The Overlord ruled over his fiefdom with an iron fist, but he was prepared to give in to the young
calayas
in some matters. Especially when he didn’t only have to deal with his own three daughters, but the other four girls as well. He’d wanted a big tournament (despite Violet silently suspecting that her father merely wanted to boast his daughters getting picked over four others).
After pleading and reasoning and a few strategically fallen tears, Violet had convinced him to put up the gates. Every visitor and champion had to pass under the great gate, so the
calayas
could see them from their balcony overlooking it. The other girls were thrilled. Maige even applauded. Lavie probably would have, but Violet knew her sister had expected as much from her.
That morning, Violet was the first to arrive at the balcony as usual. The spaceports had kept the night arrivals at bay until they could enter the huge arena in daylight. The sky above them was littered with ships standing at high anchor. The orbital ports were brimming and many from further away had opted to take the land route with their quick private hoverpods. Irmela had told them that everybody was coming. And she meant
everybody
. Luckily, the Overlord had figured as much and chosen an arena that could house them all.
Pearl skipped saying hello and went straight for: “The Prince is coming. They say
Beren
docked at Alpha last night.”
“I know,” Violet said dreamily, doing her best to ignore the way her heart sped up. “Irmela told me. I swear I had to drag it out of her with pliers. She hates me.”
“Nah,” Pearl said, leaning on the balcony’s edge and observing the flow of Atreens below them. “She hates all of this. You know that.”
“Yes, but she’s still taking it all out on me.”
Pearl laughed. Her laughter was clear and hearty. The way her entire face lit up with it reminded Violet of her mother. Pearl really was a rival, but she didn’t hold it against her. She’d still triumph in the end.
“Stop whining, Violet,” she said, grinning under her red hair falling over her eyes to her shoulders. “Look
at all this.”
“I
am
looking. I don’t think there is even a single warrior, man, woman or child I haven’t seen enter.”
“I believe you,” Pearl said seriously. “I do. And this is all for us. So stop whining about your mother, her tournament is long gone. It’s our time and you’re ruining our mood. Enjoy. This is going to go down in history.”
Violet sighed.
“I know, I know,” she said. “I just want everything to be perfect, you know. And don’t tell me this is going to be great. I’ve never heard of such a gathering before. I didn’t think there were this many of us. Even the Overlord didn’t compete against such numbers.”
“Your father didn’t compete,” Maige pitched in. “He just came and took what he wanted.”
“True,” Pearl said. “
That
is true. But can you imagine how boring it was for the
calayas
?”
Violet turned before Marelle even opened her mouth. She knew what was coming. So did Pearl, probably, but she enjoyed poking people. “Boring? Sure it was boring to see so many champions die.
Knowing
they’d die.”
“Don’t be so dramatic,” Pearl said. “Not that many died that year. They didn’t all fight to death.”
Marelle said nothing, but Pearl turned back to Violet.
“You know what the Overlord has in store for them?”
“No,” Violet admitted. “He wouldn’t tell me.”
“Does your mother know?”
“Probably,” Violet laughed. “She knows everything. I think she even knows his name.”
“Now you joke,” Maige said.
“I don’t!” she exclaimed, grinning. “I really asked her once. She said, and I quote, ‘
of course I know
’. And when I wanted to know too, she just laughed in my face and said no way! Can you believe her?”
“I can,” Pearl admitted. “That sounds like Irmela. But you can return the favor and never tell her the Prince’s real name.”
Ah, now there was the taunt. Violet took a moment to try and see whether Pearl was trying to rile her up or if she was just playing. The latter seemed more plausible. Besides, it barely mattered. Her eyes were already busy dreaming him up and her mouth was doing that smiling thing.
“Really now?” Maige chuckled. “You don’t even know what he looks like.”
“No one besides the Raiders do, to be fair,” Violet said. “It makes it so much more
exciting
.”
“I don’t get you,” Maige said. “Hoping for someone you haven’t even seen.”
“Oh, but I’ve
heard
of him,” was all Violet had to say.
