A week wasn't nearly enough time to prepare.
Rebecca came to the conclusion as she stood in front of the floor length mirror in her room. Behind her a woman she didn't know was fussing over her, touching her hair, her dress, everything she could reach. Rebecca wanted to shrink away but she'd just stood for the last hour letting the woman do whatever she wanted.
There'd been no talk, other than the woman mumbling to herself. Rebecca was glad since she'd been too busy freaking out.
The concept of all of this was crazy. Was it crazier than the rest of this? She didn't know.
According to Ferro, thousands of Fae would turn up to compete. To compete. Thousands more would turn up to watch. It was all taking place in an arena akin to what she'd seen the Ancient Greeks fight in.
There was a raised podium, high above the rest. It was where Rebecca would sit. To get up there you had to walk up a set of stairs. It was high enough that no one could get up unless they climbed up the stairs. Everyone could see her, but no one could reach her.
It gave her some sense of security—but not much. Ferro was going to stand next to her the whole time, translating it all into English, but even that wasn't comforting.
All those staring at her . . . judging her. And the Faerie Skye would be there too—as Rebecca had dubbed her since she didn't know her name. The current daughter of the stand in Queen.
Rebecca was going to officially take her place. Knock her off her pedestal.
It was extremely gratifying.
But that didn't mean she wasn't having a heart attack. First off, the woman had made her slide into a dress that looked ridiculous. She was floundering in it. The dress wasn't overly large but it was impossible to miss. Bright gold. One shouldered. It was floor length and soft. A belt around her waist. It didn't feel tight or restricting but Rebecca still hated it.
"You look like a Queen, Becca."
She jumped, turning her head to see Ferro in the doorway. He was decked out in the black gear, a real sword at his waist.
"Do I?" she asked, as the woman twirled some of her hair. "I feel like an idiot. And I'm terrified."
His grave eyes met hers, hand resting against the sword at his waist. "Rebecca, I'm not going to lie. You should be scared. But you'll be safe. Know that."
"I know. You'll stab them with your sword." She tried to keep her voice light but it didn't work.
He said nothing to that, only walking over to her. When he was close, the woman stepped away, averting her eyes. "Your mother would be proud Becca."
God, this sounded like she was getting married. She had to laugh. "Yeah." Purposely refusing to dwell on the thought of her mother, she asked, "No one knows it's me?"
"No." He shook his head. "They think it's for your mothers stand in—she'll finally become Queen. No one know it's you."
That made her feel worse. "What if I throw up or something? Or pass out?"
When he wrapped his arms around her, she shoved her head against his chest. He'd become somewhat like family to her, without the blood relation. So the familiarity wasn't surprising. "Rebecca, you're going to do fine. I'll be there the whole time."
"I'm so out of my depth," she whispered.
He hugged her tighter, before stepping back. His smile was gentle as he stared at her, despite the fact that he was carrying a sword with him. "Rebecca. You'll do fine."
She wasn't so sure about that—already she felt like her stomach was in knots.
*
The trip to the arena didn't take long enough.
By noon Rebecca stood in the back entrance of it, shaking hands clasped in front of her. No one was around except for Ferro and the guard he'd brought with him. That meant on a limited few were privy to her panic.
She shifted on her feet, glad they'd given her white strappy sandals instead of heels. "I just walk in. And up. Then sit. That's it right? Easy."
Ferro seemed to realise she was talking to herself more than anyone else. Nevertheless, he answered with a quiet, "That's it. Then you just sit and watch."
"Watch people fight savagely to defend me," she muttered.
No one disputed the statement because it was true. Already Rebecca could hear whispers from inside of Fae that would stare at her. Whisper about her.
Steeling herself, she tried to tell herself she could do this.
The pep talk didn't work, but she forced herself to walk anyway. Putting it off wouldn't help the situation. It would only draw it out for longer.
She let Ferro take the lead on where to go, following behind him. Like him, the guards behind her were all sporting swords. It made her nervous, especially considering they were behind her. Speeding up, she moved so she was right behind Ferro.
He said nothing about it, just continuing to walk. They passed by the back entrance, walking through a slim, dark corridor that led to a set of stairs. All noise disappeared. All chaos disappeared. Behind them, out of the walkway was a long wall. Behind it, she could see tents everywhere. Ferro had told her it was where the entrants were practicing.
