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The second team, Wolf, consisted of men who had entered the tournament individually and were assigned to the team at random. They took the "every man for himself" approach to the obstacle course. Only one of them actually made it to the finish line before time ran out. He was even faster than the previous team, but would have points deducted for each of his three missing teammates, which would put them in second place.
The third team, Bear, had clearly planned ahead, as much as they could, without knowing the details of the course. They at least had a coherent approach. They moved through each obstacle at a slow and careful pace, taking a painful amount of time to map out the dangers and how to proceed. Bear team was the slowest of everyone so far, but none of them were trapped and they all made it across the finish line in the allotted time, so they suffered no point deductions and actually ended up in second place.
When Lion team entered the field, I felt myself lean forward, attention fixed on the hulking team of males who were—based purely on points and the competitions they knew about—in the lead in the tournament so far. They surged through the course with all the strength and power I expected from the work-hardened hulks. They barely struggled at all until one of them got tangled in a net of sticky flying spider web during the second-to-last obstacle.
No one even noticed that their teammate was stuck. They just gleefully continued on, leaving him behind, unable to struggle free on his own. When their leader, Talon, finally noticed his lagging teammate, he opted to take the point deduction for losing a man, rather than let the guy—who was already free by that time—catch up. Swift. Decisive. No hesitation about sacrificing a teammate for a better time score.
I sat back, shaking my head. I might not particularly like the men of Lion team. But, so far, they were tied with Panther for first place.
Raven team were the last ones on the field, clearly having drawn the short straw for order. I gripped the edge of my seat as they jogged onto the field, the tall, broad form of Bach in the lead. They all took a moment to assess, and I could see their mouths moving as they discussed their plan of action, though they were still too far away for me to actually hear what they said. Then they were off.
Unlike the others, Raven team stuck close together. They moved at a moderate speed—not too slow, but not so fast that they risked making a fatal error. What was really interesting, though, was the way they worked together and played to each teammate's individual strengths. When an obstacle relied on brute strength, Bach and Adder were there to offer a hand to the others. When an obstacle required timing and agility, Fife went first, then turned back and coached the others across, his gestures clearly telling them where to step and when to move. Mirri stopped them all at the puzzle obstacle, the scholar quickly seeing the trick to it and telling the others how to proceed. Pride bloomed in my chest. They were doing so well! They were moving through rapidly, and it was obvious that no one would get caught up in the traps that had foiled the others.
Then disaster struck.
The last obstacle was a simple balancing task that required the men to run across a narrow plank suspended over a bubbling black tar swamp. Compared to everything they had just overcome, it should have been easy. Adder was the last one across, and he was moving with the same speed and confidence the rest of his teammates had displayed. Then he jerked suddenly and stumbled, arms windmilling at his side as he tried to catch his balance.
Fife whipped his head to the side and his green eyes glowed faintly as he looked up into the stands where the spectators sat. But I stopped paying attention to Fife when Adder jerked again, staggered, and fell off the plank, plummeting into the viscous black muck below. Tar swamps were magical entities, and nearly sentient. Adder struggled to slog his way out of the stagnant, bubbling goo, but the more he tried to move, the further he sank, until he was barely able to keep his head and shoulders above the muck.
The others didn't deliberate. They didn't stop to discuss points or argue about how to proceed or what would get them closer to winning. They simply leaped into action.
Mirri undid the clasps of the short cloak he always wore and ripped the garment off, tossing it aside. The entire gathering erupted in gasps and muttering as a pair of bright, iridescent wings unfolded from Mirri's back.
Wings that only high-born females possessed.
No one on Raven team spared a second for the muttering from the stands. Bach quickly handed Mirri the axe that the bigger guy wore at his belt, and the winged champion launched himself into the sky, speeding off toward the forest faster than the others could run.
Fife dug around at his belt and came up with something round and shiny, which he tossed to Adder before he and Bach ran off after Mirri. Adder got one hand free of the muck long enough to catch the little orb Fife had thrown. He clapped it to his face as he sank even lower, the muck moving up over his shoulders, swallowing the silver-haired champion. It slipped over his throat, up past his chin. Then I watched in horror as the tar covered his mouth and nose.
