There was precious little time to travel from one viewing box to the next between events. Adora waited for Nicobar and the Sheriff to depart first, then she encouraged her own retinue to utilize their time and patronize the vendors. The giggling maids thanked her and dipped away but Nolan was unsure. Feeling impatient, Adora assured him she would meet him at the viewing box. Ultimately he relented and she covered her head and shoulders with her shawl to obscure herself as she wove through the crowd.
She found the Phantom setting up for the second event, sword fighting, but more importantly she also found Echo chatting brightly with Hurricane between two tents. Adora crept up through the narrow space between the tents, reached out and grabbed the bandits by their shirts, then yanked them both stumbling into the shadows with her.
"What are you doing here? Why are you gallivanting about with my retinue?" The men shared a guilty look.
"We were invited by your retinue," said Hurricane.
"For rescuing you," added Echo.
"But you're outlaws! Has Varena not treated you to one of her diatribes on the matter of banditry?" The Princess hissed with a pointed glare at Echo.
Echo gulped. "I think I'm winning her over with my can-do attitude. She even asked me and my boys to help her for the rest of the day."
"Lady Hersillia has asked me to be her special guest, you know. As payment for rescuing you from the deep, dark, dangerous forest. She likes my jokes too, can you even believe that?"
Adora softened despite herself. She wanted to be angry or serious or anything that might drive them away from danger, but there was nothing to sway this. She knew there was no way to smother the hopeful glitter in their eyes. The breeze tousled her blonde hair, the free strands tickling her neck and face.
She sighed in defeat. "I must leave before they take notice of my absence. Before I go, do you promise that you are not up to anything else?"
"Do you really think we would tell the bloody Princess if we were up to something?" Asked Hurricane with a scoff.
"I suppose not." She tried to fight a smile. "Do not get caught! I cannot do anything to protect you. Stay away from the Sheriff, he's much harder to fool and much more dangerous. Oh and, Echo? Even the Phantom has a weakness. Namely, the biggest sweet-tooth in all of Stormwatch."
She bid them farewell before scurrying off to get lost in the crowd once more. She felt better now, even if the situation wasn't ideal. There was technically nothing banning them from attending the contest. Wasn't everyone in the land welcome? Nicobar had said so himself.
"Straying from the flock are we, Princess?"
She froze in place, the crowd continuing on their path around her and the looming figure that now blocked her way. "Sheriff," she whispered, eyes widening. "I... got lost."
"Indeed." His voice was inhuman. His mouth never moved, with the enchantment of his voice emanating from within his rumbling metal core. She was distantly reminded of the tolling of funeral bells. "You have had a terrible spell of bad luck of late. Getting lost that is."
She could not respond, as though the Sheriff had stolen the words from her. Fingers of panic traced up her spine. How long had he been watching? Had he seen her talking to the outlaws? Did he even know they were outlaws?
The contest-goers pressed past them blissfully unaware of the silent stand off. The Sheriff held out a rigid, skeletal arm to her, the flames of his eyes burning a dangerous copper and blue.
"Pity. It seems you've gone and lost your pretty, pink hair ribbon now too. Allow me to escort you to the next event, to keep you from getting lost again."
"Yes, Sheriff. Thank you."
Wordlessly she was taken to the round open air arena where the next event was taking place. It was a smaller, more intimate stage. One where she could clearly see the faces of her potential suitors, or more terribly, any blood that might be drawn from them. The Sheriff took special care to settle into the seat beside her in the royal box.
There were fewer seats for the audience this time around and what was available filled up quickly. Spectators stood outside on every open patch of ground to get a good view. Lady Hersillia explained the rules for this event. The sword fight was the longest event of the day, owing to the necessary bracketing system. Multiple fights would occur first, then those who made it into the latter rounds would fight in one on one duels. By the end, a neat dozen of potential suitors would be left. The joust would wear that number in half.
Metal clanged against metal and boots scuffed up dirt as the chaotic first round began. Under the Sheriff's careful eye Adora tried desperately to stay neutral and placid. Yet, her toes scrunched up in her shoes and she squeezed her hands watching the fighting. She couldn't understand why Nicobar had chosen the events he had. If it had been her choice she would have wanted a poetry contest, or perhaps a dancing competition. She felt almost sick with worry, but equally couldn't look away.
