Cedric had just remembered to re-treat his eyes with Adrian's formula and tuck the vial back into his left shoe when his cell door abruptly swung open.
An armored guard, one of the two that'd followed the champions into the atrium, stood at the threshold with Lady Luminarum beside him.
"It's time, Golden Heart," she said. An anticipatory smile fought to break through her solemn expression.
The past few hours had been monotonous, with only the intermittent roaring of the crowds outside to break up the tedium. Cedric had wept until his spirits were as spent as an old waterskin, then passed the rest of his time sprawled across the marble slab of his bed, numb and empty. Whatever excitement he'd previously found in his situation had definitively died upon Candra's final words to him.
"Who is my opponent?" Cedric said tonelessly.
"The Serpent, a commoner."
"Did they choose that title, or was it thrust upon them as well?"
"You could ask her yourself. Come, now."
The three of them returned to the atrium and took the corridor on the left, which housed a stairway identical to the one that the champions had previously descended from. This corridor opened out to a wide chamber and an iron portcullis set in the left wall. Through the gaps of the metallic grid, Cedric saw an oval arena blanketed with sand, lit blindingly white by the overhead sun. Scores of spectators occupied the seating above and around, rippling like a mass of colorful insects.
Cedric still ached from the bruises that Sayid had inflicted, and his thigh throbbed with the echoes of Aja's spearhead. Coupled with the bleak revelation of his inevitable death, Cedric's journey could very well end within the next few minutes, if he wasn't careful.
And what of it? Whether I fail or succeed, I won't live to see the outcome…
For one mad, glorious moment, Cedric imagined turning around and fleeing up the stairway, bursting through the double doors and unfurling his wings in full view of everyone, circling the encampments by the riverbank until he found Adrian and scooped him up without even bothering to land. They'd find that idyllic grove again and spend the kingdom's final days alone with each other, cherishing whatever scraps of joy they still could.
But the dream dissipated as swiftly as reason and sense replaced it. Cedric wouldn't abandon his convictions; Candra needn't have feared telling him the truth.
I have a choice, and this is what I've chosen. I am here because I want to be.
Cedric found his shoulders squared and his back straightened.
*
Raucous cheers greeted Cedric's emergence into the massive arena. He blinked as his eyes adjusted to the late-morning sun and the figure of his opponent, who'd entered from an entrance opposite him, sharpened into focus.
The Serpent, as it turned out, was the dark-skinned woman with the braided hair. Apprehension coiled in Cedric's belly; her speed rivaled his own, and her agility most certainly surpassed his.
They walked toward each other until a mere twenty paces stretched between them. As instructed by Lady Luminarum, they were not permitted to engage until after the strike of the Champion's Bell.
"May I have your name?" Cedric called.
"Zoriah, of the Burning Plains," she said in brassy tones. "And you are Cedric, the Golden Heart."
"Did you choose the Serpent as your title?"
Her wide, generous mouth quirked at the corner. "Of course. No self-respecting warrior goes without a name with which to send their enemies scattering."
A sonorous crystalline peal tore through the air, and the cheers doubled in their feverish ardor. Zoriah's stance changed subtly, but noticeably: bent knees, head lowered between rounded shoulders.
She surged forward, closing the distance between them in a few breathless seconds. She jabbed at Cedric's upper belly with rigid fingers, driving the air from his lungs, then swept his legs out from under him. Cedric landed on his back with a bone-jarring thump, reawakening the previous day's bruises in a unified howl of protest.
He quickly rolled to the side, and Zoriah's plummeting foot collided with the sand instead of his chest. He scrabbled ungracefully to his feet.
Zoriah prowled for her next opening. She was just as formidable as Cedric had feared, no less dangerous for her lack of weapons. Coarse sand coated the back of his neck, which had gone clammy.
Cedric steeled himself and lunged, but she twisted out of his reach and to his side. A half-breath later, the side of his face was planted firmly into the sand, a knee between his shoulder blades, and his right arm stretched painfully behind him.
Zoriah yanked his arm upwards like a lever, and the sharp, pulsing pain in his shoulder intensified. Cedric hissed.
"I give my opponents two chances to surrender. This is the first," she said, her crisp voice clear above the cacophony of the crowds.
Cedric puffed in humorless laughter, then winced when she pulled up another few degrees. "No, thanks."
After a moment of consideration, Zoriah heaved, hard, and Cedric's shoulder exploded with the agony of a hundred white-hot daggers.
Cedric choked off a volcanic scream erupting like lava from his throat. He bucked hard, and the knee in his back lifted as Zoriah's balance faltered. He rolled again, over his good shoulder, and she was forced to dismount before he could trap her underneath him.
