Tobias hesitated. “What if I promised to make things better—to make you comfortable? Make your life rich, your suffering disappear?”
“That sounds wonderful. And what if I promised to sprout wings and fly away from here?” She chuckled halfheartedly. “You speak of promises you can’t keep.”
“It won’t always be this way.”
“Won’t it?” She smiled, though it was unconvincing. “It’s been two years.”
Tobias went quiet, his mind warped with thought.
Naomi’s face dropped. “Please don’t pity me.”
“Shut up. You know I don’t.”
“It’s that look in your eye.”
“My eyes look like nothing, just big black saucers. Same as yours.”
“You said you wouldn’t fuss, remember? You promised.”
“The only one fussing is you, you loon.” Tobias leaned back on his hands. “I, on the other hand, am a man of my word. Perfectly calm and content.”
Naomi shook her head, laughing under her breath. “I love you, Toby.”
“Don’t call me Toby.” He kissed his fingers and pressed them against her cheek. “Love you too.”
Tobias plodded back to bed, once again turning toward the wall. Naomi drifted to sleep, moaning occasionally in pain, but he remained awake. Every inch of him was piqued and restless, but his mind was the most alert of all, focused exclusively on one thing.
The Sovereign’s Tournament.
His gut twisted in opposite directions as a single phrase repeated in his thoughts: he wasn’t going to enter. He wasn’t going to enter.
I’m not going to enter.
Tobias tore from his cottage and bounded down the hillside. It was early in the morning—the sun was just rising, and his mother and sister were still asleep—but the town would soon begin to stir. More importantly, the apothecary would open shortly.
Time was of the essence. Tobias needed to head into town, purchase the valerian root, bring it to his sister, then travel all the way to the mill for work—and he had an hour, if that, to do it all. He glanced at the sun, trying to slow its ascent through the sheer will of his thoughts, but surprisingly nothing happened. He broke into a sprint.
The path beneath him turned from dry earth to grey stone; he had reached town. The streets were busier than usual, but he ignored the fuss, hunting for the one spot he had frequented far too often for his liking. Finally the plaster walls were in sight, their slate color dark and dismal, like death. He skidded to a stop in front of the apothecary and tugged at the wooden door.
Locked.
He glanced around aimlessly. The sun was high, beating down on him with its torturous rays, the road behind him packed with people. The apothecary should be open by now. He knocked on the door and waited. Nothing, so he knocked again, this time with a forceful thunk, thunk, thunk, and when that failed, he pounded at the door endlessly, as if his persistence would make any difference.
“It’s closed.”
Tobias stopped and looked over his shoulder. A man stood behind him, his face half-hidden beneath an unkempt, greying beard.
“What do you mean it’s closed?”
“I mean it’s closed,” the man said. “They’re all closed. Everyone’s closed.”
Tobias studied the door in front of him. “Why?”
“Today’s a holiday.”
“Yesterday was a holiday.”
The man shook his head. “No one works today. Sovereign’s orders.”
“For what purpose?”
“The pool. It’s today.”
Tobias’s back shot straight. “For the Sovereign’s Tournament?”
“No one works, so every man of age has the chance to enter if he so chooses.”
“You’re absolutely sure?”
“The door’s locked, isn’t it?” The man went to continue on his way, then stopped short, eyeing Tobias up and down. “The pool is stationed by the Ceres fountain. You know, if you’re looking to enter.”
“Why would I want to enter?”
“Just saying. You look of age, is all.”
Tobias didn’t respond, cursing under his breath, and the man scowled beneath his beard. “Here you are having just learned it’s a holiday, and your face is all sour. You heard me when I said you’re getting the day off, right?” He spat on the ground and ambled on. “I swear, the youth today, no gratitude.”
Tobias paid him no attention and glared pointedly at the locked door. Fucking shit. He trudged back into the thick of town.
The passersby were beaming, their smiling faces obnoxious given Tobias’s mood. Many young men talked amongst themselves, others madly dashed in one direction—to the pool most likely—and Tobias decided then that he hated every one of them. Go to hell. He moved slowly, his steps heavy, weakened by the weight of his own piss-poor attitude.
He reached the dirt road to his village, and as always, standing beside it was the all-too-familiar artist’s shop. Compelled by habit, he stopped in the center of the road and stared at its reddish walls, the thatched awning, and the tiny round window on the second floor. It seemed unfair to have to pass this place each day—a constant reminder of the past, adding insult to injury.
An arm wrapped around his shoulder.
“Tobias!” Milo gave him a squeeze. “I knew I’d find you here pining over your former dwellings. The look on your face, it’s like you’ve got your cock in a vise.”
“Shut up, Milo.” Tobias shoved him aside.
“Where are you headed?”
Tobias grunted. “Home.”
“Wonderful!” Milo took Tobias’s shoulders, steering him back into town. “Perhaps accompany me on a brief detour, yes?”
“To where?”
“The pool.”
“The pool?” Tobias tore himself from Milo’s grasp. “You stubborn ass.”
“Did you think I’d change my mind come morning?”
“I’d hoped you were simply drunk and stupid.”
“Stupid? Possibly. Drunk? Definitely. And yet I’m still entering.”
Tobias growled, grabbing Milo’s wrist. “Come on. I’m taking you home.”
“Piss off.” Milo ripped his arm free. “Just because you’ve severed your balls doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”
“You treat this like a game. It’s life and death.”
“Indeed. My life. This is my choice.”
“I won’t send you off to die.”
“Then send me off to win!”
“Oh, for God’s sake—”
“The decision is made,” Milo said. “I’m going to the pool. You can’t stop me.” He crossed his arms and held his chin high. “Now, you can either see me on my way, or we can say goodbye here.”