Reckoning (24 page)

The boys retreat to one side of the room while everyone from our dorm sits on the other as the King rises. The girl with the green dress who was taken days before is sitting at his side and, although she doesn't seem as haunted as Jela did, there is clearly something not right as she glares at the King's back while he clears his throat.

‘My subjects, my Offerings,' he says in the exact cheerful, authoritative tone he did last time. ‘I am still trying to find myself a full-time champion and feel it is time for us all to have a little more …
fun.
'

His emphasis on the final word is punctuated by a chuckle that no one joins in with.

‘I feel that, after the boys gave us such a show last time, it should probably be the turn of the girls.'

My heart sinks as I do the odds in my head. There are now only nine girls down here, including Jela – and there's no way I'll let her take any further punishment. That means I have a one in eight chance of being chosen – and that's if he picks one girl. If there are two of us, it is one in four.

‘Do we have any volunteers?' The King looks hopefully down at us but, unsurprisingly, nobody steps forward. His face falls slightly in annoyance. ‘Right then,' he adds, rolling the R. ‘In that case, we will have to draw.'

He looks around puzzled until he sees Ignacia, who he waves over and whispers something in her ear. She looks around, part-annoyed, part-frantic until somebody in the rows above the royal box hands her something that looks like paper. After some quick scribbling, she tears the page to bits and then screws them all into tight balls, holding them in her hands and offering them to the King.

He grins unerringly as he selects the first scrap and unballs it before crisply and joyfully reading the name: ‘Pietra Lewis'.

I look sideways as Pietra rises from the bench, clumsily stepping forward and almost tripping over the bottom of her long, plain purple dress. Her eyes are wide with fear and shock at what could happen next. The last time this happened, three boys were killed in front of us.

As I watch her trembling arms, I hear the next name, each syllable echoing through me with more viciousness than the last.

‘Silver Blackthorn.'

25

Something strange happens as the King finishes saying my name. It is as if I am hovering somewhere above watching myself. I see everyone's eyes turn to face me as the girls on either side shuffle away to give me room. My legs wobble ever so slightly as I stand and I realise how thin and frail I now am. My shoulders are pointy and jut out at a strange angle, my upper arms lack any of the definition they used to have. My ankles are visible at the bottom of my dress but they look almost like the twigs in the woods outside Martindale.

I look like more of a child than ever.

Around the arena, murmurs are growing and I wonder how Porter is feeling. He has already lost Lumin and now I could be next. And what about Hart? I have been living by his code almost since I arrived here and now the luck of the draw could take me down. I wonder if Imrin is worrying about me in the way Opie would. It's hard to define our relationship but I can't imagine being here without him.

I blink rapidly and suddenly the floating, uneasy sensation is over and I am back in my body. I slowly step forward, desperate not to show how scared I am. My eyes are on the King, wondering if he is going to pick out any other names, but he dismissively waves his hand to send Ignacia scuttling away.

The King beams down at us, his eyes perhaps as happy as I have seen them. ‘Aaaah, two lovely ladies … what shall we do with you?'

From the main doorway, the Kingsmen start to edge forward. I see their swords bobbing ominously in their belts as I feel Pietra's eyes staring at me. I can't meet them but instead risk a glance across to where the boys are sitting. They are all transfixed. Imrin's arms are rigidly holding onto the bench, eyes wide with fear. As I scan along the line, strangely it is Rush who I feel drawn to. He has somehow managed to maintain much of the size he had when we first met, but his demeanour is completely different. He doesn't have the same intense anger about him; instead he is sitting calmly with his palms apart and fingers touching each other in a way that almost makes it look as if he is praying.

As I finally turn to face Pietra, it dawns on me that perhaps he is.

Pietra's arms are wrapped around herself, hands underneath her armpits as she tries to stop the shudders rippling through her body. She clearly has no confidence she could beat me at anything the King may dream up but then I barely have any more self-belief, given the state of my frail body.