Zoriah kept her distance as Cedric struggled once more to his feet. His right arm hung useless at his side, flaring anew with every minor jolt. His entire torso pulsed with pain from Sayid's bruises. He was now sweating in earnest, more from the pain than the comparatively gentle sunlight overhead.
"Does the Golden Heart require a respite?" Zoriah said.
"We can do that?" Cedric said shakily. It was a question that betrayed weakness and ignorance, but he no longer cared.
She remained solemn. "If we both agree upon it."
He nodded, a little too eagerly, and the Serpent sat cross-legged on the ground. She closed her eyes and began to meditate.
Cedric fell heavily to his knees. He forced his ragged breathing into a calmer rhythm, though most of his attention was monopolized by the furious clash of flesh and bone in his twisted shoulder.
Zoriah was serene and straight-backed, and could have been a statue if not for the gentle rise and fall of her breath. But if Cedric were to break the truce and attempt a cowardly surprise attack, she'd no doubt handle him as effectively as if she were poised and ready.
He wracked his pain-addled mind as the seconds ticked by amidst an increasingly impatient crowd. Surely there was some weakness or limitation to exploit, some flaw in the Serpent's methods. She was not particularly strong, but what use would Cedric's greater strength serve if he couldn't get hold of her?
Zoriah would allow him one more chance to surrender before she went for the kill.
Fruit and other detritus began to rain down into the arena, accompanied by jeers and hoots. The many-faced beast named Crystallinus hungered for bloody spectacle, and abhorred the slightest lapse in its perpetual stream of gratification.
At the far end of the oval arena stood a vertical section of tapered wall bisecting the many levels of seating. Atop the wall, presiding above all others, sat what could only be Asha, the Red King. From Cedric's perspective he was little larger than an insect, yet a shiver nonetheless wracked his body at the thought of his soon-to-be adversary watching his every move. At least he wasn't throwing fruit.
Zoriah's eyes opened. "The crowd awaits, young one."
He gritted his teeth and nodded. "I'm ready."
She did not sprint forward this time, simply watched and prowled. Cedric gave her what she was waiting for.
He advanced toward her and swiped in a deliberately transparent attack; as expected, she neatly dodged and twisted around him. She restrained his good arm behind his back and grasped his jaw in her other hand.
Her grip was dry and callused on Cedric's damp, fevered skin.
"Second and final chance," she murmured in his ear. "Would this be a worthy end to your tale, Golden Heart?"
Cedric braced himself, then jumped.
He shot up about seven feet, enough to surprise Zoriah but not enough to definitively betray his identity to the thousands watching. Her threatening grip quickly deteriorated to an instinctual cling for dear life.
Cedric landed hard, dislodging her hold, and abruptly pitched forward at the waist. Zoriah toppled over his back and onto her own. He quickly scrambled on top of her, kicking up a sweep of sand, and pinned down her upper arms with a bruising grip.
They looked at each other as the crowd roared anew. Zoriah's chest heaved, but her expression was strangely serene.
"I yield," she said.
Cedric blinked. "You do?"
"I lack the strength to unseat you. I've lost."
He didn't move. "You'd give up so freely after all you've travelled, all those you've defeated?"
"I came only to test myself. A noble title or a bloody death are worth little to me."
"Then what is?"
"Sharing a meal with loved ones. Dancing and singing into the early mornings. Making love to your star-mate."
Something twinged in Cedric's chest. He rose to his feet, as did Zoriah.
"The flame-haired woman did not give you your proper due," she said. "You may be untrained, but you possess the instincts of a warrior. Trust in them."
Zoriah of the Burning Plains inclined her head, then turned to leave the arena, headed for home.
*
Only ten minutes after Cedric had been escorted back to his cell, the door opened again to allow a short, balding man inside. He wore long, pale robes and carried a heavily-laden satchel on his arm. The mark of the Third Caste adorned his hand.
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"Up you get," he said briskly with a wave of the hand. Cedric did so, wincing as his shoulder inevitably jostled.
"Dislocated?"
"I think so," he said uncertainly.
"Hmm." The physician took Cedric's right hand, none too gently, then abruptly pulled the attached arm forward. An involuntary cry was torn from Cedric's lips, just before the worst of the pain evaporated to leave merely a dull, throbbing ache behind.
"Better?" the man said dispassionately.
"Aye, thank you." Cedric cupped his shoulder, marveling that he'd ever taken the absence of pain for granted.
