Out of Water

Chapter Twelve

Erica watched as Ares reeled from her uncle's questions. His face grew faintly green, and a third vial bloomed red. They hadn't discussed his past: there were plenty of moments from the past year that Erica was keen to keep to herself, and seemed wrong to force Ares to divulge all his secrets if she could and would not do the same.

He would tell her when he was ready; she could sense the story there, one that was wild and magical and unbelievable; especially if the world he'd spun from sand was anything to go by. She was content to wait and hear it when he was ready.

Her uncle evidently didn't feel the same way.

Ares shifted from foot to foot. She knew how much even that tiny movement must be hurting him, and it pained her to think that he was so anxious it was preferable to remaining still.

He had lowered his head towards his chalk board, a slim finger of white chalk poised in his hands, staining his fingertips. But he hadn't moved it yet.

Beside her, Erica's uncle tutted. "Come on, boy. We haven't all day." Ares was not an 'honourable suitor' like the others; he was a boy, chastised, ridiculed and made to feel out of place.

Ares looked up then, not at her uncle, but at her. The eyes that met hers were full of sorrow. Of regret.

She knew what he was going to do the moment before the vials changed, all four glowing the same eerie red. She knew that he'd done it on purpose. She knew he'd knocked himself out of the competition to avoid giving an answer he hadn't wanted to divulge.

What she didn't know, was why.

"He's dangerous, Erica! Can't you see that?" For the first time in months, something like concern crossed her uncle's face. She steeled herself against it; it was too late for him to be concerned about her wellbeing now; he was the one who'd got her into this mess in the first place.

Her uncle was pacing about his study. Leandre had won the second contest a few hours ago, leaving Alidor as the only suitor yet to be victorious. She wasn't entirely sure what this meant for any of the suitors in the final task yet, but so long as Ares made it that far, she didn't care.

"You're only saying that because he wasn't handpicked by you!" She argued back from the chair beside his desk. It was the one her aunt always used to sit in: large, purple and soft enough to sink into. Her uncle couldn't even look in her direction. She was a amazed the chair was still in the room at all, that he hadn't thrown it though the window and watched it shatter on the ground below. "And look how that's turned out so far!" she continued. "Ambrose assaulted another suitor then took himself out of the running! I trust Ares. I know Ares, far more than I know Leandre and Alidor."

"You only know what he has told you!"

"And you only know what you've read in a dossier!" she countered.

"I don't trust him, Erica. I want him out of this contest." He still couldn't even look at her. His gaze was directed out of the castle window, trained on the sea in the distance. Erica's heart broke for him, but that didn't make her forgive him for what he was putting her through.

"Uncle Lance," she said, her voice soft. She couldn't remember the last time she'd said his name. Couldn't remember the last time they'd even really spoken. "You have to at least give him a chance to explain himself - maybe he was going to answer your questions, but his panic got the better of him." She knew it was a lie, but her only hope of keeping Ares in the contest was for her uncle to believe it.

Her uncle scoffed, but as he turned back towards the room - carefully training his eyes on a spot above her head - something in his expression broke away. "Okay, I'll give him one more afternoon. If you can find out enough about his family to justify his place in this competition, I will let him compete in the final challenge."