“No. Mother's not here and Father won't care if I'm myself while he's in the Grand Chancellor's box.”
“Mother said I should take it today and get you to, as well.” She pauses as if thinking to herself. “I think I'll abstain. I'm not curious what it's like.”
“It's strange to feel calm about everything whether you wish to or not.”
“I can imagine. You're always so weird after drinking it.”
“Happy to hear it.”
“I didn't mean anything by it.” Cynthia jostles her necklaces between her fingers. “You just seem so different. I don't want to be anything other than myself.”
“As you should.” The brewed concoction makes me feel distant from myself and leaves me with a headache. Though usually when I take it, the headache is the least of my problems. I've gotten adept enough after hexes and beatings that mother rarely makes me take it anymore. The threat of more deaths must have Cynthia nervous, though she tries to cover it with chatter.
“Two Arllos and three Chryos made it to the finals. Can you believe it?”
“I don't really know. Is that unusual?”
“Apparently. And with the Envadi that Chancellor Thomas is up against, it's quite the foreign showing. Hope they don't beat us. It'd be rather embarrassing.”
The duelers gather on the field, but I don't spy Thomas or the Envadi he's pitted against yet. Not that I'd recognize his face, but it would be easy to tell him apart by his size.
“Chancellor Thomas will be a fine match for you. I know it's hard now, but it'll get better,” she continues. “Everyone likes him so much. He's definitely the favorite of the day.”
“For some,” I murmur.
The first duel is announced. Thomas struts onto the field waving and casting all sorts of colored spells that don't appear to be doing anything other than flashing about. Without knowing more it's hard to tell for sure.
He pivots our direction. His hand reaches toward me as if he could touch me across the many yards between us. I tense as the memory of him pressed against me invades my thoughts. I don't want to think on it. But Father did say he was furious. What punishment does he have in store for me?
A burst of maroon, gold, black, and green fly from his hands and sail straight for me. I start, but the spell comes to a stop before hitting me. The crest that has followed me around the first day forms. The crowd cheers. I let the tension ease from me.
Sometime during the display, the Envadi has made his way to the circle. Thomas resembles a gawky teen next to the stoic giant. The Envadi simply stands, wearing the black dueling outfit with a white band on his arm, doing nothing to give away his feelings. They're far enough away that details are difficult to pick out. If they were physically fighting, Thomas would never best him. But magic comes from the blood, not size.
The judge motions for them to enter the circle and the audience grows quiets. They face each other, Thomas grinning and the Envadi expressionless. At least from what I can see from here. Why do men always wish to fight? At least here it's with each other instead of picking on us.
The judge signals for them to start. There's no slow building of spells. They both blast at the signal. Thomas's lights are bright and zinging. Sometimes sparkling or jumping to the air. The Envadi's are nothing like them. A few bright-colored spells fly from him, but mostly dark, serpentine ones. Those stay focused around his opponent's spells instead of darting about like Thomas's magic does.
I tilt forward. The crowd has never been so riveted by a duel and their interest pulls at me. For the first time, I want to know what those flashes of light and color are doing. A yellow light opens a gash in the Envadi's arm. He thrusts a charcoal light back. It bursts into a cloud of darkness around Thomas. During the distraction, the Envadi focuses a teal spell at the wound. It knits closed. The crowd boos. A moment later, Thomas flings a burst of white light in the sky, clearing the cloud cover.
Thomas throws his head back in a laugh. An amber spell shoots from him, hitting with a pop. The Envadi staggers. Before he rights himself, he casts his own spell. Unlike those before, it doesn't smash into Thomas's or explode. It surges straight for his adversary. The silvery light slams into Thomas's chest. His mirthful face freezes. The life drains from him. His expression crumples. A strange, croaking sound escapes his mouth. He collapses to the ground.
The crowd jumps to their feet with a gasp. I stare at Thomas's form, looking so much like it did last night. The judge races for his body. It only takes a moment to reach him. As he looks Thomas over, I come to my feet and move to the front wall of the box. I lean against it, my body swaying.
All is silent as another warlock rushes to the judge's aid. Together, they work on Thomas. Both cast numerous spells. But as far as I can tell, Thomas doesn't move. Not a flinch, not a sound. Their spells slow until they completely stop. The judge stands and looks, not at the Grand Chancellor like I'm expecting, but right at me. His eyes wide.