The physician kneeled and unbuckled his satchel to reveal an enormous collection of glass vials, tin boxes, and a plump bundle of bandages. He opened a box and scooped out a glob of dark paste, which he slathered over Cedric's shoulder. Upon sight of the extensive pattern of bruises across Cedric's torso, he pursed his lips and rubbed in a lighter-hued paste in brisk circles.
"Keep this arm still for at least an hour, then rotate thoroughly afterward to alleviate stiffness. The bruises will heal within the day."
The paste--both kinds--sent cooling tendrils through Cedric's skin to the deepest tissues, further soothing what was left of the pain. "Not to be ungrateful, but… why are you attending to us?"
The physician bent to seal the satchel. "If every participant were limping, bleeding, and broken, would their contests qualify as a remotely worthy show?"
Of course--the people of Crystallinus demanded their champions at their strongest and most capable, to further sweeten the triumphs and sour the defeats. He frowned. "But is terramancy not forbidden?"
The physician's head shot up, and Cedric immediately regretted asking.
"Think carefully on your words…" he said quietly. "Before you pursue this abhorrent accusation further."
When Cedric said nothing, the physician rose to his feet. "By the grace of the mighty Heirs, the bounties of the Summerlands permit me to administer what lowly mud rats may potentially mistake as witchcraft."
He nodded and attempted his best contrite expression. To offend the man set to treat his every coming injury would be a grievous misstep.
"I'll allow you this one doltish lapse. I can hardly expect better, after all. But surely even you are not so stupid as to insult me a second time."
Cedric vigorously shook his head. The physician turned to depart, slamming the door behind him as a stinging final reproach.
He let out the breath he'd been holding, then gingerly lay down on the thin mattress while keeping his shoulder as still as possible.
Four more rounds…
*
That night, Cedric's nightmares descended upon him with the ferocity of wild beasts. After what felt like years trapped in a lawless netherworld of horror and pain, memory and fabrication, he finally emerged like a drowning man violently breaching the water's surface.
Cedric blinked frantically, his heart and breath pumping with panic, and could not immediately recall his surroundings. For an awful moment, his delirious mind was certain that he'd never been rescued from the Dead End at all; he'd finally gone mad, and had dreamt up everything he'd gone through since.
Only when he raised his right hand, twinging his recently-healed shoulder, did blessed clarity finally settle in around him. Cedric huffed a laugh, which may have actually been a sob. He levered to a sitting position, buried his sweaty face into equally-sweaty palms, and focused on his breathing.
As his chest unclenched and the terror subsided, Cedric opened himself to the darkness. He expanded his senses as far as he possibly could, in the slim hope that he'd find Adrian somewhere out there in the night. But Cedric's mind only lightly brushed against the camps along the riverbank before pulling taut; the distance between them was simply too great.
He retreated back to himself, disheartened. The darkness alone was not enough tonight, not even in the diamond stuffed in his right shoe, but yearning for Adrian was even worse than useless; Cedric had already set himself down the path that'd ensure his loss forever.
He stood up, loathe to continue wallowing, and crossed over to the remnants of his dinner gathered in the corner. He picked at some remaining crumbs of the soft, airy bread that'd accompanied a fragrant fish stew; though undoubtedly a plain meal by the capital's standards, it'd still been some of the most delicious food he'd ever eaten.
He tilted the accompanying jug into his mouth to extract a few last drops of weak wine. But this time, now that he was longer ravenous, he picked up an unnatural metallic aftertaste on his tongue.
He grimaced. Perhaps it was spoiled. He didn't know enough about wine to be sure.
Cedric returned to his bed and, against all odds, was out within minutes.
*
He did not wake until the unlatching of the door pulled him laboriously from a strangely thick fog of sleep. Only after three sluggish blinks did the figure of Lady Luminarum emerge into focus. She wore dark blue today.
"Good morning, Golden Heart," she said brightly. "Your opponent awaits."
Despite Cedric's diminished lucidity, he could still recognize that whatever clouded his mind and body was far more potent than what night terrors, even vigorous ones, were capable of.
"What did you do to me?" His words were thick and dull; he swallowed against a sand-dry throat.
"I don't take your meaning." Lady Luminarum's expression was oddly blank. "Unless you speak of your healed shoulder, which I wager is as good as new by now…"
It was, but that only meant it was as listless as the rest of him.
As he waited for the portcullis to lift and deliver him unto the next bout, Lady Luminarum gently clasped his shoulder from behind. From this proximity, he could smell her perfume: full-bodied and richly spiced, a luxurious and decadent scent.
Her breath was warm in his ear. "I had no choice. It'd been strongly requested…"
Cedric shook off her hand. "My opponent is a noble, then. Understood, milady."
