Violet loved her sisters. More than her friends, more than their parents, even. She’d always felt closest to them. They were
calayas
too and they shared a destiny. An exciting, wondrous, terrifying destiny. It meant they were special.
As the oldest, Violet felt like it was her duty to prepare the others for their future as well as she could. Being a
calaya
was both a curse and a blessing.
On that particular day, the biggest news she’d ever received would catch her in the middle of another lecture.
“We are Atreens,” she was saying, calmly and slowly so the youngest would understand her.
The sentence meant more than the individual words themselves, it meant something deeper, more eternal. They weren’t just Atreens – being an Atreen was everything they were.
“And we are powerful – have always been,” she went on.
Violet smiled, seeing her sisters’ eyes lit up. She had their attention now, as she always did. The younger ones liked hearing about their history. It was as if they were living in a story – it was that miraculous.
“In our glory days,” she began in a singsong voice. “We made up a huge galactic empire spanning over many star systems. The few others that were unlucky enough to encounter us were quickly obliterated, but loss didn’t spare us either.
Our greed was too great and the borders of our empire kept pushing outward. Children were born in the outer parts of the empire that never saw the center. And like all things that grow too great, the Atreen Empire finally collapsed. Through war and grudges and raids, the sectors of our empire lost touch. We lost each other in space.”
As the youngest pouted, Violet smiled.
“But that was a long time ago. We are more advanced now, and we have found most of our lost children. Only the years we’ve spent apart have left their marks. The blood we share is thinner. Not all Atreens look alike anymore, as you’ve seen. We are all powerful and healthy, especially the warriors – tall and nimble, built for speed and precise skills.
But we are all but a different species now. The only thing all Atreens share is the desire to be great again. Not just great like we are now, but great like we once were. And as father keeps telling us, it’s no secret that everyone wants to rebuild the empire, with themselves as the central piece.”
Her sisters laughed. The last part was pretty much common knowledge even for children. Atreen warlords weren’t known for their modesty, and their ambitions were great.
Out of the corner of her eye, Violet saw her mother quietly walk into the room. Her sisters didn’t notice and an amused smirk on their mother’s face showed she was fine with that.
Violet shook off an involuntary shiver of annoyance at the sight of her and went on.
“That’s where the
calayas
come into play. We are the last of the original Atreens and we have been very rare since the remnants of the old empire made contact with each other again. We are also very treasured and very valuable. Which was why they came up with the tournaments.”
Now her sisters truly came to life. That was their favorite part, as it was Violet’s.
“All the
calayas
are women,” said Violet, “we are presumed to be the secret to how the Atreens became so powerful in the past.
Calaya
means ‘gift’, but it only passes through the female line, and you recognize a
calaya
by the colored strand in their hair – just like ours.
Calaya
-born men have it too. Daughters of the
calayas
are like their mothers, beautiful beyond compare – that’s us.”
While her sisters giggled again, Violet sent her mother another glance.
“We are naturally strong-willed, quick and talented in almost everything we do,” she continued.
“Sons of the
calayas
, however, are always great warriors. Every last one of them grows up to be a champion, strong and mighty. Nearly all of the leaders of the Atreens are sons of
calayas
. But we are still rare, so naturally we’re kept safe. We are
prizes. When we get old enough, a tournament is held for our hand. For that time, all feuds and wars and other disputes are put on hold by common agreement. Champions from every corner of the old empire arrive to put their lives on the line for a chance at winning one of us.”
This time, her sisters saw her looking at their mother and immediately started pestering her for news. There was a reason Violet was telling them the old history – three of them, her included, were of age and would soon have their tournaments.
With every day that passed, Violet thought more about the tournament. A face, a name rose from her deepest, most carefully buried memories. A face she longed to see.
No! I don’t want to see him. Nothing happened. He won’t be back. I don’t even want him to come back...
“Go sit down in the lounge, I have news for you,” their mother said, but her eyes were on Violet.
The others ran, leaving the two alone.
Violet was called Violet for the color of her hair – one of many things she held against her mother. The strand of light purple in her hair that marked her as
calaya
wasn’t something anyone could miss, but still her mother had chosen to name her for it. Violet with the violet hair, really?
Everyone had told her mother that, out of all her sisters, she would be the one contested for most. When she’d been very young, Violet had liked the idea.
That is, until the day her mother had ruined everything. With a few words, she’d driven the excitement from Violet’s heart and replaced it with dread. As a result, the closer her tournament age got, the more Violet found herself longing for something even better. She wanted to be the one the absolute champion would pick. After all, at every tournament there were as many victors as there were
calayas
. The one who achieved total victory over all the rest got to pick first.
Violet had said for years that it would be mortifying for her if she didn’t get picked by the overall champion.
Her mother had said for years that to get picked, she would have to shut up until the poor victor had made his decision.
It was fair to say they had issues.
“You didn’t tell them about the dangers,” her mother said.
No
, Violet thought.
I don’t want them to turn into me.
The truth was, being a
calaya
carried plenty of dangers. They were rare, yes, and precious, but that meant that they were also always in danger. Kidnapping, stealing, even killing
calayas
wasn’t unheard of. The rivalry of the Atreen clans could be brutal and the
calaya
brides were sometimes caught in the middle. It counted as the second reason Violet wanted to be won by the absolute champion. She could only trust the overall winner to keep her safe.
“They know,” Violet said. “No need to remind them.”
Her mother nodded, agreeing.
“Good,” she said and smiled. “Because this is a day of
great
news.”
***
“Quiet down,” their mother said when they’d joined the others in the lounge.
