Chapter 15

Noora

“Come, on!” Lulva pulled at Noora’s wrist with a surprising amount of strength, a gangly ten-year-old should not carry in her arms. Nonetheless, Noora followed her through the growing crowd in the village, dodging frowning adults that cursed after them or spit onto the ground.

A mixture of voices and even different languages carried an enticing melody around both of the girls, enveloping them in the familiarity of their village as Lulva pulled them deeper and deeper into the mess.

“Slow down, would you?” Noora called after her, as her hand slipped out of the smaller girl’s, and her red unkempt hair disappeared behind a man cloaked in black.

Noora cursed quietly while elbowing her way through the humans, to find where Lulva disappeared to.

The air was buzzing with excitement as there were only a few minutes left until the queen would grace their presence and the contestants were drawn for the upcoming tournament.

The crowd got denser the closer Noora got to the podium, currently only occupied by the vessel, spilling with various yellow-toned parchment and three enormous throne chairs.

The one in the middle was the tallest, the royal coat of arms built out of gold and woven around the rest, shining as the sun finally reached its zenith.

The other two chairs looked far less exciting, made of silver edges and green lining. She wondered who had the honour of carrying them over, all the way from the palace.

A glimpse of red hair appeared in front of Noora and she quickly dove through a small gap between a red-cheeked lady.

Somehow Noora stumbled over a boot and her elbows knocked into a rib and what she assumed was a liver.

“Hey! Watch where you go, you half-breed scum,” a man yelled at her, his yellow teeth crooked as he bared them at Noora.

Her gaze roved over him for a moment, stuck on the heavy ax attached to his leather belt. A few red specks clung to the blade and Noora guessed him to be a butcher.

“I’m sorry,” she said quickly, disappearing to the front, finally reaching Lulva.

Noora knew when to pick her battles and this was not one.

“Where did you go?” Lulva asked as she jumped up and down excitedly, trying to see past the royal guards that were surrounding the podium containing the vessel. They were heavily armed for the fact that they were currently guarding a glass ball, with nothing but scribbled names on paper in it.

“What do you mean where did I go? You let go of my hand, Freckles, don’t ever do that again,” Noora warned the younger girl.

Lulva looked at her, her eyes growing round. “I’m sorry I am just so excited to see the princess, do you think the prince will be with her? Or maybe the queen? Oh, I hope their dresses will be beautiful,” she raved, clutching her hands to her chest.

Noora kept from rolling her eyes as she tucked Lulva to her front, one hand resting on her shoulder, just to be sure she would not disappear again.

The mumbling of the crowd grew louder as a strange feeling grew in Noora’s stomach.

She let her eyes wander over the bustling people, her gut telling her that something was wrong. But everything seemed normal, no danger was close and she bet that if the crowd got too rowdy, the royal guards would intercede not a second too late.

They were dressed in their typical uniform, their broad chests covered in silver cuirass, matching pauldrons on both their shoulders. The greaves covering their legs had small engravings in the metal, just as their gauntlets did. Noora could not hold back the small snort passing her lips.

Even their armour had to be extravagant as if it would somehow improve their fighting skills. She wondered how much Gulls were paid for the blacksmith to burn little swirls into the silver.

The faces of the guards were covered by their Corinthian helmets, only the eyes, the window to their souls, were visible.

Noora caught herself searching for a certain pair of jade eyes but quickly scolded herself.

Even if he was here, what was it to her? She could feel the cold weight of his jade ring in her pocket, she did not have the time to sell it after seeing Lukas last night. First thing in the morning she was dragged out of bed by Lulva excited for the announcement.

“It’s starting!” Lulva called giddily as a herald clad in ice blue stockings stepped onto the podium, trumpet in his hand.

His chest constricted as he took a deep breath and blew into the trumped, inflicting a horrific sound.

The crowd grew instantly quiet. There she was.

Accompanied by two guards in front and behind her, the queen ascended the podium, clad in a ruby-red gown. The sweeping skirt touched the ground and she had to hike it up elegantly with her hands to not trip over it while she climbed the wooden stairs.

The bodice was bedazzled by a thousand red rubies, glittering like blood as the sun hit every little crystal. The bodice led up into a high neckline that only stopped under her sharp chin and wove over her straight shoulders, tight sleeves enveloping her arms.

The red colour of the gown contrasted drastically with the queen’s pale skin, her black hair sitting in long waves on her back.

“She looks beautiful,” Lulva whispered.

Noora could only agree as she watched the queen sit down on the tallest chair. She was beautiful, devastatingly so.

But something clung to her that seemed dark. Grief deepened the lines in her face, dragged the corners of her sharp mouth down, and tightened the skin around her green eyes.

She did not look happy to be here.

Both guards positioned themselves at her right and left side, as the other two stood behind her chair, facing the crowd.

It was then that another woman, much younger, maybe Noora’s age, stepped onto the podium.

She was dressed in a gown equally as beautiful as the queen, but it was less sweeping and simpler.

She did not have to hike her skirt up as it hovered just above the ground, its line stitched in silver thread, holding the forest green silk together. She had the same black curls as her mother, her face adorned with the same sharp angles and watchful eyes, though her eyes were the colour of her hair a deep mahogany, Noora could make out the resemblance.

It was the Princess of Oy Frossen.

When she lifted her foot, Noora could glimpse a black combat boot, adorned with silver buckles and a flash of silver.

The princess had a knife shoved into her boot. Noora couldn’t help herself as a smug smile twitched over her lips.

As the princess sat down a last woman stepped onto the podium and Noora frowned.

She was not part of the royal family that was to be sure.

The woman was slender but not in the way the queen was, she looked almost as if she would break any second.

