“Dead.”
The masses let out a cry. Some fall to their seats. Dead? How can he be dead? He's supposed to lord over me, not die. Can I really be free of him? My chest lightens.
Someone tugs on my arm. Cynthia. She forces me to drink the brew I avoided earlier. Then another. With shaking hands, she drinks one herself and helps me to my chair. Everything goes abnormally silent. The soothing concoction already sweeping through me. I grow distant from myself. The scene before me further away than ever.
The Envadi bends to the ground, his fingers swirling in the dirt. His lips move with words, but they don't carry, even in the silence. Once they stop, he brushes the dirt off and stares straight at me. Even from my distant state, goosebumps raise on my arms.
“Citizens.” The Grand Chancellor's voice draws my gaze. He stands, face void of expression. “We will all mourn the loss of Chancellor Thomas. He was a rising star, fated to leave his potential unfulfilled.” He pauses. “As our tournament rules dictate, Envadi Zade now becomes Master of all Chancellor Thomas had.” He holds his hand out to the Envadi. “Chancellor Zade.”
The Envadi's eyes are still watching me. He nods his head.
Suddenly, Father is yelling from the Grand Chancellor's box. “You will not have her!”
The words take a moment to find me through the muffle my world has become. As the significance of his words take hold, the field becomes splotched with black. I blink a few times. The whole world darkens.
Chapter Seven
“She's coming around.” Cynthia's voice floats somewhere above, but close. My tongue is thick and heavy and tastes coppery. Something wet brushes my forehead.
“Good. I want her presentable,” Father says. “Make sure to fix her face paint. Give her something nicer to wear. Maybe I can still convince them she shouldn't be given away.”
The sound of footsteps crunching through dirt is followed by silence. The cool cloth dampens my forehead again. It leaves. I open my eyes and blink against the light. Canvas hangs above me. I don't remember being in a tent. Last I remember, Father was yelling and—Oh!
“Hush, now,” Cynthia says. “I'm here.”
She holds a cup to my lips. “Come on, drink up.” I shake my head. “Don't worry it's just water.”
I gulp the cool liquid. After finishing, I lay back. “What happened?”
“What do you remember?”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I say, “Father yelling that the Envadi can't have me.”
I look at her. She nods and sets the glass and cloth on the nightstand. “That went on for a while, until they realized you'd fainted. Father's request was denied and you were brought here.”
“How long has it been?”
“Longer than I thought you'd be out. After about five minutes you seemed to be coming around. Father got to you though and I believe he spelled you to stay unconscious. It's been seven hours.”
“Seven hours?” I clutch tighter to the blanket on me. “The tournament?”
“Over. The Grand Chancellor's son, Nathaniel won.”
“What about...”
She looks at the tent entrance. “The Envadi has been waiting outside this whole time, even forfeiting his place in the tournament. I think Father finally realized waiting longer wouldn't do any good.”
A chill sweeps across me. I pull the blanket higher. “I'm his then?”
Cynthia places a hand on my arm. The touch is foreign, but soothing. “It appears that since your marriage contract was signed and sealed by both Father and Chancellor Thomas, that yes, you are the Envadi's.” She pulls her hand away and clears her throat. “How are you feeling? Are you ready to sit so I can fix your face paint?”
“I'd rather stay here.”
“I know.”
I groan. After putting it off another moment, I roll onto my side and sit up. My body is loose and limber. After everything that's happened it should feel worse. “I feel better than I have for a while. Aside from being engaged to an Envadi.”
“Father must have healed you as he woke you.”
I put my hand to my leg. It's not tender anymore from my punishment earlier in the week. Why would he choose to do that now? Cynthia hands me a mirror and starts applying the paint. My skin is perfectly smooth and clear, not even a blemish. I haven't been free of those since I was twelve. I didn't know magic could get rid of them.
“Is he angry?”
She applies pink powder to my cheeks. “Not at anything we can change.”
“It's going to be difficult when we get home.”
“Unless something perks him up soon. Stop talking so I can paint your lips.” When I close my mouth, she smooths the cold cream across them. After she's finished, she points to a gown on the foot of my cot. “Father wants you to wear this. Let me help you with it.”
My dark emerald one is wrinkled, but still presentable. “What's wrong with the one I'm wearing?”