Young Writers Society

As she approached, Alkmaion hopped to his feet and met her halfway for a hug. Without any permission, he ducked out of the hug and lifted her up like a distressed maiden as she squawked. With some effort—she was short, but not that small, and she’d be offended if he hadn’t exerted himself—he lifted her partially into the air. “Soon to be our new councilwoman!” he shouted.

A cheer rose, people holding up their glasses and a few whistling. Celeste didn’t squirm only so that Alk didn’t dropped her. “Alkmaion!” she cried, indignant.

“To our Musician, Caelestis!” Hylas called, sending a ripple of her name through the crowd. As Alk gently lowered her to the ground, Hylas raised his glass towards her with a smile. “A voice toe everyone. You’re going to do great things, we can all feel it.”
She brushed herself off and turned to sock Alk in his solid mass of muscled shoulder. He grunted. She shook out her hand. “I haven’t even won yet.”

“Sure, but you will,” Pan said, throwing an arm around her.

Everything was going too fast, and she was only in the second round. Everything was flying right by her, she could end up leading the city by happenstance, or by influence, and she would never get a chance to catch her breath. She was running a race that didn’t have a foreseeable end, and she was terrified.

She was no leader. She was a good enough musician, she supposed, but that didn’t make her capable of leading a whole city, and having sway over major decisions that could raise Esparona or raze Esparona.

Nadia had fallen in love with music as a child. The second person she’d ever crushed hard for had played a ballad for a legendary king and a bright concerto and that was all it had taken. Music opened gateways for her that even talking never had. To hear some play, or to let someone else hear her play, felt like an invitation to the soul.

Here, in the Legacy Proving, it felt like an invitation to rip hers apart.

Her palms had, thankfully, stopped bleeding, by the time the twenty-ninth musician had taken their seat. The arena fell silent, and Nadia had to remind herself to breathe. Inhale, exhale. Don’t falter, Dia, you’ll break your ankles and you’ll never dance again.

However, in the corner of the room across from her, a sheathed and huge sword rested, tip pointing to the floor. Her stomach clenched and she stepped back instinctively. She had never seen a sword before, and certainly never one that was probably as tall, if not taller, than Angelos. The hilt was bejewelled, like a ceremonial dagger, and it glittered in the wink of sunlight that touched it.

“Ah.” She flinched as Asterion spoke, having completely forgotten her was there. He moved across the room, movements a little more stilted, and grabbed the sword. He dropped it beside his bed and slid it under the frame, out of sight. “I find myself apologising again, My Lady, and you’ve only been here a few minutes.”

She felt like she’d been caught doing something she ought not to have been doing. She forced herself to smile, though it felt like someone was pushing the sides of her mouth apart, stretching her skin across her teeth and cheekbones. “It’s quite all right. I’m unused to such…instruments.”

She blinked. “Every Proving is different. Nikias often changes rounds in the divisions on a whim, and some are designated to his choice already.”

He hummed, not looking at her. The expression he wore was something of a painter first looking upon a canvas. “I saw the walls of historical art pieces dedicated to memorable events that happened during the Proving’s.” He met her gaze then, his narrowing slightly. “When was the last time a new instalment was added?”

Nadia frowned, opening her mouth, shutting it again. She sipped her tea, which was just hot enough to burn her tongue. “I can’t say that I remember.”

Asterion nodded and smiled. “Perhaps this is the year that the wall will be expanded upon.”

"I have standards," Celeste said, shoving his mug back towards him. "Just because they’re not very high doesn’t mean they’re non-existent."

Alk grinned. "It’s way more fun if you don’t."

Pan finally allowed her another drink, but left to go watch the bartender pour it like some hovering, eagle mum. She exchanged kicks with Alk under the table, and tried to snuff her snickers whenever someone passed and gave them an odd look. She’d be happy to get into a scuffle with him right now, at least get the blood pumping, if only it meant that they wouldn’t be thrown in prison and the Legacy Proving nothing more than a wasted chance, turned to ash on the wind.

Aunt Helena hummed, taking a thoughtful chew of her own baklava. "She certainly has a taste for the dramatic. Hopefully she’ll find herself leaving the tournament in one of the upcoming rounds. She’s from the outer rings of the city and she’s a worker in an enchanter’s factory. She’s not had a sliver of political or leadership experience."

Nadia took one of the cups of steaming tea and sipped it, letting the burning sensation drown out any stupid comments she could respond with. She let the honey wash it down, soothing the pain of the heat, and set it back on the saucer delicately. All she could think about was Celeste crouching next to her in the dark alley when she’d panicked after the second round, the overwhelming pressure of what she was doing hitting her like a battering ram. The callouses of Celeste’s hand as she had helped Nadia up. "If she doesn’t have the skill, Nikias wouldn’t let her advance, but even you have to admit that she has the talent to keep her going. I’ll be hard-pressed to win against competition like that." She was aware of Celeste’s apparent lack of political knowledge, but she hadn’t asked, and casual gossip couldn’t show for someone’s true accolades. What Celeste did or didn’t know was unknown to her. And besides, the Legacy Proving wasn’t about finding the best politicians, or it would be a very different competition. Celeste would get the training she needed if she won. "There is some very fierce competition this round."

"What heresy is this, Nadia?" Lagos interjected, eyes sharp. "The gods protect us. The Crafter himself promised that none shall touch Esparona while he watches over it, and those who do shall be smote down or cursed, to live either no life or a wretched one."

"While he watches over it," she repeated. "Lagos, when is the last time The Crafter himself attended Esparona? He’s a god, with more than one city. Our guardian angels can’t be watching us all the time."

Aunt Helen leaned forward now, a frown distorting her features. "And what do you suggest? We train warriors?" She took on a pale shade, her smooth, dark skin going a bit sickly. "You want barbarians like your gladiator consort?"

Nadia sighed. She hated talking about her own opinions or what she thought politics in the city. "No, of course not, and I’m not courting Asterion. The last thing I would want is violence to break through Esparona’s walls. I was answering Kyra’s question about Misalár and my own, unfounded fears."

"I’m not sure. I have this feeling that he wouldn’t be looking for me, but I…I can’t remember why." Aristaeus grunted. "I hate this. Do you realise how frustrating it is to know something happened, to know something is looming on the horizon that could mark disaster for your people, your home, and not being able to remember what or why? I only remember pieces. Some things will spark something, but it’s not a full memory. A moment of clarity, but as soon as I know it’s there, it’s gone. It’s vicious."
She sucked in a deep breath. The air smelled like cinnamon; the baker down the street was probably baking with his windows open. "I’m not curse-breaker, but there’s got to be some loop hole. Isn’t that a thing? I don’t know anything about curses. Don’t you have to put in a back door of sorts? For some…important reason?"

"I don’t know how curses work," Aristaeus said. "I could ask—" A pause. Then, softly, "Fuck."

"What? You could ask who?"

"I can’t remember. Someone important, someone who would know these things. Someone smart. They’ve been dancing on the edge of my mind since you woke me up. I know they’re there, I know they have something to do with it. There’s someone missing in my memories, blurred, more so than anything else. I’ve been trying to remember them, but it hurts to. I don’t know why. Maybe they’re the key to solving this."

"But you don’t know anything about them."

Aristaeus sighed.