“It’s a deathtrap.”
“What man doesn’t crave a hero’s death?”
Tobias sighed. “God, I can’t believe you’re saying this…”
“It’s the greatest of honors!” Milo’s hazel eyes were bright, lit with enthusiasm. “Most men never have the opportunity, but we do. We’re of age. We’re both strong, respectable young men—”
“Wait, we?” Tobias wrinkled his nose. “Don’t drag me into this.”
“You’re telling me you haven’t even considered it?”
Tobias hesitated. “No. Never.”
“Your tone betrays your words.”
“It’s senseless.”
“It’s profitable.”
“Are the profits worth your life?”
“Maybe they are.” Milo sat tall, his chin high. “I labor every day. I sweat and bleed for my family, and still we have nothing. And your family hasn’t much more.”
“You’ve gone mad.”
“Twenty thousand coin. That’s how much each of the competitors’ families received during the last tournament. Twenty. Thousand. Can you imagine? That’s a lifetime of laboring in one lump sum. More than enough to care for your mother, your sister—”
“Stop looking at my sister.”
“The allowance will be much greater this go of it. Everyone says so.” Milo’s eyes grew larger as he spoke. “No one knows what The Savior looks like or how She fares. Rumor has it the Sovereign fears no one will compete—that they’ll assume She’s a troll.” He stopped short. “Good God, what if She is a troll?”
“Milo,” Tobias groaned.
“Think of the possibilities. If you win, you stand as Champion. A legend—no, a God. For fuck’s sake, you marry The Savior—”
“I don’t care about The Savior.”
“You could leave the fields, do what you love. Be an artist again. And with twenty thousand coin, you could fix your sister—”
“She can’t be fixed,” Tobias spat. “She’s not a broken doll. She’s paralyzed.” He turned away, grabbing the flask and taking a swig. “She can be made comfortable, but she’ll never be the same.”
“Then make her comfortable. Enter with me.”
Tobias looked Milo in the eye. “Men like us don’t win the tournament. We die first.”
“I would die for the chance to be Champion. And I would die for a chance to win The Savior. To meet The Savior.”
“You’re an idealist and an ass.”
“I’m entering.” Milo snatched up his flask and stood. “You can join me, or you can stay behind. But I’m entering.”
Without another word, he turned on his heel and tromped away.
Tobias grumbled to himself, tearing at the grass and cursing Milo’s stupidity. Again, he stared out at the far-off fortress, his mind flooded with the very thoughts he fought to repress. Within days, fools like Milo would clamber to enter the Sovereign’s Tournament, hungry for the title of Champion, for the Sovereign’s throne and The Savior’s hand. And while he hadn’t a clue of the means, he was certain of one thing: men would die.
But he wouldn’t be one of them, because he wasn’t going to enter.
Tobias stood and dusted the flecks of grass from the seat of his pants. He took one last look at the faraway fortress—the palace was still shining brightly—then headed back to his cottage, making his way inside as quietly as possible.
Tortured groans filled the room. Naomi was curled in her bed, her face buried in her pillow, and her mother sat at her side kneading her exposed back.
“What is it?” Tobias raced to the bedside. “Is it spasms?”
“Shocks.” His mother leaned on Naomi’s back, digging her knuckles into the muscle. “I fear it’s my fault. She was too active today. I should’ve made her rest—”
“No.” Naomi tore her tear-streaked face from her pillow. “I hate rest. All I do is rest.”
Tobias squared his shoulders. “I’ll go to the apothecary.”
“Closed at this hour,” his mother said. “You know this.”
“Then I’ll take over.”
“Go to sleep.”
“But—”
“Go.” His mother’s gaze became stern. “You’ve labored all day. You’ll do the same tomorrow. You need your rest.”
Tobias stared down at his sister, her entire body jerking with each shock. He balled his hands into fists. “I’ll go to the apothecary. First thing in the morning.”
Reluctantly, he made his way to bed, curling toward the wall and feigning sleep. He couldn’t escape his sister’s suffering, the single most unbearable feeling he had ever known. And there was nothing he could do about it.
The Sovereign’s Tournament. The fortress appeared in his vision, and he shook it from his thoughts.
Hours passed. Naomi thrashed and cried while their mother rubbed her back, and all the while Tobias listened, his jaw tight, his insides clenched. Finally his sister’s writhing turned into the occasional flinch, and their mother took to her bed, falling asleep with ease. Tobias waited for her gentle snoring before turning toward his sister, who was already staring at him, her cheeks still wet with tears.
“How are you feeling?” he whispered.
She forced a slight smile. “Better.”
“But not well.”
“I can’t remember the last time I felt well.”
Tobias glanced at their mother—her eyes were closed, her body rising and falling with each snore—then tiptoed out of bed, taking a seat on the floor beside his sister’s low-set mattress. “I’m going to the apothecary tomorrow. I’ll get you some valerian root.”
“Don’t bother,” she grumbled. “It does nothing but put me to sleep.”
“Would you rather be sleeping or suffering?”
“I’d rather be dead.”
Tobias faltered. “You don’t mean that.”
Naomi was quiet, staring off at something—perhaps at nothing at all.
“Do you ever wonder why it is that Father died in that accident, and I lived?”
Tobias went rigid. “I try not to think about the accident.”
“I think about it all the time. I wonder…why couldn’t I have died with him?”
“That’s an easy question to answer. You’re needed here. To annoy me with your endless badgering. To poison me with your terrible cooking.” He tilted his head, trying to make his way back into her line of sight. “It’s clear, really. You’re alive because I need you.”
Naomi’s gaze flitted back to his, but she didn’t respond.
“How does it feel? The shocks.”
“Like a fiery blade piercing through me, down to the bone. They lurch me awake. They jolt me.” Her eyes glistened. “It doesn’t seem fair. I feel so much nothing in my legs. And when the nothing is replaced with something, it’s pain.”