It said it all, really.
With all the Atreen clans and worlds trying to rebuild the empire from their own standpoint, wars were pretty common. Terrible raids and endless bloodshed was the natural part of their lives. All those things called for someone to actually do the fighting. Of course, all clans had their own warriors, but there were always those opportunistic enough to sell their service – the mercenaries.
It had been a kind of an insult before, to fight for someone who wasn’t your fief lord but, somehow, the Raider Prince had changed that. Violet still wasn’t really sure how he’d done it. Everyone still
looked down upon mercenaries, but they liked him. There was something in the easy, carefree, playful way he did things. As they said, even those he’d betrayed couldn’t help but like the bastard. Naturally it wouldn’t stop them from throwing him out of the airlock the first chance they got, but they’d feel bad doing it.
Not that anyone had ever really met him. Or if they had, they didn’t know. Among other games he liked to play, the Prince was known for using proxies. Sometimes they were obvious, at other times, not. Sometimes it was Reim, his second-in-command. They’d figured
him
out pretty quickly, but that was all. In truth, everything they had to go by was the
calaya
mark.
The Raider Prince had earned his name by leading lightning quick strikes against the enemy he was paid to hate at the moment. Years ago he’d just been considered one of the many, but he always won. Things like that got him the Atreens’s attention. He was too good to just be a regular warrior. It became obvious he was
calaya
-born, but they still couldn’t pinpoint him. It was said he
colored
the strand of his hair to hide his heritage. Violet shuddered at the thought. It was the single thing she didn’t like about him.
“Don’t tell me you wouldn’t want him,” she told Maige.
“You know who I want,” was all the other
calaya
said.
That was true, Violet did know. His name was Ronay and that was all she knew about him. No particular deeds, no great victories – just a warrior.
“You’re saying you wouldn’t want the best?”
“If he can win me, he’s good enough.”
Violet had heard her say that before, but she still couldn’t understand the full logic behind it.
Irmela and Marelle probably agreed. They most likely rooted for Ronay to survive the tournament and pick Maige. It wasn’t entirely
impossible, Violet admitted. Ronay wasn’t a warlord, but he was good enough to be considered a serious competitor. With luck and tactics and Maige to cheer for him, he could do it.
Violet... Violet had never allowed herself to be that sentimental.
The morning somehow got darker the second her control over her mood slipped and the memories flooded back.
It had happened years ago – the day Violet stopped really being Irmela’s daughter and turned into the reluctant relative she was now.
As a little girl, she’d loved her mother. Irmela taught her daughters everything she knew, but as a
calaya
, there was much of it. Among skills they could use, she also passed on her wisdom to help them on their way. A
calaya
’s life was very privileged and carefree, but it had its obvious downsides.
Violet had always felt like she was smarter than her sisters. It was no offense; she just picked things up quickly. Which was probably why she had been the one to ask the wrong question one day when they’d been walking.
“Did you root for the Overlord?” Violet had asked.
What she’d meant, badly phrased as it was, was to ask if Irmela actually cheered him on. Or whether she just wished he’d win, as unavoidable as it may have been.
Her mother had let her perpetual grin drop just for a moment. “No… not at first.”
Violet had been so shocked she didn’t know what to say for a long time. She wanted
to force herself to believe Irmela had answered the question she’d wanted to ask. That she’d said it took her a while to gather the courage to shout encouragement to him. But in her heart Violet knew that it was not true.
It hurt. It hurt more than anything else in her pampered life had ever hurt. Even years after, standing on the precipice of her own tournament, Violet still didn’t know which hurt more – the thought of her mother’s true favorite dying before her eyes, or the fear that the same might happen to her. In a second, Irmela had somehow broken her. Violet had always looked forward to the tournament, but from that moment on she carried a secret. She became famous for advocating the tournaments, but in truth, Violet doubted anyone knew how much she really feared it.
