Zane’s smile dropped. “Well, if you're sure.” He walked behind his brother and tapped him hard on the back, but just as Miles turned around to see who it was, Zane slipped in and slid his own arm across Krea. Krea and Mythia both laughed. Even Ten managed a smile.
The sound of trumpets blew again. Mythia watched as a new set of knights readied themselves, then ran forward, their horses trotting at full speed. Splintering wood cracked in the cold air, as lances split against their targets and a handful of knights hit the hard, frozen ground. She quickly eyed up the remaining contenders. They were down from a hundred to eighty-two.
“This is gonna be awhile,” Ten muttered, noticing where Mythia’s eyes were.
The tournament went on for hours. Whenever Ventus was up, Mythia held her breath. She was immensely relieved to see how taken Noctis appeared to be for Ventus, as he followed her every command and did not shy away from the other horses. Ventus proved her worthiness easily with the lance, despite only having a few days of practice. Mythia highly suspected she was manipulating it with some sort of magic, as it became clear how unbeatable she was. She was so outstanding to the point that the surrounding crowd began to take notice of her. The royal announcer had introduced her as “Sir Dilston”, and that name could be heard floating throughout the swelling crowd as people placed bets on her victory.
The crowd of knights slowly, but surely started to thin out, as the losers left to either be medically treated or to enjoy the rest of the tournament with the spectators. Whenever one would lose, they would toss their helmet off to the side and grasp hands with the winner, raise them up high, bow to the king, then go and grab a canteen of mead and some food. Not a single knight acted like a sore loser, they were all bursting with smiles as they trotted joyously off the field. Those who were injured were carried by a couple of servants and dragged to the medical tent.
Mythia’s eyes slid over to the tall standing podium where the royal court sat. Her heart nearly burst into her throat as she caught sight of King Tribus, standing tall and clapping with enthusiasm. He looked like the king she knew when she first met him- joyous, strong, and human. But there was also something different in his chiseled, handsome face- a sort of sadness etched within. His smile not quite reaching his shockingly emerald green eyes. She felt a heat course through her insides as a jumble of emotion flooded her veins with fire. Pain from the night he threw his flames at her. Pain from the loss of the kingdom’s once human king who still had a chance at redemption, now corroded by an evil entity like metal turned green from rusty water.
King Tribus sat back down and she could no longer see him from where she stood. She turned her head to watch the knights face each other again, Ventus amongst them, the sound of galloping hooves pounding against the ground. The field was now spotted with the ever-increasing snow, surrounding the knights in an oval of white.
Mythia gasped as Ventus slammed her lance into the other knight, who missed her by less than an inch with his own. Her lance splintered through his shield, but he remained resolute on his horse, a smile crinkling his familiar brown eyes that were visible within the small opening of his helmet. Ventus turned Noctis around to exchange her broken lance for a new one. Points were thrown in her favor for the broken lance. Mythia could just make out her gray eyes wide with pleasure, sweat dripping off her blond eyebrows despite the frigid air.
It was soon clear that there were three knights out of those who where left that were particularly talented with the lance. Ventus, the brown-eyed knight she had gone against, and one other. With only a handful of knights left, the torrential sounds of the crowd melted down quickly to excited whispers like hissing snakes. It was nearly time for Mythia to sneak into Ventus’s tent and switch places.
It was down to ten knights. They lined up in two rows of five, as the trumpets blared, and they raced across the field. A collective gasp was held amongst the crowd, as splintering wood echoed in the air and six knights toppled off their horses. Only four remaining, including Ventus. The four knights took their horses into their tents to be watered.
Roasted turkey legs covered in herbs were passed around the stadium, the mouth-watering scent wafted through the air while the crowd waited in anticipation for the match to continue. Mythia felt her stomach growl with hunger at the delicious aroma.
“Wish we could grab one of those,” Zane muttered enviously. The others nodded in agreement, and Mythia suddenly had an idea.
“I’ll grab some. I have some extra gold in my pocket. We have enough time.” Before anyone could argue with her she sidled out through the crowd and toward the brightly colored tents.