The four Kingsmen are now upon us and I look beyond them towards the door, thinking desperately of Imrin's words. Just four. If one of them gives me his sword, I could turn it back around on him. Would it pierce his armour? I think of the borodron back in the dorm, hidden under the clothes in my wardrobe. It is flexible but as tough as anything I have known. Could I go for his arms? Or reach his head? Could I run for it now and reach the door? If so, where would I go then?

The questions swirl, confusing and disorientating me. Before I know it, one of the Kingsmen is pushing his sword into my hand. I feel the slick material of his gloves brushing my skin as he mutters something I don't take in. His breath smells of wine, his skin of sweat, and then he is gone and there is a weapon in my hand, hanging limply towards the ground.

Something happens to the lighting and it seems brighter but then, as I glance towards Pietra, I wonder if it is just my eyes as I see bright yellow and pink stars along the edges of my vision. It looks as if there is some sort of whiteness majestically haloing Pietra's head. She is struggling to lift the sword, using both hands to grasp it, and it is only then that I realise I can barely raise my sword either. The handle is hard and feels rough in my hand but I clench it tightly, forcing my arm upwards. Slowly it obeys, but the weight of the sword makes me feel unsteady. I stagger from one foot to the other and wonder how I am ever going to be able to lunge or thrust, given the fact I can hardly lift it.

Suddenly, the muttering ebbs away and I peer up to see the King standing again. He is watching as though seeing us for the children we actually are. It is the same way I look at Imp when he has been up to no good – when I want to scold him but instead his grin and dimples leave me smiling. The King is cackling, turning from side to side and looking for support until there is an uneasy stream of laughter from the seats above us too.

‘Girls, girls,' he says with a broad grin. ‘Of course you don't have to use those unwieldy things; I wouldn't want you to mess up your pretty dresses.'

He nods towards the Kingsmen, who stride towards us and take the weapons. My arm feels flimsy as it drops back to my side, leaving a dull ache in my shoulder.

‘Now, what shall we do with you?' The King grabs a tuft of his beard and begins stroking it. It is hard to tell if it is entirely for show or because he is genuinely thinking about what our fate should be. ‘So many options,' he adds, prolonging our torment in a way I'm not sure he realises. For him, this is a game.

‘Hmmm…'

I don't know how long it takes before he starts speaking because it feels as if I have left my body again. I see Pietra and myself standing a short distance apart in evening gowns already looking defeated. On either side, the other Offerings stare intently at the King, simultaneously terrified, yet relieved their name wasn't chosen.

I do not blame them.

With a stiff, resounding clap of the King's hands, I am myself again, watching the royal box and blinking rapidly, trying to clear the bright haze around my vision.

‘I think we will keep it simple tonight,' the King says. ‘No bloodshed, well, not much. It is as easy as this; all you have to do is hit each other across the face, one at a time, as hard as you possibly can.'

I meet Pietra's eyes; she is still trembling but is standing slightly straighter in relief that neither of us is apparently going to die tonight.

The King goes to sit but then pulls himself forward. ‘No holding back, of course. Anything less than full force and … well…'

He tails off but the implication is clear. I try to think of the number of people I have ever willingly hit. There was Rush, of course, but that was slightly different because I was defending Wray. All those times rolling around and battling with Opie were nothing other than play-fighting.

‘You go first.' Pietra is talking to me, her voice shaking.

‘Are you sure?'

‘Yes.'

I am almost thankful that I have lost so much weight and muscle because if I had the strength to hammer her as hard as I hit Rush, then I'm not sure she would take it.

‘Bend your knees,' I whisper loudly.

Pietra looks at me bewildered.

‘Bend your knees but stand firm with your back straight.'

She nods a confused acceptance and does what I instruct. I look up at the King who has a bottle of wine in one hand and a look of such joy on his face that any doubts I may have had about his sanity are instantly vanquished. He isn't simply evil; he has little to no grip on reality.

‘Sorry,' I whisper, before lunging forward and punching Pietra in the side of the head with as much force as I can manage, ignoring the pain in my wrist from last night. I try to aim for the hard part just in front of her ear, where her skull is as likely to hurt my hand as I am to seriously harm her. As I feel a crunch in one of my knuckles, I know I have caught it just right, avoiding her jaw, ear or front cheekbone in a way I doubt she will recognise.