And even deeper, at the bottom of her heart, there was an even greater wound that no one knew of. Violet... had hoped for someone, once. There had been a name and a face to it. But suddenly, Violet didn’t dare to even consider him fighting. Piece by piece, day by agonizing day, she ripped the name and the man who carried it from her heart. It was better that way, it really was. Dreams were for children.
Everything changed. It was silly, really, Violet knew that. But somehow she drifted away from her mother. She started fighting with everything she had. Trying to avoid the fate that sat before her eyes every day, grinning and pretending to be happy.
The happy little girl grew into someone who wanted to be the main prize above everything else. Irmela naturally found it revolting to see her daughter think that way, and she didn’t hide it. But Violet had it all planned out. She would cheer for the ultimate champion, right from the beginning. He’d pick her. Everything would be fine, right?
Right?
***
Under the balcony, the crowd began to murmur. Ripping herself out from her daze, Violet and the others looked around to see who was causing the turmoil. It had happened a few times before when the presumed victors had made their way to the arena and the quarters around it. They’d all watched them march, one after another. Violet couldn’t deny her heart had found quite a few of them to her liking, but they weren’t the Prince. If he came, he’d win – she was certain of it. All she had to do was make sure he’d like her.
Yes. Everything would be fine.
Through the corridor that suddenly opened for him, the Raider Prince strutted forward. As one, all of the girls leaned over the balcony’s edge to see better. Even Marelle and Olive couldn’t hide their curiosity at the presumed winner.
Violet couldn’t hide her disappointment.
The man walking beside Reim couldn’t possibly be the Prince. For one, he stood nearly a head shorter than the second-in-command. Having grown up with warriors all around her, Violet knew his strut wasn’t right either. The posture was wrong, there was none of that easy confidence he was known for. If anything, his eyes looked positively scared. Reim was as cheerful as ever, though. Against her better judgment, Violet found the other man to be much more attractive.
No! You can’t say that. It’s just a proxy. The real Prince is somewhere in the crowd. But...
Everything tumbled inside her. Violet’s flawless plan had just been blown to pieces. She’d been sure, so very certain, that the Prince wouldn’t pull any tricks at a tournament, that he’d actually show up as he was and fight for her honestly. Now that hope was dashed.
That meant that either the little cowardly man really was the Prince – no, absurd, he couldn’t be… Unless the whole thing was a great hoax and the Prince was actually just a lucky, brilliant strategist and not the powerful, amazing warrior he was said to be.
Or
it was a proxy after all and Violet would have no idea who to root for. The Prince could die, just like that, and possibly Forial would win.
Just when Violet had thought her day couldn’t possibly get any worse, a lone figure pushed through the crowd.
Areon was exactly how she remembered him.
Twice
he stepped on someone’s foot and apologized hastily, only to keep hurrying on until he was standing right under them, waving. He couldn’t see them through the blinding light that obscured them from the crowd, but he guessed where they were.
“Hey, Violet!” her worst nightmare shouted. “Didn’t I –
whoops, sorry. I didn’t mean to do that, my lady. Yes, I think they’re up there
.” He raised his voice again. “Didn’t I promise I would return for you?”
Then the press of the crowd got too much for him. All Violet heard was a nervous laughter and Areon stumbling on through the gates and back into her life.
How is that man possibly still alive?
she thought, despairing. He had the luck of demons – always had had. While Pearl was laughing, asking if that was going to be her chosen champion, Violet shook with an emotion she couldn’t explain.
She’d
told
him never to come back. It was better this way, safer, for the both of them.
Violet had never understood why her father had hired Areon as a guard, if all the man ever did was mess everything up. Only he still emerged unscratched from every battle and disaster, miraculously unharmed. After a particular incident, the Overlord had driven him away. Areon had only lived because her father thought it beneath him to kill such a loser. But he’d always loved her, as he’d told her at length, and had vowed to come back for Violet’s tournament.
Everything was backwards. The Prince, the one she had most wanted to see, was lost somewhere in the crowd or not present at all, and the one she’d explicitly told
not
to return, had done so.