Page 29 of From the Mouths of Sirens

“That doesn’t seem fair at all,” Aurelia retorted. “The Master of Trials was a fool.”

“Fair or not, the Tellusun tributes did not follow the rules, and therefore they failed,” Vangelis explained. “All three of them were disgraced and sent away from the arena immediately. You must follow the trial instructions exactly, you see. No more and no less. Do not think yourselves to be above the rules. Do not seek to impress the Master of Trials. You must strictly accomplish the tasks at hand. Do not try to outdo your rivals. Stick to the rules. And ignore the other tributes, even if they hurl threats and insults at you during the trials.”

They were all silent, the ambassador’s words settling over them like cloaks on their shoulders. Agreeing to his suggestions was easy enough. But it would be an entirely different matter in the arena, seeing the sneering faces of the other tributes a few feet away.

“So what happens at the end?” Aurelia asked, raising a blonde eyebrow. “What if all twelve tributes complete each trial? How will the Master of Trials determine the champion if we have all survived?”

Vangelis’s folded fingers twitched slightly and his expression darkened. “That is an unlikely possibility,” he paused for a breath, as if reluctant to continue. “We will be lucky if two nations even make it to the final trial, let alone all four.”

A chill crawled down Saoirse’s spine. Memories of the Tournament she watched ten years ago flashed before her eyes, the resounding screams and suffocating smell of blood still visceral even after all these years. She was only seven, barely tall enough to see over the ornate railing of theirboxed chamber. She could remember the dismayed look on her father’s face when the last Mer tribute had fallen, effectively ending Elorshin’s bide for the Crown. But out of all the memories, she recalled the blood the most. There was so much of it. The last remaining tributes were from Aurandel and Terradrin. The Tellusun warriors who were left alive were gravely wounded and unable to compete in the final trial. She remembered looking down on the arena from the private box she and her parents were comfortably settled in. The metallic scent of blood was hot on the wind.

When dawn broke on the final trial, Raven of Aurandel faced two well-seasoned Terradrin tributes on her own. Though she was easily the youngest at seventeen, she was the most savage of them all. It had been a bloodbath, the fearsome young princess showing no mercy.

Even at such a young age, Saoirse understood what was at stake. She knew what the loss would mean for her people. There, in that sheltered royal observation deck, Saoirse vowed that Aurandel would never again win the Tournament. Not if she could help it.

“If more than one nation manages to accomplish the final trial, there will be a duel,” Vangelis continued. “It will be a fight to the death. The last warrior standing shall win the Crown. But the Blood Duel has only ever occurred once in the last hundred years. It is unlikely to occur ever again.”

“We will be the last tributes alive. We won’t need a Blood Duel,” Sune growled out. “We will accomplish every task precisely as the Master of Trials commands, and we will be the last nation standing.”

“Agreed,” Aurelia chimed in, her turquoise eyes flashing. It had to be one of the first times she and Sune had ever agreed on anything.

“I admire your confidence,” Vangelis smiled weakly, “but be wary; the other tributes will try to prey on your confidence and bluff you into showing your hand.”

“Anything else you wish to tell us before the first trial tomorrow?” Saoirse asked. A prickle of anxiety had begun to bury itself in the pit of her stomach. She was ready for the arena. She’d prepared for it over the last ten years. But that didn’t mean she wasn’t afraid of what she might face.

“Don’t make foolish mistakes,” Vangelis offered as he rose from the table. “In that arena, you’ll be facing the worst monsters imaginable. But the greatest threat to your lives will be the tributes around you. Do not be distracted by your rivals. Do not concern yourself with their actions, and do not act upon personal vendettas.”

Once again, he cast an accusatory look at Saoirse. She raised her hands in innocence.

“I did not hear what you discussed with the Auran prince last night at the banquet, but it was obvious to everyone in attendance that your words were threatening. It is a dangerous road you walk towards, Your Highness,” he said in a tone that was not quite scolding, but rather cautionary. “Do not let your personal feuds distract you in the arena, and don’t let the other tributes get under your skin. Just focus on what you need to do and come out alive.”