It didn’t take long for her to find Noctis standing outside of a yellow and red tent, drinking deeply from a bucket. She kept her hood on tight and gave him a quick pat, but he was too busy gulping down water to take much notice. She slipped inside the tent.
Ventus gave a start at Mythia’s arrival. “You made it!”
“Told you I would. You’re doing amazing out there. Two more to go and it’ll be you against the prince.” Mythia beamed.
“I’ll go out one more time. If I make it this round, we’ll switch immediately after. Just wait here.” Mythia gave Ventus a nervous smile, as her friend took a swig of water before pushing her helmet back on. She disappeared out of the tent.
Mythia listened intently at the sounds of the tourney, since she couldn’t see what was going on from inside the tent. Within a matter of minutes, the trumpets blew, followed by the sound of galloping horses, then splintering wood, and ending with an explosion of applause and cheers. Her nerves stretched so thin she was sure they would splinter like the wood of the lance. Mythia paced back and forth.
Finally, the tent flapped open and Ventus entered, tossing off her helmet.
“What happened?” Mythia asked desperately.
Ventus placed her helmet in Mythia’s hands. “It’s just me and the prince now. You’re up.”
Mythia’s heart skipped a thousand beats a second. She quickly threw off her cape and exchanged her clothes for Ventus’s armor and cloak. She threw on the knight’s chainmail and fastened the light blue cloak with a click and shoved the helmet over her head.
“You look good,” Ventus said, pulling the hood over her own blond hair.
“The rest of my recruits are standing in the closest entrance of the field from here. Just make sure you pick up five turkey legs on your way over. There should be enough gold in the cloak pocket,” Mythia explained. Ventus gave her a questioning look. “It was the only excuse I could come up with to slip away from them.” Ventus smirked, fixed the light blue cloak carefully around Mythia’s shoulders, and handed her the ten-foot-long lance. It wasn’t as heavy as Mythia feared it would be.
“You were watching the tourney, right? So you have an idea how to wield it and what to do?” Mythia nodded her head beneath the heavy helmet. “Good.” Ventus sighed. She hesitated for just a moment before wrapping her arms around Mythia and pulling her in tightly. She squeezed her before letting go. “You can do it Mythia. I know how much you care for him. Just cause enough of a diversion to get the prince safely away.”
The sound of the trumpet bellowed through the air to another round of applause. Mythia looked at Ventus with an eyebrow raised. She lifted the flap of the yellow tent, the bright snowy sky infiltrating within the slit of her helmet.
"Get him safely away? Ventus…” Mythia placed a foot out of the tent as the trumpets blew again. Her heart leapt into her throat. “I'm going to end the reign of the king and his son once and for all.” She slipped out just as the sounds of thundering cheers and stomping feet exploded around the stadium. It was a second before Ventus realized what her friend was about to do before she ran after her calling out Mythia’s name, but the sound of her voice was drowned by deafening applause.
17. THE BATTLE
Prince Regulus glanced suddenly toward Sir Dilston’s tent, as the knight emerged from within the yellow layers of fabric and pulled himself
onto a silky black horse. Regulus could have sworn he heard Mythia's name amongst the shouts and cheers of the thousand coming from that tent. But no, that would be impossible. He was imagining things. He was down to the final battle and his nerves were on edge, that was all. He was about to face one more knight, one he did not know personally, who had made his way so quickly to the top he was eager to meet him when this was all over. Sir Dilston had proved himself a worthy and challenging opponent.
He waited patiently on his horse who was as white as the snow falling thickly like the swelling excitement from the crowd. An energy trembled through the entire stadium and the surrounding city, as Sir Dilston galloped onto the field for the final battle of the tourney. The trumpets blew again as his father stood up and spread his arms out wide, his teeth glinting in the late afternoon sun.
“This has indeed been a most exciting tourney,” King Tribus bellowed. “We are now down to our final two contestants… Prince Regulus and Sir Dilston. May the best jouster win.” He bowed down to the two knights who both bowed deeply back. The king tucked his crimson cape behind him as he sat down with a smile, ready to enjoy the grand finale.
