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Calm down. Pay attention.
Every word will be important, and I can’t miss one stuck in my worries.
“Let us begin.” The announcer snaps the seal on the scroll and unrolls it with care. He adjusts his form just so, probably so that no one can see the words before he reads them aloud. The fae might be able to, but my eyesight is way too poor to see anything more than scribbles at this distance, even though my vision has always been good by human standards. I bob on my toes, waiting impatiently, when he begins.
“It's one of the most valuable things in existence.
You can have it but cannot hold it.
It's a—”
“A heart!” one of the fae men yells.
The room goes eerily still, the thundering of my pulse the only sound in my ears. Could it possibly be so simple? The announcer never said we had to wait until he finished speaking to guess, but to lose now before I even had a chance—
“Incorrect.”
A tangible sigh slips through the room, all except for the loser. He slams a fist on the podium, uttering some expletive not in English or anything I understand.
“Out with you,” the announcer says, gesturing to the entrance. “I will continue once he has left,” he says to the rest of us. “I advise you to listen to it all.”
Murmured agreement drifts around our circle as the failed contender exits. The moment the tent flap is raised, cheers erupt, bursting into the quiet of our space. But they fade off even more quickly than they rose, the audience likely realizing this is not their awaited winner. The flaps fall back in place, and the room is silent once more.
The announcer clears his throat and begins again.
“It's one of the most valuable things in existence.
You can have it but cannot hold it.
It’s a tremendous gift but can be hard to receive.
Giving it can make you stronger or weaker.
Once it's broken, it may be impossible to repair.”
He pauses, and I think he may continue. But he doesn’t. He simply looks at us each in turn, waiting.
Oh, sweet baby Jesus. That’s it. That’s all the clues.
No sooner have I started to repeat them to myself than a woman calls out, “Love!”
My heart sinks. To my left, Galen groans aloud. Blast it all. Of course it’s love. Isn’t it always in these kinds of riddles? I should have known, should have guessed, but I was too slow, too stuck trying to process the lines I’d just heard to even formulate the answer. I can’t look at the woman, can’t see the joy on her face. All I can focus on is the wood of the podium below my hands and the way my knees are suddenly weak.
“Incorrect.”
I snap my gaze to the woman who spoke. She’s no less shocked than me, her mouth agape and confusion written all over her pinched features. I’d have sworn she was right. Her answer made sense with the clues, especially as I think back through them.
“But I—” she sputters, blinking.
“To the exit,” the announcer says, though there’s something akin to pity in his voice, or at least a gentleness that wasn’t there with the other contender.
She’s still blinking, shaking her head slightly as she makes her way to the exit. The fabric parts, and an audible gasp and murmur rumbles through the crowd but fades quickly. The fabric doesn’t quite close all the way when the guards release it, leaving a little gap, but you wouldn’t know it for the lack of sound disturbing us, as if we’re a world on our own.
The pause and silence outside is palpable, as if everyone is stretching on their toes and looking toward the other side of the tent, waiting for someone to emerge at any moment.
But none of us are moving. No one has spoken.
The wrong word, and we’re out like the other two, making the long walk of shame across the arena for all to see.