With that, the Tournament Ambassador turned from their meeting table and left the darkened rooms. His shimmering robes flashed in the candlelight, strands of seashells swaying as he strode back into the hall.

Once he was gone, Aurelia slouched in her chair and looked up at the uneven stone ceiling. Just like their private chambers, this small meeting room was hollowed out from the mountain. Mineral-rich water dripped down from the ceiling, splashing on the candles below. The flames hissed on the table.

“We must promise each other that no matter what happens, we will remain a team,” Sune abruptly broke the silence. “Vow to me that you will both put Elorshin first. If something were to happen to one of us, we must each be willing to leave the others behind in order to win. Do not jeopardize Elorshin’s chances of victory just to save a teammate.”

“You assume that I’d try to help you if you fell in the arena?” Aurelia scoffed. “I’m flattered that you would think so highly of me.”

“I’m serious,” Sune retorted. He rose from his chair, his head nearly colliding with the stone ceiling. “Vow to me that you will both remain unflinching. Promise that you will finish the trials, whether or not I perish.”

“Yes,” Aurelia agreed softly, growing somber. “We vow to complete the trials no matter what may come of us.”

Sune gave a satisfied nod and turned to the door, as curt and formal as ever. “We must fetch our weapons from the armory,” he reminded them matter-a-factly, disappearing into the shadowed corridor. With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Aurelia pushed up from the table and followed him out. Saoirse followed close behind, Vangelis’s words still lingering in her thoughts. For the first time since they arrived, reality had finally set in.

The mountain halls were silent, the whisper of their footsteps echoing through the darkness. The sound of leather against stone was foreign in Saoirse’s ears. In her palace in Kellam Keep, she was used to the sway of waves and the gurgling of bubbles as she swam through the halls, her feet seldom touching the ground. She was reminded again of how different this world was from her own.

They emerged from the Mer quarters, stepping out from the mountain and into the late afternoon sunlight. Outside, a troupe of Torqen soldiers moved into a protective formation around them. The Mer warriors moved as a unit, staying in step with them as they left the courtyard and entered into the city. After the incident at the sky bridge that morning, Sune had insisted that they never leave the Citadel unaccompanied. Saoirse didn’t doubt for a second that a dagger might be plunged into her back if she wasn’t careful. She wouldn’t be surprised if Prince Rook had placed a bounty on her head after nearly killing him.

The armory lay several blocks away from the Citadel, nestled near the Aerial barracks at the heart of the city. The entourage of Mer warriors stood out like a streak of blood against fresh snow as they wandered through the crowded streets. They were not the only foreigners traveling through the winding sandstone roads, but they were undeniably the most hated. Saoirse tried to ignore the eyes that peered curiously at them from open windows and shadowed alleys.

The Aerial armory came into view as the three of them rounded a corner. The round building curved into a sandstone dome, fragments of multicolored stone embedded into the walls like a mosaic. A plume of smoke drifted from an opening at the top, thick with the scent of tangy metal and charred wood. No windows were cut into the smooth, sloping walls. Only a single iron door flanked by heavily-armed Aerial guards marked the entrance to the building. With a slight wave of his fingers, Sune gave a silent command to the Torqen soldiers surrounding them. As the Mer warriors stepped back, the three of them headed for the iron door at the center of the armory. Though the Aerial soldiers stationed on either side of the entrance surveyed them with a hostile gaze, they were allowed inside without question.

The room was darkened save for a roaring fire in one corner of the building, where new weapons were forged and added to their stockpile. Aerial blacksmiths pounded away at hot metal in the corner, repairing damaged weapons and smoothing out dented helmets. All along the curved walls, weapons of every make and model shone in the light of the fire. Although the flames in the forge crackled and hissed, the room was cold.

“Undying flames,” Aurelia whispered.

Blades formed within the fires of undying flames were the most sought-after weapons in Revelore. To think that all the Aerial forces were vested with swords and armor forged by undying flames was staggering. The wealth and prestige of the Aura was truly unmatched.

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