Her hair was long, the colour of snow, reminding Noora of her hair. She was dressed in an ice blue gown, so simple that it told Noora she was not of royal descent. Maybe a family friend who wanted to join the announcement.

Her face was worn in and torn into such a devastating grimace that it struck Noora right in her chest. She had never seen such a sad look on someone’s face, so deeply buried into the soul of a person that it was a part of them, never to be let go again.

And then she met the gaze of the woman.

She seemed to hesitate, almost looking like she was freezing for a moment before she sat down on the last and smallest chair.

“Welcome, welcome. I cannot express the joy I feel to see some of my subjects after all this time,” the queen spoke and her voice sounded exactly like she looked. Sharp, cold, and precise.

The crowd dove into a loud cheer and hooting before Queen Euphemia held up a hand, quieting everyone.

“I do not want to drag this out longer than it has to be. I can imagine how curious the people are, to finally know of the contestants of the tournament my son has decided to hold. I am sorry to say that he was not able to attend this gathering.”

Noora looked at the princess who rolled her eyes at her mother's words before they landed on Noora.

Usually one should look away when meeting the gaze of a royal, it was out of respect, and further was it unacceptable to keep on staring when catching a rebellious act of a royal. But Noora did not look away.

Princess Tyra’s gaze sharpened in on Noora for a moment, while the latter gave her a small nod as if to agree with her eye roll. It was pretentious of the prince to decide to throw a tournament, just for him to not bother to even attend the announcement.

The princess’s lips twitched before her focus was drawn back to her mother.

“There will be four brave contestants, drawn by coincidence, who will live in the safe walls of the palace for the next weeks, where they are given the privilege to train in the royal rooms.”

The crowd broke out into small surprised whispers at that.

“They will fight through three of the deadliest tasks, presenting their courage, intelligence, and power. There will be a jury of the royal family, including my humble self and my children, who will share points with the contestants based on their given performance, but only one will go out of the tournament as the winner. And will bathe in eternal glory and a price of 100,000 Gulls!”

The crowd erupted into cheering again and Noora’s feet were starting to fall asleep. Her eyes darted over to the vessel every few seconds, hope growing smaller and smaller, like the wick of a candle until it finally burned out.

There was no chance in hell that her name was drawn by that amount of paper, it seemed to have quadrupled overnight.

The queen made a lazy gesture towards a guard who stepped up to her side, offering her his arm.

She got up elegantly before walking over to the vessel.

Her hand was gloved as Noora watched it dip into the sea of parchment, waving around until she caught a note that she seemed to be satisfied with.

“The first contestant who has the honour of partaking is,” she unfolded the note in front of her eyes, “Pika Iosua!”

The crowd looked around until a tall boy raised his hand. “Here!”

“Come forward, young man!” Queen Euphemia called. Some guards ushered to make the boy, who looked more like a man, a pathway through the crowd.

A knot formed in Noora’s throat as she took in his big stature which reminded her of the encounter with the bear a day ago.

Pika Iousa looked like he was the same age as Noora, his hazel hair bound in a short braid that contrasted with his bronze skin.

She felt like the earth shuddered as he took the steps onto the podium and Lulva shrieked into her.

He was a Sosye.

Or maybe his parents were but there was no denying that a boy this big and muscly was not a descendant of the witch hunters.

Suddenly, Noora was really happy about the likeliness of her name being drawn. The queen looked like a child beside him, having to crane her neck to bless him with a winning smile.

The guards seemed to tense as he stood so close to the queen, but to Noora’s surprise, he bowed before giving her a smile that made him look like a soft bear. But Noora knew not to judge a book by its cover. Especially if he was a Sosye.

“The next lucky person will be,” the queen announced as her hand dove back into the vessel, drawing out a piece, “Soren Eriksen!”

“Yes! Yes! My son!” an elderly man started to cheer loudly as a gangly boy reached the stage.

“You are invincible Soren!” his father called after him and the boy turned confused with a bedazzled look on his face before he slugged forward onto the stage.

Soren was a small boy, his arms thinner than Lulvas, his skin as pale as his hair was light. He was the prototypical subject of Oy Frossen.

The queen nodded as he stood beside Pika, who now looked more like a giant beside the slightly confused-looking boy.

Noora still raved over the boy, who looked like he sniffed too hard on the forest mushrooms, as another name was called.

“Kekoa Nakamura!”

The crowd erupted into cheers so loud, that Lulva clutched her ears as Noora’s blood froze in her veins. A man stepped onto the podium, his skin as deep as the bark of trees in the forest, his hair cropped uncharacteristically short. He was as tall as Pika but less chubby, his arms were exposed by a short- sleeved tunic, showing the tense muscles and protruding veins. His body looked like it was carved by a god, the perfect killing machine, with soulless eyes and a scar running past his lower lip.

Another Sosye.

And this time, Noora was sure, he was committing his family’s legacy. As if he heard her thoughts, the boy zeroed in on her, his face contorting into an angry grimace.

He knew what she was, of course he did, and Noora should not be surprised that so many witch hunters threw their names into the vessel.

They were expert killers and while they were only tolerated in Oy Frossen when living harmless and peaceful, she could see in his eyes that he was not.

“Now on for the last member.”

Kekoa was still staring at her, making her skin cover in goosebumps and triggering the deepest survival instincts inside her body.

Maybe she should go, take Lulva, and escape.

He would forget her. Of course he would, while being distracted with the tournament he would not think of the half-witch he encountered one time in his life.

Noora could handle the people spitting after her, calling her names, and dealing with bullies like Isaak but not a Sosye.

She was not na?ve enough not to know how dangerous they were.

“Noora?”

Noora flinched as someone called her name. No, not someone.

The crowd looked around, waiting for the contestant to step forward as the queen spoke again. “ Noora?”

It was her. She was the contestant to step forward.