Pietra crumples to the floor in any case, both hands cradling her head as she yelps in pain. I am wringing my hand, trying to rid the stinging sensation, but the only sound I can hear is the King's laugh reverberating around the room. He genuinely finds it hilarious and takes another long swig of the wine before throwing the empty bottle towards us and clapping his hands together in glee. Pietra jumps at the sound of the glass smashing but it falls well short of us.

‘Are you okay?' I ask.

Slowly, Pietra pulls herself to her feet as I resist the urge to reach out and help. She has one hand close to her ear and is clicking her jaw up and down as if trying to work out if she can actually speak. She mumbles something that sounds like a ‘yes' and nods her head.

‘Excellent, excellent,' the King booms out. ‘I'd rather have her with me than against me, wouldn't you?'

I cannot see who he is speaking to, but it doesn't really matter as I take my own advice, bending my knees slightly and straightening my back ready for Pietra's blow.

‘Just do it,' I tell her, making eye contact. She shakes her head, trying to gather her thoughts as I close my eyes and then …

My head bounces to the side but it barely feels as if I have been struck. I open my eyes to see Pietra stepping away from me wringing her hand but there isn't even a tingling sensation in my jaw. Imp has hit me harder in the past. Pietra grips her shoulder and grunts an ‘ouch' as she takes a step towards the benches but I know she has blown it.

The King is on his feet, furious. ‘Stop! You, girl, look at me.' He is glaring at Pietra, eyes bulging as he jabs a finger in her direction. My eyes flick to Pietra who is staring back at the King.

‘I'm sorry, I … I've never hit anyone before.'

The King is glancing to either side, seemingly for something to throw, before he kicks the banister in front of him in pure rage. The man I once thought was charming and persuasive is but a distant memory. He turns towards the boys' bench and thrusts out his arm again. ‘You,' he says, although his gesturing is so erratic, no one knows what he wants. ‘Yes, you, get up.'

It takes me a moment to realise what is happening as I see Rush standing and pointing to himself.

‘My champion, you, come here and show her how it's done.'

Rush walks towards me, eyes firmly on the ground, but I don't need the hushed hum of voices around the room to let me know that I am in trouble.

Pietra is repeating ‘sorry' over and over before one of the girls stands and leads her back to the bench. As I turn around, I see Rush standing over me, his expression blank and fixed. I look to the large, balled fists at his sides as the King bellows at him not to hold back.

I screw my eyes shut as I hear a collective intake of breath.

26

I feel the goosebumps rise on my arm as the chilled rush of the breeze skims across the remains of the lake just outside Martindale. Autumn is nearly upon us and I am hoping the clouds will roll in to treat us with its warm cascade of water.

I have my back to the woods, waiting for the snap of a twig or rustle of undergrowth to disturb me. The soft breeze swishes over me but doesn't disguise the approaching clumsy footsteps. I grin to myself but don't turn, allowing him to get closer as I keep my eyes steady on the wreck of plastic and glass filling the space that once brimmed with water.

A hand touches my shoulder and grunts a ‘raargh' of happiness, I jolt my body in mock surprise, then turn around and grab his legs, pushing him to the ground and rolling on top, taking a moment to remember his blonde ruffled hair … except Opie's hair isn't blonde any longer. His skin is darker, his hair black, as I stare down at Imrin's grinning features.

Suddenly my eyes are open and I am sitting up in an unfamiliar bed. It is light but I don't remember falling asleep. I blink rapidly trying to clear the grey haze and, as I try to open my mouth, I realise my jaw is locked in place. I clench my teeth together and then slide them sideways across each other, before finally opening my mouth with a grimace of pain.

‘Silver.'

It is only at the sound of my name that I realise someone is holding my hand. My fingers clench tightly around theirs but my neck is too sore to turn.

‘Are you all right?' a girl's voice adds.