As the ascended up the stairs, her legs threatened to give out underneath her. "I go up. And I sit," she whispered to herself. Then she projected her voice louder so Ferro would hear. "Do I have to talk? Make a speech?"
"Normally, yes. But as long as the tradition stands, it doesn't matter. But, at any point, you can stop a fight. If you think the victor is wrong, say so. The winner will change. You don't have to explain why."
Rebecca doubted she'd be able to that. Already, her voice was in her throat.
The higher they climbed, the more the serenity disappeared. She could hear some shouts. Talking.
"Won't the other Queen be there already?" she asked to distract herself.
"No. She was told to come later. You will already be seated and she will be refused entry."
Well, that was . . . rough. But if she was anything like her daughter, she deserved it. "Oh."
They were on the next platform now. In the distance Rebecca could see the arena over the large barrier. Her heart constricted in her throat. Around the edges of the arena, on raised level platforms were hundreds, thousands, of Fae. The large circular dirt patch in the middle seemed to shrink in size despite the fact that it was the size of a football oval.
Abruptly, they all started to whisper.
"Can they see me?"
"Not closely. But you're surrounded by guards. They know it's the Queen."
That wasn't comforting. At all. "How many?"
"A few thousand. Possibly more. This means that a Queen will have a coronation soon."
"I will?"
Ferro shook his head. "No. Not for a while. But that's what they assume."
They made the trek on another pair of stairs. Rebecca knew they were close to the top. When they got up there what would happen? Would they cheer? Wait for her to say something? Ferro had said she didn't need to make a speech, but Rebecca didn't know if it was true. Every speech in high school she'd nearly failed, so she was feeling more than a little helpless.
She almost fell over as she breached the top of the stair case. When she'd seen this before, it had felt less intimidating. Now? Panic threatened to consume her. She was so high, more twenty metres above the ground, so no one could see her yet. As soon as she walked forward, though, she'd be in plain sight.
Going forward was the step over the edge of a cliff. Once she went there was no going back.
Everyone would know who she was.
"Take your time. This doesn't start until you're ready." Ferro's voice was quiet.
She didn't have that long. He was just humouring her. But how hard was this going to be? All she had to do was sit and watch people fight for her. Shed their blood. And the age minimum was fifteen—so that meant Fae younger than her would be fighting.
It didn't comfort her. Despite that she took a step forward. Then another. Her heart raced and her palms became clammy, but she continued to walk forward. The raised concreted platform was empty, save for a giant chair. It was a throne, put simply.
The back of it was tall and brass, the top curved and pointed at the sides. Red cushions sat on the bottom and on the back. And they were comfortable—Rebecca had tested it already. The raised arms were curved, jewelled at the sides in what Ferro had told where was real gold.
Rebecca didn't let herself falter, even as she rounded the seat. Then she sat, pretending to ignore the fact that everyone could now see her.
There was shocked silence for a second. Then the crowd erupted in whispers.
"When does this start?" she asked Ferro, who'd stepped behind her on the chair.
She felt so uncomfortable like this. As if she was above them all. It wasn't how she felt. At all. But that's who she was—a Queen. And by default it meant she was above them.
That didn't mean it felt right.
"Right about now," he said.
Rebecca blinked as a man stepped out from near her. He looked at her, bowing his shaved head. His face was painted with white paint, something she found more than a little odd. It matched the suit he wore.
She jumped as his voice boomed. He spoke in Faelk so she didn't catch the words.
As second later though, Ferro was translation. "Magic can be used in the first round. The victor is decided when the other competitor is incapacitated. Bring out the first competitors."
Rebecca frowned. "Incapacitated? As in . . ."
"No. Just unable to fight back. Not dead."
Well, that was a relief. Still, a two Fae came out onto the large dirt in the centre of the arena from different sides, her heart was in her throat. Both of them looked more than able to fight, both big. But the one on the left . . . he was her age by the looks of it. The other one looked as old as Ferro. How was that fair?
They both went to the centre of the oval, staring right up at her. They didn't seem aware of the cheers, their attention on her. Then, as if it was a choreographed dance, they both fell to one knee, all while never breaking eye contact with her.
And stayed there.
"What do I do?" she whispered.
Ferro seemed to realise that she wanted them to stand because he spoke rapidly to the man with his face painted. A second later both of them got off their knees.
She got a close look at them. The older one was bald and short. What he lacked in height he made up in muscle though. He looked like the bodybuilders that were only on TV—the ones who took steroids regularly.
