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THE TOURNAMENT DRAGGED on for Asha as the day progressed. The other spectators cheered for the winners and jeered at the losers, who trudged the walk of shame through the side exit. She kept watch for Dalrin, but most of the combatants kept their helmets on. He was there somewhere, she was positive she could feel his gaze on her from time to time.
They had a short break for lunch and the brownies did their best to supply the thousands of spectators and contestants with a meal. Grumbles and complaints at the meagre fare echoed through the arena, but they couldn’t hide their fear. Not a single fairy had managed to manifest their wings in the past couple of weeks. Nothing pointed at their loss of magic more starkly than that inability.
Unable to fly or teleport, they had to walk everywhere. Now that even the brownies were struggling to perform their chores, they had to dress themselves and do their own hair. It was hard for Asha not to laugh at their distress. She probably would have if things weren’t looking so dire.
By the time what little sun there had been had set, the field had only been narrowed down by a third of the contestants. There were still around two thousand left to do battle. Leaving the balcony, Asha waited for her turn to climb down the narrow staircase. Tartor was waiting for her at the bottom. His light blue hair was mussed and he smelled sweaty beneath his armor. He slanted her a confident smile and offered her his arm. “May I escort you to the banquet hall, my lady?” he asked in a poor imitation of a gentleman.
“Why did you cut that poor fairy’s hand off?” she asked him baldly, reluctantly placing her hand on his arm.
He almost missed a step and frowned down at her. “Do you not understand the concept of a tournament?” he asked in a condescending tone. “Two men oppose each other and fight until there is a victor.”
Removing her hand from his arm, she gave him a flat stare as they left the arena and strode across the lawn to the palace. The brownies had erected a covered walkway so they wouldn’t get soaked by the rain. “Every time you open your mouth, I like you even less,” she told him.
“I’m sorry, my lady, but your question made no sense. I fought my rival and defeated him. What does it matter if I relieved him of his hand?”
“It matters because it wasn’t necessary,” she said as if explaining it to a five year old. “No one else felt the need to chop off any body parts. You were the only one who had to take it too far.”
He smirked at her and tossed his hair over his shoulder arrogantly. “Perhaps I was the only one with the skill to do so.”
“I don’t think so,” she refuted as they entered the palace. “You’re the only one who had to show off. Everyone else might be impressed by your bloodthirsty display, but it just proved to me that you’re even less fit to be a King than I’d thought.”
Face tightening in anger, he grabbed hold of her arm and drew her into a hallway so they could have a semblance of privacy. “Like it or not, I will win this tournament and I will become your husband,” he hissed, fingers tightening painfully on her arm.
Asha’s anger rose and her skin began to change color. “I suggest you let go of me immediately, or you’ll learn firsthand what happened to Corvine,” she warned him.
Staring at her eyes in fascination as they changed to silver, Tartor didn’t move fast enough. Spikes shot from her arm, spearing all the way through his hand. Yelping in pain, he took a step back. “You dare attack me?” he asked in disbelief.
“You dare put your hands on dryad and goblin royalty?” she shot back and advanced on him. She was gratified when he backed away. “You are a nobody and I’m a Princess,” she sneered, allowing her goblin half to do the talking. “You’re lucky I don’t have the guards throw you into my father’s dungeon for manhandling me.”
“That can be arranged, my lady,” Kurtus said. He was standing in the mouth of the hallway, watching their exchange. Tartor was the last fairy he wanted to see in charge. Prince Sindarian had been bad enough. Tartor would ruin the realm even more if he was the one making the decisions.
Tartor’s face darkened in anger, but he didn’t retaliate. With a final sneer at Asha, he stalked away. He deliberately rammed his shoulder into Kurtus’ on the way past. Showing he had restraint, the guard simply watched the warrior saunter away with a sardonic grin.
“If he wins, there won’t be any way to save this realm,” Asha said when he was out of earshot.
“Why not, my lady?” Kurtus asked.
“I’ve already rejected him,” she said quietly. “If he puts his hands on me again, he’ll end up in pieces just like Corvine did.”
“There’s no second chances with you?” he asked as they headed for the banquet hall.
“No. Men only ever get one chance. Once my goblin side rejects them, they don’t get another shot.”
He nodded thoughtfully, then heaved a sigh. “If Tartor wins and attempts to bond with you, he’ll fail and we’ll be left in the same position we’re currently in,” he summed up. “We won’t have a king and the chaos will continue to rage.”
“Pretty much,” she agreed glumly.
“Then I fear we’re doomed,” he responded just as gloomily. “Tartor might be insufferable, but he is our best warrior.” There was another ex-soldier who was even better than Tartor, but no one had seen Dacrith since he’d escaped from the goblin dungeon. He’d vanished after using a dragon to kill his father and his whereabouts were currently unknown. It was unlikely that death would attend the tournament. The advisors would never allow him to rule. Not after they’d done their utmost to oust Sindarian.
Asha detoured to her suite to change. Olsa and Unwin weren’t alone when they appeared on the coffee table near the couch and armchairs. Bindel was also there. “I want to thank you, your highness,” she said in a voice that trembled with emotion.
“For what?” Asha asked as she crossed to them and took a seat.
“For coming to my defense last night at the banquet.”
“That’s okay,” she said kindly. “I don’t like seeing the brownies get into trouble for something they can’t control.” They exchanged guilty looks. “Is there something you’re not telling me?” she asked.
“We might be exaggerating our lack of magic slightly,” Olsa whispered, holding her thumb and pointer finger a smidgen apart.
Asha narrowed her eyes at the bashful trio. “Just how much magic do you still have?” she asked just as quietly.
“Um, quite a bit, actually,” Bindel confessed. “We can’t seem to teleport without pooling our resources, but we can still perform our normal tasks.”
The dryad put her hand over her mouth to stifle her giggles. “Are you deliberately making the fairies dress themselves and have been feeding them plain food?”
“Aye,” Unwin replied with a smirk. “It serves them right to have to fend for themselves. We’ve been taken advantage of for far too long.”
“This is priceless,” Asha said and descended into muffled snickers. All the haughty courtiers who were usually impeccably dressed looked frazzled and messy. “I needed that,” she said when her giggles finally petered out.
The brownies had also given into their laughter, but they looked worried. “If they find out that we’re deliberately not serving them as well as we could, our kin who were imprisoned will be punished horribly,” Bindel whispered.
“They won’t find out from me,” Asha promised grimly. “Doesn’t anyone have any idea where your kin were taken?”
“None of us know where they are,” the head brownie of the palace replied sadly. “We know they are still alive, but we haven’t seen them in eons.”
A stab of pain for them lanced through Asha. It wasn’t right that they were being used and abused like this. She was proud of them for finally standing up for themselves, even if their hated masters and mistresses didn’t realize what their servants were doing.
