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Galen flinches. “He said that? He would free you if he could?”
“Of course.” I fight the urge to cross my arms, a smug smile on my lips as I turn back to the announcer.
Queen of Air.Lysandir’s words come back to tease me, and suddenly, I’m certain Sigurd would do this for me. In fact, I should have asked him before. Maybe I could have narrowed my competition before this final game ever started, maybe even gotten them all to resign if Sigurd could simply grant their wishes without the cauldron’s power.
Regrets won’t help me now. Could-haves and should-haves will only hold me back, chaining me to a past no force can change. But the future is still in play, and that I can make right.
“If I win, you’ll have your wish,” I promise Galen.
He shifts on his feet again. “We’ll see.”
It’s not the warm and fuzzy reaction I hoped for, but it’ll do. Maybe it will be enough to sway him in my favor if this last challenge demands we face one another head-on. I’ll take every advantage I can get.
Eventually, the announcer settles his focus on us and the final game. “Our competitors will all enter the tent behind me, but only one shall emerge as our winner of the games. As for what awaits them inside… Ah, now that is a mystery.”
I give a silent groan. He honestly couldn’t make it more ominous if he tried.
“Keep alert,” he continues. “Whoever emerges from the far end of the tent first will be our winner.”
The announcer descends the stage and beckons us all to follow. One of the guards stationed outside the tent has raised a corner of fabric, revealing an opening, but only darkness looms beyond. Maybe these fae, with their sight so much better than mine, can see within, but it’s a mystery to me, just as it has been this whole time.
“Good luck,” I whisper to Galen. I mean it. I really do, even though I want to win.
He nods, silent. I suppose he can’t say it back. It might be a lie on his tongue, if even a pleasant one, but I’ll take what little support he offers.
Besides, only one of us can emerge as the victor.
Chapter 32
Ittakesmyeyesa few moments to adjust once we enter the tent. Outside, the sun blazed overhead. Within, the fabric blocks its rays, creating a world of shadowy darkness, save a few balls of fae light that seem to float of their own accord near the ceiling, providing just enough illumination for us to see. Various fae guards stand around the inside of the tent at even intervals, and in its center, the only furniture of note are five podiums, evenly spaced and facing toward the center.
Not a duel.Nothing about this setup speaks to fighting. Some of the tightness between my shoulder blades eases. Besides, why would they deny the crowd that show? It almost looks like the setup for a political debate. If we have to argue our case for getting the wish, I’m not sure I’ll win.
“Pick a spot, each of you. It doesn’t matter which one. They’re all the same,” the announcer orders, shooing us like children toward the podiums.
The fae, two women and two men, including Galen, make a beeline for their chosen spots, making my decision easy. The announcer moves to the center of the ring, one hand clutching a large piece of rolled parchment that I’d swear hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“Now, as you know, this is the final challenge.” He takes his time, looking at each of us in turn. “One winner. Four losers. The winner, once determined, will exit through there.” He points to a section of overlapping fabric panels flanked by two guards. I assume they’ll pull the sections back to form a doorway for the winner to exit. As is it now, the fabric blocks out almost all sound from beyond, despite the thousands of fae cramming the stands. It must be magic at work. No fabric should be that soundproof, especially since the panels we passed through weren’t particularly thick. “The losers will return the way you entered.”
The entrance has been shut once more, the sections of fabric falling back in place and cloaking the processing from view.
“This final challenge is deceptively simple.” He takes the parchment in hand, tapping it on his open palm. “A riddle. The first one to answer correctly wins.”
I shift on my feet. Just peachy. I’ve never been very good at riddles, jokes either.
“You may give one response, but if your answer is incorrect, you will be disqualified and must leave the tent immediately.”
My stomach sinks, and I already focus on keeping my lips pressed tight. As a human, I might not even know what the answer is to be able to give it.
“What if we all guess incorrectly?” one of the fae women asks.
The announcer turns slowly toward her. “Since a wrong answer disqualifies you, the last one standing after four have been disqualified will win.”
So, I could just wait it out. Let them guess and hope they’re wrong, and I win by default. But it seems like such a crappy way to win, not to mention that these fae already stand tall and alert, their minds honed to the challenge if the looks on their faces are any indication.
“There is no time limit. You may take the time you need to consider your answer, but the first one to speak the correct solution will be the winner. Are you ready to begin?” The announcer again takes his time looking at us each in turn, waiting for the bob of our head that indicates we’re ready.
I flatten my clammy palms against the top of the wood podium, anything to center myself and still the panic stirring my thoughts into a mess.
