Page 18 of Surfaces
Gita bit her lip and shook her head as she leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, no one knows. Pirates don’t talk outside their own circles.”
“Then how do we know the rumor about a bet is true?” Sahar interjected.
Gita gave a shrug. “I don’t.”
Sahar glanced over at me and deftly moved the conversation in yet another direction. But as Gita cleaned my face, applied my makeup, and did my hair, I couldn’t help but wonder if the rumor had a grain of truth to it. True … it was an extravagant rumor, as glossy and enticing to share as a pearl. But pearls started with a grain of sand and I wondered if this rumor had a grain of truth to it.
Question was … how could I find out?
* * *
Preparationsfor the morning during breakfast were pleasant and lifted my mood despite leaving me with questions to ponder and a pirate to second-guess.
But I did notice that Sahar's gaze often strayed to the door even after our breakfast tray was collected. Her mouth often drooped while Gita prattled on; at first, I thought memories of yesterday were troubling her. But after a while, I began to suspect there was something more.
After Gita wandered off to my dressing chamber to find my outfit for the three remaining rounds of the joust, I turned toward my advisor. I stared at her hair streaked with gray, at the crow’s feet around the corners of her eyes, at the perfect poise with which she held herself. But I saw past all of that. I saw beyond the gold patterned skirt she'd worn to show her solidarity with the "golden queen" who'd bring trading riches to Okeanos--a ploy she and my clever seamstress had come up with to help me. I saw the nerves that rattled her.
"Are you afraid of more attacks?" I asked softly, so that Gita wouldn't overhear.
Sahar pressed her lips together and definitively shook her head no. "There will always be those. Even during your mother's reign. No." She chewed her lip thoughtfully for a moment before she turned and angled herself in her seat so that she faced me directly. "I'm worried about Keelan."
My chest pinched and I leaned closer, reaching for her hand. "Is he still unwell? I thought that—"
"Physically, he's recovered. Except for his arm." Her lips twisted and tears came to her eyes. I couldn't imagine it was easy for any mother to watch her child suffer as Sahar had. She squeezed my fingers hard before grasping my hand and clutching it inside both of hers. "I know that I didn't want him to compete in this tournament." She shook her head, her expression apologetic. "It wasn't personal. I just … I know how hard this life is. I didn't want that for him. He's always been such an upbeat and fun boy … right from the moment he was born. His fathers say he came out of the womb with a thumb on his chin and a grin, flipping off the world and already laughing about it." Sahar gave a sigh and her eyes dropped down to trace our fingers. "The royal court has always been treacherous. Not because of you."
"I didn't think you meant that," I said softly, encouraging the older woman, waiting patiently for her to find her pace and continue.
Eventually, she said, "I thought that joining was a joke to him; I didn't think he realized the consequences, and now … he's torn."
Something caught in my chest. It couldn't have been my heart because that was gone. But it felt like it. I didn’t like hearing that Keelan was torn. Did it mean he didn’t want to compete? That our connection had been casual to him? An urgent need to know rose up inside my chest, demanding I lean forward and ask, "He doesn't want to leave?"
A sad frown crossed Sahar's face and a hopeless expression marred her features. "How can he joust with a ruined arm?"
"Surely the judges will make an exception."
"It's unprecedented. You have your one pass …" she trailed off as I froze and gulped, startled by her suggestion as it derailed everything.
I needed that one pass to get Mateo through. He'd jousted but he'd taken a blow to his arm and scored low. He was in the bottom three and the only way he'd get to continue on was if I used my exception. But Keelan … Shite. I hadn’t even realized my conundrum. Sahar’s comment earlier suddenly came into context and made complete sense.
Sahar pulled back from my hands and gave a sigh even as she shook her head in understanding. "I know, you need to use it for that merman, Mateo. The one with the bad tail."
Desperation clawed at my insides as I tried to figure out some sort of solution. I didn’t want to lose Keelan. But I also, absolutely and irrevocably, needed to keep Mateo in the tournament. He was the only guarantee I’d ever have of true love. Hewastrue love.
Sarding shite.
"I see how your eyes light up for him." Sahar gave a soft smile. "It's actually quite endearing. I know… I've known you would use your exception to get him through this round. And I understand." She took a deep breath, fortifying herself to say what came next. “I just don’t know how to break the news to Keelan.”
I chewed on my lip. “Do you have the scrolls that lay out the rules of the tournament with you? Did you bring them?”
Sahar nodded ruefully. “I looked at them twice this morning before I came to see you.”
“And there’s nothing? We can’t use magic? Lash the lance to his side with leather straps…”
Her eyes flickered down to her fingernails as she toyed with her cuticles, a habit I’d never seen from her before. She was well-and-truly worried, her political persona all but erased as she sat in front of me as simply a mother worried for her son. “There was nothing my son would accept.”
“What does that mean?”
Sahar gave a broken little laugh. “There’s one precedent—eight hundred or so years ago, mind you—where a competitor had a stand-in compete on his behalf. Okeanos was at war and the competitor was a soldier. He couldn’t leave the front lines. But his brother competed in his place. And won.”
