Young Writers Society

“It’s not running from my problems, always, and also it usually works out for me.” She downed the second shot and shook out her short, carnation curls. “You know I don’t shy from a fight.” She wiggled her fingers after she set the shot glass back down in front of Pan. “I’ll tackle them as they come as I need to.”

“I’m not giving you any more,” they said, pushing her glass to the side. “Nobody could ever call you a coward, Celeste, that’s not what I meant. I just mean that maybe you want to stop sprinting everywhere and take a moment to breath.”

She snatched their half-full shot glass and threw it back. Pan sighed loudly as she grinned at them, handing back their glass. “But I like sprinting.” She leaned on the counter and exhaled, pleasantly warmed with the edges of her mind softening. “I’m okay. I am. Promise. I’ll…explain it when I figure out how, yeah? It’s fucking bonkers.”

They smiled, quiet. Gentle. “I trust you,” they said. They set the bottle under the counter, out of sight, and pushed their glass aside next to hers. “Even though sometimes, of the two of us, I think you’ll be arrested first.”

She snorted. “I’m not the one helping to run an illegal, underground fighting club dedicated to the only goddess banned in Esparona.”

“But you are the one who can’t resist something shiny if someone’s left it out on a table. And who has a problem with authority. I seem to remember one time having to beg one of the Peacemakers that you were drunk and too rowdy when you nearly cold-cocked him.”

Nadia had also seen the fountain. It had not been adorned in anymore lights that the lanterns that were already built in, woven with protective and proofing charms to stop them from being doused, and turned silver and blue so as to highlight all the shades of the carven statue and the water. It had been lined with silks along its lip, as well as rings of blue and white roses, stems and thorns painted silver.

It was a close competitor to the ballroom, which had been strung up with the same dazzling lights. Billowing silks wrapped around the columns and hung from the ceiling, all freshly dyed and quivering gently where they hung. Carpets of incredible handiwork and art, depicting great scenes from history and legend; the Labyrinth of Myst and the treasure it was said to contain, the voyage of the explorer Keteus with the sextant and blessing of Vortex, the conflict between Spectra and the infamous occultist, Pylia, who had tried to turn over every grave across the lands until death was only a passing joke and time had been shattered so finely that the pieces could not be put back together. There were more, so many more that the weavers and dyers and other craftsmen of Esparona had all put in the work for, to create these beautiful stretches of carpeting that blanketed the raised dais surrounding the dance floor, which had been polished and gleaming, waiting for the mass of Esparona to come and enjoy its festivities.

She’d wasted a lot of coin she’d been spending on it but felt as though she was allowed to splurge for this. And she wanted to look the part that she aimed for. While she certainly wasn’t the richest dressed—there was some truly ostentatious works here—she thought she cut a striking enough figure. Especially with how kind her tailor had been to model her design after pieces of the Autumn Lady.

Celeste was proud of it. And there was a mouse resting under one of the leaves on her shoulder that had been accompanying her since her dad had sent her off. She supposed to it could be some lonely Alchemist who was willing to get their excitement where they could, but mice were a favourite of her Autumn Lady. She was pretty sure she’d received a blessing, an approval.

A mouse of approval, if you will.

She reached up. “I think you’ve got something in your feathers.” Celeste tugged the threads of her magic and, as her fingertips brushed against the woman’s mask, she conjured sweet alyssum. She pulled her hands back and held it out as an offering. “There.”

The flower was taken from her delicately, turned over between slender fingers adorned with simple bands of silver, long nails painted black and sharpened to a point, like claws. “It’s very beautiful. What kind of flower is it?”

“Sweet alyssum,” Celeste said. “They grow when the leaves fall. They’re good at withstanding the cold.”

The woman raised the flower to her face and inhaled its ambrosial scent. “Then perhaps I should call you Alyssum.”

Celeste grinned, letting her fangs poke her bottom lip. “Perhaps you should. And maybe I’ll call you Lady Dove.”

“I don’t—” she rolled the flower between her fingers again, before she nodded slowly. “It would be more accurate to call me Shrike.”

“Then Shrike it is,” Celeste said. She reached gently and cautiously for Shrike’s hand, still holding the flower, allowing her give to retract it. When she didn’t, Celeste bent forward and pressed a kiss to her knuckles. “It’s my pleasure to make your sort-of acquaintance.”