"May Eris protect you."
Protect your wager, perhaps…
This time, the morning sun sent a tangible hot spike through his eyes.
His first noble-born opponent--broad and long-limbed, well-fed, clad in immaculate chain-link and pauldrons--raised a mocking eyebrow as Cedric emerged. He grinned impishly behind a light, close-cropped beard.
"May I have your name, sir?" Cedric said, his words mushier than they should have been.
The man chuckled. "I suppose I could allow you the privilege of it. Abel Lethrus, here to bestow the honor of my blade upon your little mud-rat head."
As Cedric laughed, mostly from delirium, the black diamond in his right shoe unexpectedly began sending questioning tendrils up his ankle. He hurriedly squashed them back down with all the willpower he could muster.
"You find me amusing, Golden Heart?" Lethrus' voice hardened a little beneath its boisterous tone. "Goddess knows where you find the gall, but I'll be glad to set you straight." He drew his sword, whose long blade perfectly matched its wielder's elegant figure.
The bell struck, and the crowds roared.
Cedric yearned for nothing more than to close his eyes and curl up on the blessedly cool floor of his cell, which of course was exactly how the nobles wanted him: hobbled and delirious while facing one of their precious own. The thought was aggravating, ever more so as Abel Lethrus approached, blade poised for a swift and easy victory.
But Cedric hadn't come all this way to fall on some pompous, cheating peacock's sword.
He hurriedly gathered what focus remained to him and dodged Lethrus' first swing by a mere hairsbreadth. He was not so fortunate against the next few, and within seconds sported fresh, stinging slashes across his upper arm, side, and calf. Before the pain could fully settle in, Cedric caught Lethrus with a front-kick to his lower belly; an audible oof followed as the latter staggered several steps back.
Had Cedric been at full strength, he would have surely downed his opponent for a good while. But as it was, Lethrus stood tall and unruffled, if somewhat winded.
"I am not without mercy," he declared. "Should you concede, those little scratches will be the worst of it. You'd still have an incredible story to bring home to whatever hamlet you hail from."
Cedric's new wounds certainly hurt, but were also barely deep enough to bleed. Abel Lethrus was toying with him, utterly assured of his coming triumph.
Cedric slowed his movements even further and let his back bow as if from exhaustion; neither were particularly difficult to feign. But if Lethrus underestimated him, even a little, then victory could still be his. He shambled forward in his best imitation of a drunk.
The warrior lord smirked, his faith in whatever concoction he'd snuck into Cedric's food and drink reinforced.
Lethrus' sidestep was almost languid. Cedric braced for the next blow as a line of pain split his other calf open. He bit back a hiss.
His opponent tittered. "Not at your best today, Golden Heart?"
Cedric allowed him one more: a burning, upswept slash across his right cheek. Lethrus was now flourishing, luxuriating in his own grace, openly eyeing all the places he anticipated marking next.
His next move, after a few long seconds of consideration, was slow and transparent. Cedric dodged the blade, grabbed its wielder's wrist, and twisted until he heard an audible crack.
The sword fell silently into the sand as its master howled.
Lethrus clutched his mangled wrist to his chest, stooped and panting. Cedric shoved him roughly to the ground.
"Do you plead the Goddess' mercy?" he demanded.
Lethrus' eyes were glossy with pain, but he set his jaw in a clear rebuke. Cedric kneeled heavily over his opponent.
"Yield," he hissed.
"No," Lethrus spat through his teeth. "You'll have to kill me, Golden Heart. Do you have the stomach for that?"
Cedric clutched the man's face in both hands. "Yield, curse you!"
Without warning, the black diamond surged through his limbs before he could even attempt to stem the flow. Dark, invigorating power swept down his arms, through his fingers, and into Lethrus' temples. The man's eyes rolled up into twin crescents, and he began to convulse.
All of Cedric's frustration evaporated to be replaced by panic. "No, no!" He squeezed his eyes shut to concentrate solely on the flowing energy, and hauled it back like a stablemaster on the reins of a massive, unruly beast. It gradually returned to the black diamond, glutinous and begrudging.
Cedric leaned in for a closer look at Lethrus. He'd stopped convulsing, but that didn't negate whatever damage had potentially been done.
"Lord Lethrus?" he said hesitantly. A few seconds later, the man's eyes fluttered open, confused but seemingly lucid. Cedric released the breath he'd been holding.
The man gazed back without recognition. "Where--where am I? Who are you?" He whipped his head to either side, taking in the crowds and the arena in naked bewilderment. His lavish hair was disheveled and streaked with white sand.
