Out of Water

Chapter Nine

All three suitors arrived in gleaming armour, weapons hung inches from fingers which itched towards the metal. They were expecting a game of war; a contest of strength, despite the regent's hint the previous day.

Patience. What were they thinking? That he was going to test who could wait the longest before landing the first blow? Or see which of them stood in the blistering heat in wholly inappropriate clothing for the longest?

Any child could have told them to leave their weapons in their rooms. And the armour: Alidor's was a shimmering ebony, which gleamed like a highly polished version of the coal he seemed so keen to discuss. Ambrose's was a burnished brass, nicked in places from previous battles, serving to make him look battle ready, like a seasoned warrior. Leandre's was the lightest and the most beautiful: formed from spun silver as light as silk and draped around his body like an impenetrable robe. Even Erica's eyes lingered on it, and Ares's heard people close to him in the crowd discussing its origins with interest: "his family have links to the old fae of the northern forests. They spin metals into thread and sew them into the finest fabrics the world has ever seen." "The strongest too - I heard that fae-armour shatters human weapons on impact." Ares had never seen anything like it, for armour was never needed in the world beneath the waves. No one went against his mother's orders.

Impressive. Or, it would have been if impenetrable shields were going to be of any use today. Instead, they were just going to be hot and weighted down. Ares smiled.

Erica had been sat on a dais close to the wall, on display for both the suitors and her people. She, and the kingdom behind her, were every inch the prize to be won. She looked uncomfortable, her gaze continually flicking from the suitors to the sea. Her uncle had the seat to her side but, uncharacteristically from what Ares had witnessed so far, his throne was the smaller of the two.

But when he got to his feet before the assembled crowd he didn't lack presence.

"Welcome, honoured guests, to the first of your three challenges. As I told you yesterday, this will be a test of patience. Your weapons will be of no help to you today, nor your armour." The suitors shifted uncomfortably. Alidor lowered his hand from the hilt of his sword. "The only tools you will need are these." The regent gestured to the side of the dais, from where three footmen stepped forwards, each holding a delicate silver tray bearing a small trowel, a pallet knife and a long metal needle.

The suitors exchanged confused looks.

"A good leader knows that a kingdom cannot be made it minutes; it takes time for a civilisation to flourish. One cannot race ahead or take shortcuts. Today, I would like you each to create a kingdom of your own, from the material beneath your feet."

His proclamation was met with stunned silence from everyone on the beach. The first task was to build sandcastles? Did he think they were five? Ambrose was the only one to smile - perhaps wondering when the 'real' challenge would be announced. His fingers curled around the dagger at his side and Ares considered if the suitors might fight anyway. Perhaps they would compete for the kingdom on their own terms and take it as spoils rather than a gift.

"Do not rush," the regent continued, ignoring this itching to arms and the uncomfortable air that had descended over the beach. "You each have until the turn of the tide to complete your masterpieces. My niece will judge her favourite."

Erica pricked up at these words - no doubt surprised to be given even this small say in her future.

Leandre opened his mouth, as if to protest, but Alidor dropped his weapons into the sand and reached for the trowel. When he fell to his knees and started to dig, the others followed suit.