Every person who fought for her hand thought the intense look in her gaze was for their sake and so they fought on boldly. Count Cinbran, she noticed, did try to catch her eye, but only to wink or smile like they were in on some secret together. His movements were sly and evasive, but his strikes calculated and exacting. Sylven was the opposite of the Count, with big sweeping slashes and leaping bounds. He laughed enthusiastically, almost playfully, and complimented fine blows struck against him. From this distance the Princess could see more clearly the silk ribbon tied around his wrist, the one that held his sword aloft.
She could not help but worry if the Sheriff saw it as well.
The back of the arena, behind where the hopefuls battled, was bustling with activity. There were competitors waiting between rounds, mages tending to wounds, and lots of Echos hustling around under the Phantom's commands.
"Do not tell anyone," Varena said to the real one, Reynard, as they took a break together to share the candy apples he had bought. He reveled in the way her eyes gleamed like bright coins when he presented them to her. "But there is to be one final surprise, at the joust. Not a competitor, but someone secret that they must face off against to win."
"Oh yeah?" He had asked, taking a chance to lean in even closer. She whispered like it was a precious secret and he felt a rush from being trusted by her. She really was pretty when she was angry, but this was a new and soft beauty. He also quite liked that she wasn't trying to kill him.
"Any guesses?"
"Hmm. Whizblaster the Jolly Sorcerer?"
"Whiz- what? No, listen you are terrible at this game. It is to be me."
"You? Does princey-boy Nicobar really think any of these beetle-boned buffoons stand a chance against The Phantom?"
She had smiled at him then and his heart felt like a flower bursting open to meet the dawn. That had been before. Now that same heart felt gripped by an icy fist. Echo felt the shadow upon him before he saw the Sheriff.
"H-h-ey," the outlaw said, casually pointing his index fingers at the towering metal monstrosity that loomed over him.
"Good day," the Sheriff responded in a flat, grinding tone. "I am looking for Miss Varena. You have been at her service today. Tell me where Imight find her."
"She's getting ready for the joust. Do you, uh, want me to pass along a message?" The Sheriff's gaze bore into him and, Echo thought probably, could see his every mortal sin.
"That is permissible. Tell Miss Varena that His Majesty has made a change to the current event. She is now to take up arms in its final rounds, but is not to fight against Count Cinbran. Above all else, Sylven is not allowed to win. Nicobar has requested that she 'make it fun' for the Prince." He bent his sharp-tipped fingers, his voice never changing inflection. Then crashed that same claw down onto Echo's shoulder, knocking painfully against bone. "Good work today. A neat little trick with your many men. Pass the message along to Miss Varena." He did not say 'or else' but Echo felt it was implied.
Echo fell heavily back against a support beam. This was bad. Echo wanted to tell The Phantom the whole truth, but he couldn't just come clean about the boss's plan! If he was lucky he could smooth talk his way into or out of most things, but the Sheriff was unlike their usual enemies. Not a mage, not human, but something powerful and deadly, and entirely under the corrupt Prince's control.
"Reynard? Is everything alright? You look pale," said Varena rounding the corner. She dropped the supplies she carried, and pressed her hand against his forehead. "Are you ill? Am I overworking you?"
"Oh yeah, yeah everything is going as planned." His voice betrayed his panic at surprise at seeing her. Despite himself, he leaned into the touch. She frowned.
"Do not lie. I cannot tolerate deception. What bothers you?"
The words burst in his head like fireworks. 'I cannot tolerate deception.' He could kiss her, wanted to for a number of reasons, but the daggers he knew were hidden in her sleeve kept him from trying.
Hurricane, for his part, was having a rousing good time with Lady Hersillia. He was providing a running commentary on the competitors. Lady Hersillia was unused to such candid speech. Once he realized the fine and elegant lady had a weak spot for his particular brand of humor, he could not stop.
"Whatever is Varena doing?" She asked suddenly, silencing what was to be a very clever observation, with a gentle hand upon Calden's arm. He looked to where she pointed. The Phantom stalked onto the dirt floor with a lethal expression.
They were down to the last competitors to determine the jousting dozen. Varena crossed to Sylven, who was set to duel against Count Cinbran, and exchanged words with the plague doctor. The Count backed away from the pair with a puzzled expression on his handsome face. Slyven flourished his cutlass in a grand spin, then held it casually at the ready.
"I thought it would be more fun this way," Nicobar whispered to Adora, a wicked glint in his eye. The Princess's heart caught in her throat and the crowd fell into an anxious, waiting hush. There was going to be blood.
