Young Immortals

Thirteen: Injury

From the royal box, I squint down at the floor of the amphitheater as Silas and his opponent circle each other, scowling because I know who will win. While Devlin was quickly cut from the tournament, Silas rose through the rounds, reaching the semi-finals without a hitch. 

When I do not have to draw him for Aerwyna, I watch him as little as possible but can't do much to escape the pair of noble ladies sitting in front of me, who cannot go five seconds without bringing him up.

"Is he even trying?" the first muses. "I do hope the other finalist will at least make him break a sweat."

"It would be only fair, after what he did to his poor mother. It wouldn't surprise me if he gave her a heart attack."

The first snickers. "Who do you suppose he'll pick now that he is free of her oversight?"

"Someone of comparable status. He doesn't have much respect for the sycophants that throw themselves at his feet."

The first snorts. "You make him sound so studious."

"Is he not?" Aerwyna cut in, her voice ice cold.

The ladies freeze, realising they have offended the princess, and practically fall over themselves to backtrack. I keep my eyes pinned on my sketch, trying not to wince. I know next to nothing about politics, but even I understand that Aerwyna must shore up support from the nobles before she and Eldor ascend the throne since the general public made up their minds about her a long time ago. 

Aerwyna is uncommonly beautiful, even among a species famous for being beautiful, and uncommonly beautiful women tend to spark extreme reactions from the public. If she played her hand right, she could have been adored, but because of her cold personality, she is more often than not read as a dispassionate narcissist.

I have a working theory that Aerwyna was naturally reserved to begin with, but her sister's death made her truly unknowable. In public, she acts like a stranger to joy – never smiling, sociable, or talkative. Even her ladies-in-waiting, who should be her best friends and closest confidants, are treated with the same stiflingly polite diplomacy she regards everyone else, no matter their status. 

Besides the Vanguards, I am her closest friend – a fact that always astounded me, until I heard that her late little sister had a free-spirited, fanciful personality, and dreams of becoming a singer. Then I realised that I am not really Aerwyna's friend. I am a substitute for a beloved sister, a crutch she uses to hobble through her grief. 

Not that I am in any position to complain. So long as Aerwyna keeps me away from Madame, she can use me as a pot to piss in for all I care.

Lately, working under Madame's command has been a special kind of foul. Each day the identity of the copper that scorned her daughter eludes her, her mood worsens. Madame is the type to never show her anger. 

She lets the coppers feel it instead – in longer work hours, smaller meals, earlier wake-up calls, and more tedious jobs. Several times, I consider speaking up and revealing myself, and several times, my fear overpowers my better nature, and I bite my tongue. 

It has gotten so bad that I've started wearing Silas' ring every, in addition to the iron and charms. I may be making a deal with the devil, but the devil has nothing on madame.

Suddenly, the crowds below burst into cheers. I look up just in time for Silas to finish his swing, and his opponent to fall face first into the dirt. 

"Prince Silas secures his place in the finals!" a knight shouts. "One week from today, he will fight –"

I turn away, not caring to hear the rest.