Young Immortals

Nine: Flashback #1

Nearly all of the Green Court has arrived to watch the early rounds of the tournament, crowding the amphitheater in droves. Before the fighting begins, a group of jesters parades across the arena, each using wooden sticks to hoist a paper machete sculpture over their heads, creating a crude version of the beast of the woods. 

Another troop of jesters ride ponies and pretend to slay the beast like knights, drawing wild cheers each time their wooden swords strike the beast. And some aren't just cheering. Some scream from the pits of their lungs, bloodthirsty in their enthusiasm.

I climb past their stands the quickest. For Aerwyna's sake, I hope Eldor and his search parties find the beast soon. Even a blind man can see that sculptures and jesters will not satiate the common folk much longer.

After climbing over a hundred rows, I reach the royal box, where the usual mix of highborn friends and status-vultures gather around Princess Aerwyna and Prince Eldor. While his brothers compete in the tournament, Eldor oversees the competition and will eventually crown the winner. 

It is one of the most monumental occasions for every ambitious male in the kingdom. Past victors have gone on to claim permanent spots in court, prestiges titles, and marry into nobility.

Suddenly, the group shifts, revealing an unprecedented guest. At first, I mistake him for a hobgoblin, for his curved spine put him at a foot below everyone else, and his skin folded over itself like wet leather, but then I see the crown fixed to his head. 

The king. 

Illness had taken a toll on his body, finally allowing the thousands of years he had lived catch up with him, but the part I paid attention to most was his ring finger.

I tilt my head from side to side and blink several times, but no matter how I adjust my vision, the sunlight bounces off his finger instead of dispersing, not at all how skin texture usually reacts to light. I am no doctor, but I know light composition, and I can say with absolute certainty that the king wears a prosthetic. 

A beautifully crafted, nearly perfect prosthetic, but a prosthetic all the same. The king's health is declining fast indeed.

"Isobel!" Aerwyna sweeps across the box and grabs my chin, titling my face from side to side, but as long as the sun does not melt the pain I applied to my face, my complexion will look healthy as ever. "Are you still tired? I do not want to ask too much of you."

"Ask away. I am feeling better than ever."

"Well, if you're sure it is not too much, then a couple action poses of Devlin, and Silas' finally swing before he wins the tournament."

My smile stiffens. "Is that a touch hasty? The tournament has not even begun."

"Not at all. I am not one for betting, but I would put every coin to my name that he will emerge victorious."

Suddenly, trumpets blare, signalling the start of the first rounds of duels. Everyone flocks to the edge of the royal box, peering over the edge for a better view of the fighters. Below us, all the fighters empty from the floor of the amphitheater but two – a knight and prince Devlin. They slowly circle each other, their armour glinting under the afternoon sun.

"Here ye, here ye!" an announcer shouts. "On our right, we have Sir Elfricc Alaire, knight of House Ballard! On our left, we have prince Devlin, second in line to the throne, noble and great protector of the crown. For those who do not know, he earned that face scar by throwing himself in front of a violent attack on our Crown Prince, using his own body as a shield!"

Polite applause follow the knight's name. Roars follow Devlin's, with prince Eldor standing on his feet, leading the amphitheater to do the same... so much for impartial judging...