She beamed. “I thought you said you weren’t coming?”

Pan’s mouth curled into an easy smile. “And miss one of your big nights?” For a moment, their lips twitched, almost as though they meant to frown. They opened their mouth, hesitated. Then shut it again, sighed, and shook their head. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

She raised an eyebrow, even though they could see it. “Pan, is something wrong?”

They hesitated again. Shook their head. They gave her shoulder a squeeze and smiled again, dissipating some of the tension coiling in her stomach. “Nothing. I’m sorry I missed the first dance, though. I would have loved to dance with you.”

“Ugh, I know. You missed out.”

Thankfully, Maia shrugged, and went back to her food, distracted as her suitor, Damastor, murmured something in her ear. Under her mask, her eyes crinkled as she giggled quietly, Damastor smiling down at her like she’d hung the moon.

This is why you’re doing this. She clung to the thought as she sunk into the familiarity of her family’s antics and the warmth that blossomed in her chest as dinner progressed. This is why it’s worth it.

It’s only one year.

Alyssum’s lips quirked—they were painted a shimmering bronze under her crimson veil, with just the hint of red so that it almost looked as though blood had stained her mouth at some point during the night. It added to the wildness, the decorated antlers and the pointed fangs and the red of her lips. She looked like she could tear anyone in the room apart and still be beautiful, grinning like a creature that had crawled from the depths of the Abyss and had played its tricks upon foolish, naïve humans.

She allowed herself, privately, a thrill at that. There was something about such untamed beauty. It was probably bad for her.

The figure nodded and turned again, marching away. “Please, come with me. It is tradition for all the contestants to be presented before Nikias first, before they are presented to the public of Esparona. My name is Ctimene. I’m going to be offering you aid in presenting you as the Legacy Proving commences. I’ll manage the behind the scenes work, and you offer me what you have on things such as presentation, both in your playing and yourself, and we’ll find the perfect ground that puts your best foot forward.” She turned over her shoulder, giving Celeste a hint of a smirk. She looked like she could probably kick in someone’s teeth, and her youthful beauty might compel them to apologise to her. “From now on, I’m dedicated to helping you win. Any questions?”

“No.” Nikias stood and began to descend the stairs leisurely, stepping like a cat. His skin seemed to shift as he moved through the glow of the braziers, as though he were a walking mural that couldn’t settle on what canvas to display. Otherwise, he looked human, and if she wasn’t looking at him with the knowledge he was a child of a god, she wouldn’t believe it. “What brings you to compete in the Legacy Proving, Celeste? Why should you be a champion of this city?”

She ignored the whispers of everyone who doubted her nagging at her mind, clawing for attention and the chance to trip her tongue. “Because I’ve got the skill for it, because I think the city needs a new voice who isn’t the same washed up family who has been running it for decades, and because I’ve been asked to.”

Nikias stopped on the step up from hers and tilted his head, looking down upon her without craning his neck or bending his spine. “Three answers for two questions.”

“I’m an overachiever.”

Mesaulius glanced over his shoulder, where he stood at the entrance to her temporary chambers. His eyes were a warm brown that, when looking upon someone else, grew very gentle and kind. He was clearly trying to exude the calmness she lacked, and she appreciated it more greatly than she knew how to put into words.

“That’s what the announcement ceremony is for,” he said. He offered her a side smile. “It will happen shortly. There’s no need to get anxious, ma’am.”

She gritted her teeth, but then forced herself to loosen her jaw and exhale deeply. “Yes, I know. Thank you, Mesaulius. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t work myself up so.” She shut her eyes and focused on the steady and familiar pattern of her breathing. She didn’t even know why she was so antsy. She had no reason to be. You’ve done this a thousand times. This is just another big, blown over social event.

“It’s all right,” Mesaulius said. “There’s a lot going on. Anyone in their right mind will be worked up right now, miss, even I am.” He chuckled. “But you’ll be fine. You have the respect of many, and I know that you’ll do just swell.”

It was as he said this that Nadia caught sight of a golden mask, draping a crimson veil that blocked the wearer’s dark-painted lips, and antlers draped in baubles and laces and tiny, creeping flowers. Her chest went tight.

Alyssum was competing. Against Nadia. In the music division.