I looked around for the official. The tar swamp was going to kill Adder. "Call it off!" I shouted, surging to my feet, my eyes on the royal stands. "He's going to die! Call it off!"
They couldn't hear me over the rest of the spectators. But the king held up a hand, and the official in charge of the day's competition prepared to hurl a spell toward the tar pit to free Adder. Then the king hesitated, giving the gesture to hold. I followed his gaze to the field to see Adder's arm—and only his arm—sticking out of the muck, not flailing for help, but a calm fist held aloft like a signal as he sank lower and lower into the tar.
The rest of the team burst out of the forest and dashed across the field, dragging a long, sturdy sapling with them. Mirri took to the air and guided the end of the tree to Adder's outstretched hand, but he didn't touch his teammate otherwise—probably afraid they'd be accused of cheating somehow. He let Adder fight to get his other hand free and grasp the sapling all on his own. Then Mirri, Fife, and Bach laboriously pulled Adder from the clutches of the tar swamp.
It was agonizingly slow, and I kept glancing at the timer that hung suspended near the royal box. There was no point in all this struggle if they ran out of time and had to forfeit anyway. When Adder finally flopped onto the grass of the field, he lifted a black, muck-covered hand and tore something off his face. Whatever Fife had tossed to him had shielded his face and kept him from suffocating under the tar. The others dragged Adder to his feet, and they all stumbled across the finish line at the last possible second, just before time ran out.
They were the slowest team. Even with all their members making it, they were in last place. I stepped down and sank back into my seat, uncertain when I had jumped up to stand on the seat. Bach was covering Mirri's wings with the tunic off his own back. Fife was gripping Adder's chin, tilting his head this way and that, clearly assessing the other man for damage.
Once again, Raven team had lost the challenge…while proving exactly how perfect they really were.
Chapter 17
I sought Mirri out in the competitors' camp after the day's excitement was over. He sat by one of the campfires, and his shoulders hunched defensively for a moment when he saw me approaching. Then he straightened his spine as if preparing for battle.
"Lord Mirri," I said in greeting, giving him a polite smile. "My name is Rina. I work for the queen. May I join you?"
His golden eyes met mine, and he nodded. "Of course, mistress." He stood and moved to a nearby table, returning with two mugs of warm mulled cider. I accepted the mug he offered me as he sat back down on the log next to me. I spared a brief, unwelcome thought for Fife's claim about the poison he had ingested. But there was a royal order in place now for additional charms and wards to protect all food and beverages. I was frustrated with my own paranoia. It wasn't like anyone had a reason to poison me.
Mirri was oblivious to my internal tangent. "I suppose you're here to ask about my wings," he said softly, eyes on the fire.
Mirri had a handsome, good-natured face, framed with tumbled auburn waves. Up close, his ruddy light brown skin was dusted with cinnamon freckles that made him look young and innocent. Mismatched horns sprouted from his head on either side, one a small, spiked antler while the other side was larger and flatter, like a reindeer horn, but not nearly so huge. His tail had a puff of orange fur at the end that made it look like a lion's tail from a distance. But I thought I caught a hint of fine scales along its golden length now that I was closer to him. He had some of the most compelling animal features I had ever seen.
And now, wings.
"If you'll speak of it, yes, I am curious about your wings," I admitted slowly, noting the tension in his broad shoulders. "And I promise anything you share with me won’t become common gossip. But I also would just like the opportunity to speak with you for a few moments for other reasons. I've been slowly getting to know more about all the champions in the tournament. The Prize isn't allowed to give her identity away during the competition. But that doesn't stop her or my employer from wanting to know more about her suitors." I shrugged. "There is only so much to be learned from applications and dry, boring paper reports about a person's background."
He nodded, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees as he cupped his mug of cider in his hands. The fire sent up a shower of little sparks that were reflected in his eyes, and I smiled to myself, amused at how much this man matched the warm colors of the fire, all oranges, golds, and reds. His aura felt like fire too, or like the penetrating warmth of the sun.
