He pauses, and I want to shake him to tell him it would be the worst thing that had ever happened to me. Instead I wait, sensing he has more to say. That his deepest fears are about to spill out.
“How long until I agree to just one small vile act because I’m afraid they’ll kill me if I don’t go along with them? Before I start repainting things that are wrong and start calling them right because slow rot is how we keep ourselves alive? In the end I will become the monster they want me to be.”
I take his hand in mine and hold on so tight. I have to keep him from sinking until he can climb out of this pit himself.
“Listen to me—”
“Stop it!”
He steps away so precipitously that he bumps hard into another adversary. Jostled, the stranger drops a token marked with the number three.
“Three! Third trial!” cries the ready cage custodian.
I set my foot over the fallen token, then snatch the one Kal is holding and flip it so it lands behind the adversary, who’s scrambling to find the one lost. The moment the competitor’s back is turned I pick up the one on the floor and press it into Kal’s hand.
“Third trial,” I say, and trot over to the ready cage.
He doesn’t hesitate. That’s good.
I’m handed the brown belt for Pillars. Kal gets the red belt for Traps. He’ll start one obstacle away from me. That’s good.
I barely notice the other two adversaries because I can’t take my eyes off the way his hands are clenched, the way his gaze darts to me and away and back again. He bounces on his toes not with excitement but because he’s stretched so taut he’s near to breaking. The friendly, confident, cheerful Kal I knew has vanished into this maelstrom.
The start bell rings. I swarm up the ladder into the maze of Pillars.
It’s hard to concentrate because I keep seeing the way he held his body; I keep hearing the snap in his voice. If you soak a decent person in poison for long enough, will it seep through their skin, rot out their bones, and dissolve their heart until it is nothing but a sac of venom?
A cheer startles me. One of the other adversaries has made a daring move. I must focus. I climb out of Pillars just as I hear the entry bell ring. I’m sure it’s him behind me.
This configuration of Rivers emphasizes balance and it’s not hard for me to get across a series of swinging beams. But when I hit Trees I struggle with the first part of the obstacle: a simple finger climb sets my wrist to throbbing. By the time I reach the resting platform I’m almost crying from the pain. I’ve reinjured it, or maybe it never healed properly. Maybe the wounds we have sustained will never fully heal.
Rubbing my wrist, I glance around to get my bearings. The adversary wearing the blue belt moves effectively through Traps, but I can’t see the green belt. I’m puzzled about where Kal has gotten to when abruptly he swarms up to the platform to loom over me. He’s breathing hard and there’s something almost cruel about the energy of his stance as he stares me down.
“You refuse to understand,” he says curtly. “It was too late the day I was born.”
Leaping across the opposite platform, the green-belted adversary jumps into Rings. Kal pushes past me and descends into this final obstacle as well. They are both already that far ahead of me. I scramble down and run for Traps, but not because I care about winning. I can’t win with this wrist anyway. I have to catch up before he leaves the undercourt.
From the high beam in Traps I watch as the two adversaries spin their way in toward the center. I’ve never seen Kal work Rings like this. Reckless despair propels him through the best trial of his life. He doesn’t care if he hurts himself; he takes chances that are impetuous and bold, and he lands every mark. He’s splendid. The crowd loves him.
I was sure he wouldn’t get this far or that, if he did, he would give up on victory and fake a fall, as I once did. I was sure he wouldn’t unmask for fear of drawing attention to me. Instead he puts on a burst of speed and beats Green Belt to the tower. He scrambles up, grabs the victor’s ribbon, and pulls off his mask. He’s not smiling but he shines, because this trial he has won.
It takes several breaths for people to recognize him. For the ordinary laughter and cheers to turn to shouts of acclaim as the spectators leap to their feet in a rush of emotion. He is the handsome young People’s King, the one who suffered the siege beside them, who ran a Novice trial as if he’s one of them, asking for no special favors. He defeated the enemy in one precipitous stroke.
What if he could fight back against the palace? Defeat all the people who mean to use him? What if he could become the People’s King in truth and usher in a golden age of peace and harmony?
I crush the thought even as it tries to bloom. That is my father’s dream, and it can’t be mine. Even King Kalliarkos with the best will in the world can’t create a Saroese-ruled Efea that truly includes me and mine. He’s right: it was too late the day he was born.
So I will destroy his victory even as I tell myself I’m saving him.
I scramble down from Traps as he descends the tower. I’m so far behind I’m the last one down the ladder into the undercourt. It’s dim in the windowless chamber belowground. Attendants hand out cups and take belts; trainers and stewards collect their adversaries, handing them towels or changes of clothes. For a heart-stabbing interval I think he’s already gone, that he didn’t wait.… Then I notice there’s a ring of attendants and adversaries pretending not to look into the dimmest corner of the retiring court.
Despite his warning he has chosen to wait for me, leaning against a wall as he taps a foot impatiently against the floor. As I walk up he straightens. He pulls me against him, drags off my mask, and kisses me.
This is no soft feather of a kiss. He’s triumphant and angry and desperate. I hold him so tight. It’s not his anger I fear; it’s his despair. All I want is to gift him the courage to believe in himself. To believe there can be a way out for him.
When he shifts his grip on me, sliding a hand from my elbow to my wrist, pain flares and I gasp. At once he breaks off.
“You’re hurt. Of course. That’s the only reason I could have beaten you.” For the first time he sees the scar at my eye. “Good Goat.”
More gently than I expect, given his mood, he brushes the scar at my eye, then probes the wrist. My grimace makes him curse under his breath.
“My uncle did this to you, didn’t he?” His gaze cuts to my heart. “This is why there’s no path for us. I can’t protect you, even if I keep you at my side day and night as I wish I could. There are too many of them and only one of me. And you would hate that life anyway. It’s not the one you’re meant to live. So I will try to be a good king, even if they murder me for it. But you have to leave Saryenia, Jes. You have to leave. And don’t ever come back.”
I tug him to a halt before he can walk away.
“I’m not giving up on you. Do you trust me?”
“Yes,” he says without hesitation.
I take the leap although I don’t know how he will react. It’s a long way to fall.