases. 

The doors open again, and this time, Constance and his parents step through. Liz and Quell sit up straight, fixing their stances, and I attempt to correct my slouch as well. Constance is back to looking as immaculate as ever—I’m certain it’s another illusion.

“Oh my, you’re all up so early!” the queen remarks. “Excited for tonight’s festivities?”

Liz and Quell give affirmative sounding noises and half nods that don’t quite turn into words. The royals take their seats as well; Queen Patience at the head of the table, and King Creed to her right. 

The queen beckons for Liz to take the seat to her left. “Come! Sit here. I wish to speak with you.”

Liz hesitates for a moment, her gaze darting to both of her brothers. Constance continues as if he hadn’t heard any of this, passing the seat to his mother’s left, and sitting a few seats further down. Liz swallows down her bite of fruit and then awkwardly switches seats. 

A servant steps in to replace a pitcher of juice. Despite Patience’s suggestion, the only noise that fills the room for several minutes is the scrape of utensils over plates. 

“There’s not much time left,” Constance abruptly says. 

When I glance up, I realize he’s looking at me, and my stomach flips.

“Until the Contest?” Patience wonders. “We still have some time left before we need to arrive, I think.”

He wasn’t talking about the tournament, of course. I look back down at my plate, my half-finished steak suddenly unappealing. I know I’m delaying. I’ve delayed for two weeks now, and I can only delay for another two days before it will be too late for me to decide at all.

Oh! The Aegis wonders if I am going to finish that. If not, could it have some of the blood? It’s not as good as fresh blood, but it would be sad to see even stale blood go to waste!

When we leave the dining room to take a carriage to the arena, I covertly let the Aegis clean my plate. It gobbles up the juices in delight. Ah! Yes. What a good way to start the evening. It can already tell it’s going to be a wonderful night. Maybe it will even get to fight something!

At least one of us is looking forward to tonight, I glumly think.