He’d saved himself. He’d done it.
Then she saw the real horror. He wasn’t holding the medallion. He’d dropped it. It fell slower than him with less mass to carry it down. It drifted toward the water, as if calling itself home.
Fordham’s eyes were wide with pain, but still, he managed to reach out and pluck the medallion out of thin air. It dangled on a finger, the length of the ribbon just barely caught. He didn’t even dare breathe as he slowly slid it down his finger and clenched the thing in his fist. With a sigh of relief, he slid the medallion over his head and began the arduous process of climbing back up to the lowest platform.
By this time, it was clear that all competitors had found their medallion pieces and were now climbing the slippery platform to try to be one of the final eight competitors. Fordham was on the bottom rung. To make it through to the final task, he still had to beat two other competitors to the top of the platform.
With another disgusting pop, Fordham wrenched his shoulder back into place. The crowd seemed to make a collective gag at the brutality. But Kerrigan knew Fordham’s military training, and she saw in his face basic battlefield healing.
She didn’t know when everything had changed. Between the first task, when she’d been hoping he’d win because of the vision, and now, when she was a ball of anxiety over the fact that he might lose. And he couldn’t lose. Not because of her visions, but because of him.
“Fordham, come on!” she screamed over the roar of the crowd. “Get moving!”
As if he’d heard her, he began to climb up the soaked platforms.
A bell rang out.
“Darrid,” Valia whispered.
“Bastard,” Kerrigan grumbled. “Cheating bastard.”
“It’s not technically against the rules.”
Kerrigan huffed and went back to watching Fordham. He was flagging. His breathing was unsteady. His hand kept going to his ribs, as if all this exertion was only exacerbating the issue. His shoulder couldn’t be feeling great either. Not to mention, neither of them had slept a wink last night unless unconscious was considered sleep. She couldn’t believe he’d made it this far.
Another bell.
“Noda.”
Kerrigan bounced up and down on the balls of her feet. That just left four competitors, and only two more could go through. She was so fixated on Fordham’s relentless climb up a swaying rope ladder that she didn’t notice anything was wrong until the crowd gasped.
She turned and saw a girl—Kamari—sail through the air and land with a splash into the water. Kerrigan winced. That was a long fall. It had to have hurt, and now, she was out.
A bell rang.
“Posana. Only one more spot.”
Kerrigan worried on her lip as Fordham and Valero shot to the top of the structure. Two platforms down from the top, they met. Each sized the other up. Fordham looked like a brutalized mess. Valero looked more the image of a prince in that moment. More water rained down on them as they each lunged for a way up.
Valero got ahold of a ladder just as water rained down upon them. He slipped, falling to the last rung as the rope shredded his hands. He cried out but managed to hang on. Fordham had gone for a single rope. Not many of the competitors had climbed up the ropes, but Fordham scaled it like he’d been rope climbing his entire life.
Valero noticed Fordham’s efficiency and hastened back up the ladder. Fordham hit the platform top first with Valero a second behind him. There was only one more platform to reach and only one way to get there. A black wall about ten feet high.
Each competitor had to run up the face of the slick surface. Most had used their magic to ease their way to the top. Fordham had no magic left.
Valero took a running leap for the edge, but before he could hold on to the edge, Fordham lashed out, grasping Valero by the ankle. He yanked viciously with a pull that dropped Valero to the platform. The whole thing shook with the force of it… and then began to move in a tight circle. Valero tried to get up, but Fordham hovered over him now.
A ripple of unease passed through the crowd. Kerrigan could see the ferocity in Fordham’s expression. His need to win this. And for a second, looking at the cunning evil in his face, she wondered if she had made the right choice. If he could flip to this in an instant, what could he do to her?
Everyone waited on bated breath for Fordham to end it. For him to kick Valero off the platform or put his foot through his face. To do something to earn the nightmares he’d elicited in those assembled.
But it was the fear on Valero’s face that snapped Fordham out of it. He took a step away from him, shook his head once, and then ran up the side of the wall with such ease that he might as well have been using magic.
Another bell rang.
“Fordham,” Valia hissed.
Valero collapsed backward and brought his hands to his face in miserable defeat. Fordham had broken him with a look—a terrifying, menacing look—but that was all it had taken.
The master of ceremonies exclaimed and cheered for the competitors who were going through to the final task as the platform slowly drifted toward the arena lake. They fit together like puzzle pieces with perfect notches until they were one solid piece. A walkway was pushed out, connecting the competitors to the arena floor.
Fordham was somehow still on his feet, standing proud and a touch regal. But as soon as he made it inside the cover of the competitors’ box, he collapsed into a chair and promptly passed out.
“He will be fine,” Mistress Sinead said, patting Kerrigan’s arm a few hours later. “He needs to rest and recover. His injuries were quite severe.”
Kerrigan nodded mutely as Sinead exited the room. Kerrigan took the seat next to Fordham’s bed, where he had been carried after healing. She’d had her own healing, taken a strict power nap, and eaten enough food for a horse. Her magic had flickered back sometime while Fordham was still knocked out. Sinead had given him some kind of sedative to keep him under.
Kerrigan sighed heavily and leaned backward. What was she going to do now? They both probably needed to sleep it off for a few days. Not go rushing back out into danger. She should just leave him to it, but for some reason, she couldn’t move. She didn’t feel comfortable leaving his side.
Instead, she stood and began to slowly pace his room. His notebook was tucked away against his desk. Her fingers itched to open the book, so she could read what he had written, what had made him bleed on the pages. But it felt too private. Now that they were… friends, she wouldn’t intentionally break his trust.
Her eyes swept to the notebook one more time, and then she retreated. Her curiosity always got the best of her. She couldn’t expect him to trust her if she snooped through his things while he was unconscious. So, she plopped back down into the chair with a sigh.
She felt herself nodding off again when a knock sounded on the door. Kerrigan scrambled uneasily to her feet, ready to tell the person to leave, that he wasn’t ready for visitors. But it wasn’t another competitor, it was Clover.
“Clove, what are you doing here?” Kerrigan yanked her inside the room and promptly shut the door.
Clover was still wearing Dozan’s red button-up and vest uniform. She couldn’t have been more out of place.
“Kerrigan,” she gasped, throwing her arms around her. “You never came to see me last night. I thought you were dead.”