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Rubies. Emeralds. Diamonds. Sapphires. The sapphires earn the loudest cheers. They are blue after all, the same color as the pennants. Sigurd’s color. Once each person has a stone, they stand with others of the same type. The implication is clear. Some will be lucky, others not.
It’s the most boring game ever and possibly the most nerve-racking.
The line dwindles. Galen advances and pulls forth a stone.
“Emerald!” The announcer calls to the crowd.
Galen pales as he stares at the stone.
Is it bad? Does he know?
“Next, next,” the announcer says, shooing him away. Galen gives himself a little shake and goes to join the others.
It’s my turn.
The announcer’s face is dusted with glittering silver. Long feathers are strung through his hair and drape down his back to look like the crest of a great bird. His attire is no less fanciful, all sparkle and feathers like a showgirl—or rather showman. Silver rings curl along his fingers to look like long, metal claws, which clutch at the bag.
With a little shake, I step across the stage-like area and shove my hand into the bag. My fingertips trail across the various stones. Some are smooth, others sharp. It’s impossible to tell what any of them are, not that’d I know which one to pick if I could. Only a few are left, probably just enough for the remaining competitors.
I suck in a deep breath and grab a stone.
“Another emerald!” the announcer calls as I turn over the stone in my hand as the others had done.
Good or bad?
A gust of breeze teases my hair, and I glance toward the box. Sigurd stands at the edge, his palms on the railing. His expression is impossible to guess from here.
I join Galen with the other emeralds. “I guess we’re in this together.”
He gives me a tight smile that doesn’t meet his eyes. “Looks like it.”
I can barely stand still as the rest of the stones are drawn, and the competitors take their places. The emerald, twice the size of my thumbnail, is like a hot potato in my hands. This little stone holds my fate. Whether I continue is completely out of my hands now. Or rather, in them, but I have no control. I snort.
Maybe they intend such cruel irony.
“Now, now, the moment you have all been waiting for,” the announcer says. “Competitors with the following gemstones shall advance. All others will be eliminated.”
Bile crawls up my throat. The roar of the crowd becomes one continual buzz.
“Ruby.”
Cheers erupt. My fist tightens around the stone.
“Amethyst.”
My throat tightens.
“Diamond.”
The buzz of the crowd grows. How many stones were there? How many colors?
“And emerald.”
I gasp for breath. My fist unfurls, and I stare at the circular stone and the imprint it left upon my skin where I clutched it for dear life.
A strong hand clamps on my shoulder. I gaze up into Galen’s smiling face. He says something, but it’s lost in the roar of the crowd and the hysterical breaths I suck in one after another.
We made it to the next round.