By contrast the younger one was tiny. He'd clearly taken advantage of the 15-year-old age minimum. His hair was too long for his face—with remnants of his childhood still apparent. His blue eyes were so striking she had to look twice to check they were real. Scrawny and short, he had to be half the size of the older one.
Without any warning, they went at each other. The crowd cheered loudly but Rebecca was momentarily stuck in a stupor. It was all so sudden. And they fought in a way she'd never seen before. All of the nerds she'd ever known would be jumping up and down, gleeful to the point of bursting.
Instead of using their first, they were using their hands. The younger one sent some fire. It was combatted with the older one stifling it somehow. It continued like that back and forth for a while, never touching.
She hated do admit that a part of her found it disappointing. And illogical. How were you supposed to draw blood like that?
"They're testing the waters," Ferro murmured behind her. Rebecca had to strain to hear him over the yelling crowd. "Seeing how powerful they both are."
"But one's younger," she whispered back. "Hasn't he lost already?"
"Not necessarily. They'll either overplay their hand or underplay it. Lour the other one into feeling complacent and arrogant."
"They should play some chess," she muttered, eyes never leaving the two competitors.
She heard Ferro laugh quietly, before he sobered. "This will get more violent. The stakes aren't as high. As the numbers dwindle, winning becomes more important."
Rebecca fought the urge to fold her legs underneath her. And hide from the gazes on her. "You sound like you know that from experience."
"A hundred years ago, I made it to the end."
"You won?"
"Hundreds won. But, I became the Queen's personal guard, so I guess I did win in the end."
Rebecca considered that, watching the two competitors stare at each other and size each other up. "And now you're here."
He was silent after that and Rebecca continued to watch. They'd moved on from staring at each other and now the older one was advancing on the younger Fae. He looked too innocent, tall and lanky. He was about to be crushed. She could see it happening already. Because he wasn't moving. At all.
"What is he doing?" she whispered. "Is he an idiot?"
Ferro's voice was patient. "Just watch."
Rebecca did, wondering what she was hanging on for. All she could see was the older one advancing, moving until he was right up close. The other Fae didn't move. Rebecca moved to stand, ready to call this to a stop. He was going to get seriously hurt—
The younger one lifted his eyes. The irises were gold.
She found herself falling back down, legs shaking. Then she could only watched, eyes fixated.
The older one's mouth went slack and he seemed to freeze all over. He started to mumble, the words incoherent thanks to the language barrier.
"He can't move," Ferro said from behind her. "That's what he's saying."
Shocked, Rebecca just nodded mutely. Mikael had done that to her—and then she'd barely escaped with her life. She could sympathise with his terror.
"I thought he was weak."
"That was his plan. Being more powerful doesn't make you wiser."
She had to give him credit as she watched the younger one strike. He simply put his hand on the others shoulder. Then the screams started.
"What is he doing?"
She couldn't see any reason why he'd be in pain.
"Watch."
She did. And as the younger ones hand lifted she could see the remnants of flames on his hands. Rebecca winced. He'd been burning him with fire. She could feel the second-hand pain.
Wordlessly, the older man collapsed. He didn't get up again.
"Is he . . ."
"No. He's just unconscious. The heat would've shocked his system."
Rebecca wanted to take her words back—that was as brutal as you could get without violence. It had to be worse than any physical violence.
"Oh," she mumbled.
She barely heard herself over the cheering crowd—so loud it was deafening.
The man with a painted face spoke again, voice booming and Ferro translated, "And we have a victor."
Not even breathing heard, the younger one turned to stare at her. She was momentarily stunned by his gold irises. Rebecca wasn't sure what to do. Did she smile at him? Stand and clap? Say something motivation? Thank him?
Evidently, Ferro chose for her. There was strange heat emanating from him. She turned and caught sight of his eyes. They had turned gold as well. And he was glaring at the victor.
He clearly saw it as a threat.
Turning back, she saw the victor flinch. As his head dipped and came back up and she saw his eyes were blue again. He scurried away then—and if he was a dog she knew he'd have his tail tucked between his legs.
Someone came and removed the unconscious body.
Then the man with a painted face yelled out again. She didn't need Ferro to translate for her this time.
She was proven right when two more competitors walked onto the field.
And over and over, it continued, for what felt like hours. More blood was shed. More fights were won. Rebecca felt as if she was going to pass out—either that or put a stop to this all.
And they'd only gotten through the first round.