Prince Regulus swallowed. He could hardly make out Sir Dilston from the far end of the field, but he could see the long lance held at the ready. The trumpets blew again. He kicked his horse and leaned forward, holding on tightly to his lance with his right hand, his left hand concentrated on the reins and guiding his horse. The space between him and Sir Dilston became smaller and smaller as the spectators held their breath. Only the sound of galloping hooves could be heard for the moment that seemed to stretch on endlessly. And then his lance collided into Dilston’s chest, and the knight slid sideways from his horse and collapsed to the ground.
The prince’s heart pounded at his easy victory as he threw off his helmet and slid down the white horse. The crowd roared as Regulus offered his hand to the fallen knight. Just as the gloved hand of Sir Dilston grabbed his, his senses shifted, and something felt off. Dilston pulled himself up aggressively, and grabbed at his own belt, pulling out a dragon etched sword. Regulus, caught off guard, ducked before seizing his own sword and raised it above his head just in time as Dilston brought his blade swiftly down. They fought for a moment, shouts coming from all around, knights hesitating at the edge of the field.
Regulus shoved Dilston down easily, figuring he was upset over his loss, and was considering giving him leniency for a moment of emotion. Then Dilston hit the ground and his helmet fell off.
The world around him stopped. The snow seemed to freeze midair, and the breath within the prince was sucked out into oblivion. Mythia’s long chestnut hair fell out of its bun, cascading over her face in dark waves. The sounds around him disappeared completely, as an electric current of exhilaration ran through his body. He felt himself trembling, convinced he had been suddenly thrown into a dream. Or had he died and gone to a better place, where Mythia was with him? Only a second passed as everything froze around him in time, as his heart fluttered with joy before his mind could even apprehend the situation. Then, as if in slow motion, Mythia rose. Her beautiful brown eyes struck a spark from within and burned with a redness he had never seen there before. She was radiant in her power, stronger than Regulus had ever seen her. She pulled back her sword.
Time unfroze. The sounds from around him returned, as the joyous cheering turned suddenly to screams of fear and cries of chaos. Before Regulus could even place a coherent thought in his head, she was fighting with a renewed strength he did not know she was capable was. He moved instinctively, clashing his sword against hers, his thoughts racing to catch up to what was happening. He fought only to defend, but she had grown strong and there was something about her blazing red eyes that made him think she was unstoppable. That she would not cease until he was dead.
◆◆◆
Ventus ran as fast as her legs would carry her over to the recruits, shoving through spectator after spectator, as the sounds of cheers turned into screams and cries. She collided into them, her eyes wide with fear.
“She’s going to kill him!” Ventus screamed, clutching at Mile’s arms.
“Isn’t that the point?” Miles asked, uncertainly.
“You don’t understand,” Ventus urged. “Prince Regulus is on our side. Bello is wrong about him. And Mythia…” The other recruits peered at the desperate blond-haired soldier. “Mythia loves him. She just doesn’t remember. You have to trust me!”
Krea’s eyes widened with understanding. “What should we do?”
“We need to stop her!” Ventus yelled. They pushed through the crowd as hundreds of people shoved themselves in the opposite direction, trying desperately to flee from the queen they so feared.
“Wait!” The sound of a man screaming tore through the noise. Ventus spun around just in time to see the Doctrine racing between the chaos, his pants torn at the knees, his bare chest covered in blood. He finally caught up to her, clutching at his side, as he pulled in deep breaths. “I know how to cure her.” He exchanged a quick look with all the recruits. “Cover me. I can’t do this without your help.” Without even waiting for their answer, the fearful phoenix rushed through the rest of the crowd and burst into the open field where Mythia and Regulus continued their duel. The sounds of metal against metal clanged relentlessly.
King Tribus was beside himself. His eyes grew wide and dark as the rest of the nobles and royal court scattered around their seats, trying to figure out what to do. The knights surrounding him hesitated, without a specific command, they were unable to make a move.
The Doctrine ran up to the dueling couple, amongst renewed shrieks and gasps from the crowd by his sudden, bloodied appearance. He knew he was wanted for treason and could be killed at any second, but he sucked in his breath and bellowed, as loud as his voice would go. “Mythia!” His yell echoed around the snowy field. “Mythia! Stop fighting him!”