As the duel commenced, the Phantom's movements were swift and sharp, but Sylven evaded her attacks with finesse and leaping dodges. Each clash of steel reverberated through the arena. More of a dance than it was a battle, they whirled around the arena as all others watched on.
In a whirlwind of sudden action, Sylven launched a series of lightning-fast strikes. The crowd gasped as he slashed and drew a bright crimson line under the corner of the Phantom's eye. She paused for only a moment as a drip of blood slipped down her cheek, noting the first blow both against her, in his favor. Then she smiled like a child about to play a rousing game and launched herself at him once more.
"What is she doing out there?" Prince Nicobar grumbled.
"Perhaps she is just giving us a taste of her showmanship," the Sheriff rumbled.
Adora only half registered the conversation, her attention fully fixed upon the terrible scene. She was trembling, but could not help her body.
Three strikes. Just three blows to win or lose, but no limit to how deadly they may become.
Sylven swung in daring arcs, but Varena countered with precision, her blade deflecting his incoming blows. With each one, sparks flew, illuminating the tense atmosphere. The second mark to his favor came when he unleashed another flurry of strikes, cutlass a blur of glinting metal. The audience erupted into a mix of cheers and gasps as Sylven's strike landed squarely upon her chest plate.
Varena regained her composure swiftly and retaliated with a deft counterattack, her blade darting forth with renewed ferocity. Her eyes burned with determination and there was a roar of delight from the onlookers when she cut a slash across the plague doctor's chest. The black fabric tore, exposing rough skin and beads of blood pooling to the surface. The beak of the mask dipped comically down, then up to Varena, then down again.
"Good show!" Sylven laughed uproariously again and engaged once more.
The clash and clang of metal grew more frenzied. He threw himself quickly to the side in a somersault to avoid another slash, sprang back up and attacked. A momentary opening emerged as his strike veered slightly off course. With lightning speed, the Phantom seized the chance.
In a display of agility and reflexes, Sylven side-stepped the blow, coat snapping. Her momentum carried Varena past him, as he crashed the hilt of his blade down upon her back, sending her sprawling into the dirt with a clatter. The whole arena fell silent.
Then the crowd exploded in awe and excitement, cheering and jeering. Tere was a joyous, uproarious, infectious laughter from Varena. She curled up on her side, clutching her stomach and roaring with laughter. With a final flourish Sylven stashed his blade and extended a gloved hand to her, which she took graciously. He lifted her to standing and she grinned madly at him, blood staining her teeth.
Lady Hersillia clutched Hurricane's hand under the table during the fight, and didn't stop even when a flood of Echos ran past around them and into the arena. They lifted up the Phantom and Sylven above their heads, tossing them up and down. The black plume of the plague doctor's hat bobbed as he waved it triumphantly. Even the Princess couldn't restrain herself any longer, practically leaning out of the royal box in a dizzying ovation.
A dark blur flew past her in the grandstand, leaping over the railing in a single, feline bound and landing hard on the ground, silencing all. The Sheriff loomed terribly in the center of the arena. Inky black shadows began to gather around him like smoke atop water.
"That is enough," a voice boomed clearly, but not the spectral rasp of the Sheriff. Lady Hersillia's hand ripped from Hurricane's and flew to her throat where fingers of black shadow wrapped around her neck, dying the jewels obsidian.
"My lady?" Hurricane whispered, heart picking up pace. She looked at him with panic, but didn't respond, instead jerking to her feet and walking stiffly to where the Sheriff waited.
"Let us all settle ourselves," she was saying as she moved, her voice distinctly lacking its usual calming resonance. "The event is not over. Calm please."
The Echos vanished until there was just one standing beside the Phantom, trying to look braver than he felt. Lady Hersillia continued to speak and organize as the Sheriff took the no-longer laughing Phantom roughly by the arm and led her away. Echo followed for a few paces before Lady Hersillia stepped eerily out in front of him, blocking his path. Thin black ribbons swirled around her. Her eyes were strangely mournful.
"Miss Varena is busy. Something has come up. As you have been helpful this day ,Prince Nicobar requests you to take over her remaining duties for the rest of the event. It is our understanding that most preparations have been completed."
The outlaw understood that 'request' really meant 'demand.'
"Y-yeah, that's fine, that's okay. Wait, but what about the final joust? The one The Phantom was supposed to do? I'm not really jousting material."
"Worry not, just tend to the rest."
But he was worried, about a lot of things in fact.