If Lethrus had forgotten everything, including Cedric…
Cedric renewed his grip on the man's face, forcing their eyes to meet. "Listen to me," he said softly. "I will throttle the life out of you unless you invoke the Goddess' mercy. Are you truly prepared for these to be your last moments, my lord?"
Lethrus' eyes widened in horror; he believed him completely. "E--Eris' mercy," he bleated. Then, louder, "Eris' mercy!"
The crowd's response was equal parts jubilation, outrage, and confusion, but Cedric could spare no strength to care; it had all drained out of him upon Lethrus' concession. He rolled onto his back, on the blissfully soft, warm sand, and let the fevered pounding in his head finally lull him to unconsciousness.
*
Cedric awoke on the hard bed of his cell, the fog afflicting his mind and body entirely lifted. The physician who'd attended him before was bandaging the last of his latest collection of wounds. When he finished, Cedric sat up.
"Thank you."
The physician merely nodded, collected his supplies, and left without a word.
Three more rounds…
Only now, Cedric had another trick up his sleeve, one that could possibly spare him the necessity of ending anyone's life at all. If he could take stronger command of the diamond, ensure that it never overtook him…
When it seemed I'd have no choice but to kill, you created another. But you also exerted your own will over mine.
Loathe as Cedric was to admit it, the black diamond still frightened him. He was not its master; he was merely the vessel for its power whose wishes it usually chose to cede. He could only be grateful that his and the diamond's intentions seemed largely aligned.
The cell door opened to reveal Lady Luminarum. "Have you fully returned to yourself, Cedric?" She stepped inside and clasped her hands in a demure, appeasing gesture.
He glared. "Recovered for another helping of poison tonight? Not that I'll be eating or drinking another drop."
"Surely not for three whole days?"
"I've survived worse."
She tilted her head and considered him. "That wound on your cheek… I could have the physician ensure it heals without a scar."
Cedric crossed his arms. "Two rounds passed without a death. You've won your wager; why are you here?"
"I've… come to apologize."
He blinked in surprise.
She sighed. "I did not wish to concede to Lord Lethrus' request, but his family is of the First Caste; even worse, his cousins Elara and Saman are the Red King's favored courtesans."
"Your point?"
"We all answer to someone, even nobles. Though I can't claim I'd do otherwise given the chance, I am sorry. You've braved much to be here… you did not deserve this."
Cedric let his arms fall. "I still won't eat your food."
Lady Luminarum came closer and took his hands in hers. "Cedric, I swear by the Goddess that you'll suffer no further diminishing of your strength or lucidity. Lord Lethrus was hardly the first to abuse his standing, but he'll be your last. The following contests will be fair and just."
Her hands were smooth and soft. Cedric gave her a hard look. "And you can promise that?"
"Most nobles are not so highly-named and dishonorable as Lord Lethrus. Please, Cedric, maintain your strength. You wish to win this tournament, do you not?"
If nothing else, Lady Luminarum's appeasement seemed genuine; with her wager won, she had nothing to gain from making amends or convincing him not to starve himself. "How fares Lord Lethrus?" he asked after a pause. "Has he said or… claimed anything about the match?"
"He seemed rather befuddled by the whole affair, but that hasn't prevented him from becoming the capital laughingstock. He won't be showing his face in the open, at least until the tides of gossip recede from his doorstep."
At that, Cedric couldn't resist a small smile.
*
Cedric awoke the next morning as refreshed as anyone stricken by night terrors could reasonably expect to be: weary and spent, but not unnaturally so. Lady Luminarum had kept to her word.
About an hour later, after the ongoing contest outside had concluded with a robust final cheer, she came to his cell bearing a hot bowl of porridge topped with honey and fresh fruit.
"I did promise you an additional meal," she said. Cedric happily accepted it.
The porridge was hearty yet light, and predictably delicious. New energy galvanized his limbs as he followed Lady Luminarum to the third match.
Like the previous day, she clasped his shoulder from behind while he waited for the portcullis to lift. But her next words sent a shiver of trepidation up his spine.
"I'm afraid I allowed you to assume some things that aren't true," she whispered. "I've not yet won my wager, but after Lord Lethrus' cowardly request, I had to regain your trust."
Cedric swallowed. The energy coursing through his body was turning unnatural, thrashing and swelling at alarming speed like a furiously brewing storm cloud. His skin had grown hot, his breathing shallow and quick.
"I'd bet that the Golden Heart would finally break his vow in his third match, driven mad by rage and desperation. I'm confident you'll do me proud."
The gate lifted and Cedric stepped through. A maddening, irresistible bloodlust had tainted his vision red.