The queen continued to push forth, her energy never faltering. The senior knights, unafraid of the Doctrine, dispersed from the royal box, pulling out their swords and pushing their way through the crowds.
“If you kill him, Mythia, you will never forgive yourself.” The Doctrine felt as though his heart had stopped. He knew what he had to do, and it was going against every cell in his being to do it. “You love him, Mythia. Remember! Remember the night of the Rejicio campfire!” He shuddered as he let go of any hope he had with her. Of any chance he had held onto over the pass couple of days when Titus put the idea in his head, that she would no longer want Regulus. The idea that he could have Mythia all to himself. But he was being selfish, and he knew who Mythia truly loved. “Remember who you are, Mythia. Remember how you love him.”
Mythia’s eyes widened. Regulus thought he saw her pause, thought he saw hesitation behind her eyes, but then she lunged forth and slammed her blade into his with so much force he lost his footing. His sword flew through the air and landed with a soft thud upon the snowy field as he felt himself fall onto the ground. He lay on his back and peered up at his queen, her hair blowing in the snowy wind, fiercely beautiful. She pulled her sword high above her head with both hands on the hilt, the point aimed perfectly at his heart. He took in a deep, steadying breath.
“If you’re going to kill me, just let me say one thing.” Mythia blinked, holding the hilt of her sword so tightly that her arms shook. He emerald eyes burned deeply into hers, the red now fading away. Somewhere within the city, a battle cry rang through the still air followed by the deafening warning bells from the citadel. But he couldn’t tare his eyes away from hers to see what was happening. He wanted her soft brown eyes to be the last thing he looked at before his death. “I love you,” he gasped. Mythia raised the sword slightly higher and brought it down swiftly as the Doctrine’s shouts of protest echoed across the field.
But the blade did not land upon Regulus’s heart. It sank deeply into Mythia’s chest, her eyes wide with fear, as the spark of life quickly flew out of them. Regulus pushed himself up, the w
orld around him yet again frozen and silent, shrouded by stillness. Mythia fell with a thud onto her back, crimson blood quickly coloring her silver chainmail. Her eyes remained wide as she released a shuddering breath and her body lay broken upon the snow. Broken and still.
Regulus grabbed onto his fallen queen. Somewhere around them, the yells of an army of a thousand men burst into the jousting field and the surrounding hills. The Rejicio had arrived.
The deepest sadness the prince had ever known consumed him to the point where nothing around them existed. As darkness reigned, as the sky turned black from a swirling snowstorm high above, as his people fought against one another. Blood spilled around him, and a single tear fell from his green eyes and landed upon his queen, whose heart would never beat again.
“She was weak,” a cold voice rang out from directly behind him. Regulus turned his head slightly at the sound, to see Bello standing there, but he couldn’t speak. “We can’t have someone so weak ruling an entire kingdom. The good news,” she said with a sneer, “is that I have always been stronger.” She pulled back her sword, identical to Mythia’s, and thrusted it forward.
A blast of wind pushed Bello back just in time. Regulus spun back around to find Mythia sitting slightly up, her palm raised in front of her, opened wide. The dragon etched sword had fallen from her wound which was nothing but a circle of red. And in that moment, he knew. The tear that landed upon her that came from within him, from a heat that now coursed through his veins, had brought her back from the dead. His gifts of the unicorn had finally awakened.
Mythia lifted herself up and stood tall, blazing with a powerful, renewed energy. Everything had come back to her, every missing piece of the puzzle in her brain had flooded back to form a complete picture. Regulus kneeled on the floor, hardly daring to believe what he was seeing. Bello was slowly pushing herself up from the ground. Mythia glanced quickly behind her to see a group of senior knights, including Lord Ulric, raise their swords at the Doctrine. Lord Ulric’s sneer quickly vanished as Ventus and the rest of the recruits barged right in the middle and started fighting back, metal against metal. With Rejicio magic on their side, Mythia turned her attention back to the one who needed it the most. Bello.
Mythia: and the Awakened Beast Page 21