She watched as Alyssum’s handler led her out onto the stage. Paced in front as Alyssum began to slowly trail around the stage, leaving a trail of richly coloured autumn leaves and berries and flowers in her wake. Her handler sung her praises, told of her accomplishments of her magic and accomplishments of her music. On her violin.

“Meet your new champion, my friends. Celeste!”

The audience’s cheers drowned out the heartbeat thundering in Nadia’s ears. Celeste. If by any other means she could have learned her name.

And she was the other violinist.

Here, on the stage, even with Mesaulius taking her hand and raising it into the air like she was some heroic soldier come home from a victorious war, she was alone. This was her trial to come, not the people’s, not Mesaulius’, not her family’s.

Was this how her father had felt? Was this how her grandmother had felt? Was this what everyone felt? So isolated, even with nearly the whole of Esparona rising in stands before them? She had never been on the sea, but she imagined standing on a lonesome island, with ships surrounding her and calling to her without ever coming close, letting her stay stranded of their own volition, but enjoying the entertainment her presence provided to them.

“Why the runners-up?” he asked. “Why not the champions? It’s not like the gods to not want to best for themselves if they think it’s of use to them.”

She noted, but discarded the hint of disdain in his tone. It was his business, whatever issue he took up with the almighty dicks sitting somewhere up in the clouds or whatever. “It’s generosity. You know, ‘you can keep the best ones that we’ve made for you for yourselves so you tiny little chickens don’t run around without your heads and you have some guidance, but we still need something’.”

“‘Tiny little chickens’?”

She sat up and scooped up the violin—easier to think of it like that as opposed to thinking about it as a cursed prince—by the neck. “I don’t know, seems like something the gods would call us, isn’t it? We’re just gnats to them.”

And she did. She paced the arena as she did, letting tiny currents of magic appear in the form of blossoms and coloured leaves and sweet-smelling berries. She dissolved them too—perish the thought of littering the beautiful arena floor—and leaned in time with each stroke of her bow, each note she pulled free from the golden violin. At one point, she was aware she had started—unintentionally—glowing orange, the way a sunset did over the city when the horizon began to split it in half to swallow.

She moved in time, not quite a dance but not unlike one, letting the music carry her steps lightly around the pit. She let herself get absorbed into the piece—she had been writing this thing for years, and to hear it now, not just in the near-solitude of her own home, but in front of nearly the whole of Esparona, filled up her spirit with insurmountable joy. It was the first song she had written, finished, and performed, since her mum died.

The Prince of Misalár going missing? That was near akin to Nikias going missing, both politically and semantically. Not only did you have to get past their import, you had to bring down a demigod, and that was no simple feat. And from what she had heard of Aristaeus, he was a powerful man.

“I pray that you find him,” she said quietly. Asterion glanced to her, eyes golden and sharp like a hawk’s. He dipped his head, holding her gaze for an uncomfortable amount of time.

“I appreciate that, my lady,” Asterion said. “It is an ill omen, certainly.”

He snorted. “To you, maybe.” For a moment, he considered, stuffing his hands into some hidden pockets in his tunics. “I could really chat you up to Nadia, if you want. She’d probably listen to me, and she’s a romantic, even if she’d never admit it.”
Celeste scowled. “I don’t want to get involved with Nadia.”

“Really? You were all about her during the ball.”

“Before I knew anything about her. I’m literally trying to beat her in a competition that determines the fate of not only my life, but the city.” The hallways up here let in more light, still filled with the golden sconces but with the couple of opened doorways that let in the sunlight like water.

Angelos waved a hand dismissively. “Isn’t that some kind of novel plot?”

“Yeah, a stupid one.”

“Tes,” Pan said, getting to her first. “I didn’t realise you were coming today.” They wrapped her in a sweaty hug, which she wrinkled her nose at.

“Everyone keeps saying that.” She pushed them affectionately away. “You smell terrible.”

They held out their hands in a sort of what are you going to do about it gesture. “I’ll bathe with rosewater and oils before tomorrow. I’ll be there, by the way.”

“Celeste,” Vassenia said, now standing beside them. Towering beside them, more like it. Vassenia was a tall woman with broad shoulders and a stern look branded on her face. “Pan didn’t tell me that you were planning on stopping by.” She sent Pan an indecipherable look.

Celeste frowned. “You and everyone else. I’m starting to think I’m not wanted around.”