Their Thirst For Pride

11 - Scars

Lyra stood, shocked by this death. If there was any death that affected her so far in this nightmare it was this one. Mr. Winslow, her fiance, was dead. Was it wrong for her to feel a sense of relief? She barely even knew him and she was going to be forced to marry him.
Of course, everyone gathered at the news of another death. River felt sick to her stomach seeing Mr. Winslow’s dead body lying on the ground. The past week had done nothing but remind her of what she’d come here for. She wanted to help Barrett but instead she’d made an empty promise to herself. She was going to die before she could do anything to help her younger brother. She tried to hold it back as she had been doing for days now but she just couldn’t. She looked away, a few tears falling down her face and walked quickly away. She earned some stares as she walked back inside, breaking down. Everyone thought it was a little odd, Esme especially. She didn’t know what to do.
Shortly after Mr. Winslow’s body was removed from outside, the pottery competition took place. No one was in the mood for anything at this point in the games. They all ached to go home. Vardaan examined each unglazed pot. It was the best they could do considering the amount of time they had to create any sort of piece. Not caring about who would win, he chose his friend, Lex. And boy was he happy to win. So maybe there was someone in the mood for competing.
“Great, next up is sword fighting.” Lyra said, scribbling down her notes and staring at Miss Cadman’s empty spot in the lineup of competitors.
A few people talked, the others went to their rooms or elsewhere, careful to watch out for themselves or not be alone with just one person.

River stuck in her room for a few hours, staring at the ceiling thinking about everything she’d wanted before she died and reading any book she could find just to distract herself. At any moment, someone could just show up in her room and end her life. She was terrified.
In the middle of a fantasy book, someone knocked on her door. Her arms ached from holding the book in the air while lying on her back for too long. She didn’t move, only stared at the door, waiting for whoever it was to just walk in and they did. It was thankfully her servant coming in to deliver a message. She left the paper on the bed and walked back out. The paper simply said the next competition was sword fighting and had a sloppy signature from the queen written on it. It explained that they didn’t want to bother her since she’d been so upset earlier. The fact that sword fighting was next worried her. What if the murderer just outright killed someone during the competition? She’d feel guilty, like she was in the place of her father. That couldn’t happen- she was being ridiculous. They’d of course use practice swords. Those couldn’t do anything more than give someone temporary pain, nothing serious though. Despite being certain that they’d use practice swords, the mere possibility of using actual blades made her uncomfortable.
She stood up beside her bed, walking over to her mirror, staring at her tear stained face. She fixed her sleeve she’d fidgeted the life out of and brushed her hair behind her ear, revealing a dull scare right next to her ear. A gift her brother had given to her when she was only fourteen years old, a symbol of the beginning of her journey to become a sword fighter. She shivered looking at it.

Esme walked around, examining all the blades and in the weaponry room. She wondered if she’d be good at this competition. She’d probably lose but she had studied and watched fencing competitions.
River peeked inside the weapons room, curious as to why someone was in there. She found Esme picking up a small sword and walked inside to accompany her. Maybe she could get something out of Esme about the murders. Maybe she was the murderer.
“Need some help?” River asked, hand still clasped to the doorknob.
Esme dropped the blade and squinted her eyes, bothered by the clang the metal made against the table it fell onto.
“River? What are you doing in here?” She said, a little scared of the presence of just one other person in the room. Especially a room full of swords, guns, and other weapons.
“We’re friends, right?”
The question frightened Esme even more. What did she want since Esme had angered her? “River, I’m sorry.”
“What?”
“I’m sorry, River. I feel bad, you’re going through something and I shouldn’t have been so ignorant.”
River stayed silent for a moment. Then, she took a breath, trying to compose herself. Act normal. “It’s okay. I forgive you.”
Esme smiled, relief washing over her. “Thank you. Are you ready for the next competition?” She asked, attempting to change the subject.
“Yeah, but I don’t think you are. Mind if I help you out?” She asked, unsheathing a beautiful sword from it cover.
Esme considered for a moment. Would that be considered cheating? She didn’t know. Who cares? “Sure, if you’re up to it. I’d love the help.”
“Alright then, grab a sword and follow me.” She said, not checking to see what kind of sword her friend would choose.
Esme thought about taking one of the smaller swords, ones that could do less damage but was intimidated by the one the experienced sword fighter had taken. So she took the one she’d dropped and headed off to follow River.
The two girls made their way to an open space to practice. A large space outside the back of the garden. Esme stared at the gate so far away from their place, nearly out of sight with the castle standing in the way. She wondered what the people beyond those gates were thinking. Did they just assume the queen was trying something new this year? Was anyone suspicious or did everyone just love Lyra’s class act too much to care?
River touched her sword to Esme’s raising it up and catching her attention. “Alright, just follow my instructions.”
She nodded, copying the stance River began in. Training had begun.