Completely out of character for her, Violet actually did. She sat back on the sofa, looking at her mother Irmela, standing in front of her, smiling at her, a smirk tugging at the corners of her lips.
Violet wouldn’t, couldn’t go far enough to say she hated her mother, but they were so unlike it barely made a difference. Everyone said they weren’t similar at all, even if not all of them
should
have.
She’d been just two years old when her father had wounded Irmela’s pride by asking whether she was sure Violet was his. Her mother hadn’t spoken to him for a whole year, possibly costing the Atreens another champion or
calaya
. No one had blamed Irmela, though. The fault was all her victor’s. He should have known better –
calayas
were loyal to the bone.
“Quiet down,” her mother said again, not raising her voice.
Her eyes were still on Violet and she was still smirking. Violet knew the mixed emotions she had for her mother were mutual. Irmela was as stubborn as they came, and that was her only shared characteristic with her daughter.
Violet thought
calayas
should be pampered and cared for, as was their right. Irmela said she was a spoiled brat.
Violet took great care of herself, while Irmela barely cared. It infuriated Violet to no end that her mother still looked amazing in her carelessness.
Violet wanted everyone to like and admire her. Irmela only wanted those
she
liked to like her.
Violet thought the tournament was the best thing to ever happen to her. Irmela thought the custom was an ancient tradition and should be banned. That was their bitterest disagreement.
Despite all that and much more, Violet couldn’t deny that her mother certainly was a
calaya
to be admired. And she did admire her, she really did. It was no secret. Traditionally,
calayas
barely showed any signs of aging and Irmela still looked quite like she had when she’d been fought for. Her long silver blonde hair always fell loosely to her waist. The indigo strand of her hair was parted at her temple, falling in two curly waves over her cheeks. Her posture was regal and the smirk on her lips made her entire face smile.
She was truly beautiful, and her voice was even more so. Violet had always loved that melodic soft timbre of her voice, singing to her when she was small. It was no secret either that she would have loved to be more like her mother. Unfortunately
,
they both thought the other should be more like
them
.
Irmela still wouldn’t raise her voice.
“It’s about the tournament,” was all she said.
Silence set so fast that a few guards dared to peek around the corner to see if something had happened to the Overlord’s wife and daughters.
Violet and her sisters were suddenly all sitting at the edges of their seats, their hearts in their mouths. Even the ones too young for their own tournaments were waiting.
“Oh, now you listen,” Irmela said.
You’re enjoying this
, Violet thought.
If someone had teased you like this before your own tournament you’d have had them executed!
She let them fry for a long moment.
“You’re cruel,” Violet said at last.
“Let it never be said I am,” Irmela said, smiling.
“Alright then. You have your wish. The Overlord has agreed to host the tournament. There will be death and blood and all sorts of gore. Many men will die. Such fun.”
Violet barely registered anything after “has agreed to host”. She was so busy howling with joy and clapping that it took her several seconds to remember her manners.
“That’s amazing!” she exclaimed. “When?
When
!?”
“When will men start dying for you? Soon enough,” Irmela said.
Violet glared. She wouldn’t let her mother ruin that moment for her.
“I can’t believe you oppose it so much, mother,” she said seriously. “It’s our custom.”
Lavie agreed with her. Out of six sisters – six! – three of them, Lavie, Marelle and Violet herself, were of proper age. Marelle said nothing.
“Yes,” Irmela agreed. “It’s a stupid custom.”
“The Overlord doesn’t think so,” Violet shot back at once.
Her father was a notable warrior. In fact, he was much more than notable and far beyond the label of a warrior. He was, well, an overlord. Surely he’d once had a name, but Atreens sometimes forgot such trivial matters. When a champion was distinguished enough, he became known for his deeds and only by his title. In the year the Overlord had won the tournament and Irmela, there actually hadn’t been a competition. That would have meant that someone had actually stood a chance against him.
In truth, even Violet thought that hiding behind her father was a low blow, but Irmela just laughed.
“Well, he does have a few stupid opinions, too,” Irmela said.
The part of Violet that wanted to argue was overwhelmed. Every dream she’d ever had about the tournament arose once again.
No one spoke about the Overlord like that. Much less spoke
to
the Overlord like that. But Irmela could do what she wanted and say whatever popped into her head. However much their father loved Violet and all his children, Irmela was his treasure – his prize.
Now Violet would have a champion of her own. A mighty warrior she could control like that, a world-conquering warlord, just for her.
Arguing. Right.
“It’s not stupid,” she said. “We’ve done this for ages.”
“Yes. And I don’t doubt we’ll keep doing it for ages more. I’m just saying what it is.”
Something suddenly occurred to Violet, stopping the futile argument short.
“Mother...” she warned. “If you’ve heard anything about the champions who will be attending, you have to tell us.”
“Do I, now?”
“
Yes
. Oh god, I’m going to have a heart attack. Who is it? I see a name. Do you think I can’t tell when you have something really good and you’re keeping it from us?”
Irmela just shrugged, still smirking.
The Atreens had just one god, one supreme being they prayed to, but he had droves of underlings, some good, some bad and some just mischievous.
Violet could swear her mother was, at least, an emissary of a lesser demon – possibly the lesser demon herself.
“God, have mercy,” she whined. “Mother, what did
you
feel when you heard the Overlord was going to be at your tournament!?”
That
pushed a button. Quite a few buttons, it seemed. Something flashed in their mother’s eyes. A sad smile passed her lips.
“I felt bad for the other champions,” Irmela said, but then nodded. “Alright, alright. It’s Forial. He’s enlisted to fight.”
Violet’s mouth dropped. Lavie squeaked and Marelle laughed – the first she’d ever heard her quiet sister do so.