my nails against the arms of the throne. Why try to figure this out alone with an oracle nearby? “Do you happen to know our roles in the fairy tale?” I asked, doing my best to sound nonchalant, lest she decide to charge me for the information.
Noel’s purple eyes lit with excitement. “I’ve been waiting for you to ask for years. Because I do, and I don’t. There are so many players, taking steps this way and that way, then changing their mind and going here and there. But time reveals all, and all reveals time. Does that answer your question?”
What nonsense. “How about you tell me everything you do know about the players and nothing you don’t?”
“Certainly.” She swatted at a twirling dust mote. “As soon as you tell me what we’re talking about again?”
Were all oracles this frustrating?
Multiple gasps drew my attention to the battlefield. Recalling the tournament—how had I forgotten, even for a second?—I scanned the combatants, searching for Saxon. Where was he now? I leaped to my feet and joined my father at the railing, desperate for a closer look. He stiffened, but he didn’t rebuke me.
Saxon, Saxon—I pressed a hand over my mouth to silence a cry of distress. He was fighting a giant, two trolls, a warlock, a snake-shifter, and four sorcerers. At the same time. They formed a circle around him, attacking him two at a time at different intervals. Saxon held his own, delivering more strikes than he took, his body in a constant state of motion.
“Why did you allow sorcerers to enter?” They were just as universally despised as trolls. In the past, many sorcerian had abducted magic wielders to hold them captive, drain their power, and steal their magic.
With my conversation with Eve so fresh, however, I decided to reserve judgment about each individual sorcerian.
As Saxon disemboweled one of the sorcerers, Father waved away my words. “Excluding specific beings would have ignited an unnecessary war. And there are ways to ensure certain creatures do not win...”
He would cheat? But, that was so low. So cowardly. “Father—”
“No, not another word,” he snapped. “I wish to enjoy the game in peace, girl.”
I flinched. What made me so unlikable to this man?
When Saxon slayed a second sorcerer, Milo joined the circle, hoping to be the one to take out the avian. At that point, Father decided to nod to the master of ceremonies, who placed a horn at his lips and blew. Amid the ensuing blare, the remaining combatants jumped apart, every fight ceasing.
There. The first competition was done, and Saxon had survived along with half of the others. I could breathe easily again.
“What a battle,” my father cried, lifting both of his arms.
The audience went wild, and I scanned the rest of the field. Dead bodies littered the ground. Blood soaked the dirt, and spilled from severed limbs.
A sweating Saxon remained in place, huffing and puffing every breath. Crimson drenched his torn clothing. Gashes covered his battered frame. As his temporary “palace liaison” or whatever, I should patch those wounds. Yes, yes. I wouldn’t wait for Eve to collect me. I wasn’t a child, and he already knew I’d broken his rules. So why not do my duty?
“Ophelia?” my father said, breaking into my thoughts.
“Saxon, of course,” she replied, confusing me.
Father used his hands to convey a number to the master of ceremonies, who announced, “Thanks to the royal witch, we know who slayed the most combatants. Congratulations, Crown Prince Saxon Skylair! You may choose to eliminate one of the remaining warriors.”
Saxon stared at the crowd of avian, who occupied one section of the stands. A section shouting, “The mer! The mer!”
“I choose the mer with the most kills,” Saxon called.
“That is entrant number eighty-three,” Ophelia piped up, buffing her nails.
My father flashed the new number at the master of ceremonies, who checked the notations in the book he held and announced, “Corean Acquilia, you have been eliminated!”
A handsome man in his early twenties cursed and threw a bloody sword at Saxon’s feet, then limped off the field.
“Way to go, Saxy,” Ophelia shouted, rising to approach the railing. “Whoo-hoo!”
Noel sidled up to my side with a wide, toothy grin. “Battle blood is so hot right now, don’t you think?”
The wild things this oracle said.
“Come back tomorrow for our first voluntary competition,” the master called to one and all. “This test of wits is sure to delight. The winner will be given an extra weapon for the next battle. Or he can keep