Peony sprinkled a handful of glittering pollen into an orb of dew, watching with hopeful trepidation as it settled lightly on the blob’s gelatinous crust. In moments the pollen was swallowed. She watched it swirl within, glowing brighter and brighter as the dew broke it down. The mixture was still a fraction from being perfect. It would have to do. Her grass blade lay pre-folded on her workbench, its base twisted into a hilt and flattened under a square pebble. Pale and thin, the sword was the finest she had folded in a while, and for good reason. A Spring Champion with an imperfect blade might as well enter the tournament naked. Nerves took hold again.
Peony brushed her hands off on the petals of her pink skirt, her wings fluttering as they always did when she was anxious. She took the limp blade delicately in her fingers and lifted it from its perch, imagining her mother’s hands on her own, guiding the process as she fed it hilt-first through the orb of dew. With slow, practiced movements, Peony kept the blade straight and it hardened within the orb, becoming rigid as it emerged out the other side. Two-thirds of the way through, she eased it towards herself, giving the blade a slight curve.
“Well done,” Marigold said from the doorway. Peony dropped the sword in surprise, fumbling with it before it clattered across the gravel. The sound echoed throughout the log. Laughter lines tightened around Marigold’s wrinkled, sparkling eyes, her yellow petals quivering in the entry’s morning sunlight as she threw her head back in laughter. “I see the tournament nerves have their hold on you.”
The old lady bent down and plucked the blade from the ground, straightening herself before giving it a test swing. It swished through the air gracefully.
“Agile. Firm.” She slapped the unyielding blade over her knee, “Sturdy.” Marigold beamed, “Your mother would have been proud.”
Peony’s dragonfly wings perked up a little, “Thank you, nan. That means so very much to me!” Her gaze dropped, “I just hope it will be enough.”
Stepping inside, Marigold placed a hand on Peony’s shoulder, returning the blade.
“If any girl in Spring is to become the next Queen, it will be you. I’m sure of it.”
Peony tilted her head, “If any?”
The old lady gave a sly, sideways glance, “I would never speak ill of Her Morning Glory.”
Peony gave a knowing smile, waiting for the inevitable, “But?”
Marigold chuckled, “But… I fear she is too comfortable in her power.”
The grass blade fit snugly through the loop on Peony’s waist, “She is a fine Queen, and whoever replaces her will do just as well.”
“Now. I didn’t come here just to scare your petals off,” Marigold said, reaching outside the door, “I’ve brought you something.”
It was the finest set of pinecone-scale armor Peony had ever seen. Painted white with pink runes and crafted in layers like shingles, every single scale was the perfect shape. Peony gasped with awe, her hand over her mouth.
“It was your mother’s,” Marigold said, “I’ve held on to it since you were a bloomling, but I think you have finally grown enough to fit.”
A squeal of glee escaped Peony before she could stifle it, “It’s more beautiful than I could have imagined. May I?”
A better fit could not have been tailored. The plates embraced the curves of her body and left her joints just the right amount of room to bend. It was light and maneuverable, but the reinforced pinecone was enough to deflect any force it faced.
Tears glistened at the edges of Peony’s vision as she wore it, imagining how her mother felt at the Queen’s right hand, donning the same armor.
“Save that smile for when you greet your subjects as Queen,” Marigold said, “It is terribly endearing.”
Peony caught her in a hug before the old lady could escape. Marigold was forced to accept it.
“Good luck, my little flower.”
…
Only four others had been selected for the tournament. Each one of them was a worthy choice, warriors of a caliber that put Peony to shame. In many ways, Peony was a thinker, a strategist, trained with a blade but hardly a master. The question lingered at the back of her mind: why me? The way the others looked bravely onwards towards the coliseum, it was like they knew what was coming. Peony hated the mystery. Marigold had explained to her that the Tournament was different every time it occurred. One time it hadn’t even included a battle, but that was during the peace-times.
Violet, one of Peony’s competitors, stood a head taller than her and did not attempt conversation while the five of them were carted to the coliseum in the ceremonial shell chariot. Orchid talked loudly, waving her thick arms wildly in an exuberant display of comradery. It was like she didn’t know that hundreds of spectators watched from their doorsteps. Rose was the only one who paid Orchid any attention, listening intently as if this chariot ride were nothing more than a pleasant morning outing with friends. Lily’s eyes darted around as if to absorb everything in sight. Her attention was focused on her competitors. Peony couldn’t help but feel exposed under her scrutiny. What is she thinking? Is she trying to find weaknesses? Trying to act casual, Peony gazed at the white mice that carted them along, watching their thick muscles flex and relax as they prowled forward.
The driver was a short avian male with fluffy blue back-feathers, probably bonded with warbler. Even he would know more about what was happening than they did. It was maddening. Just breathe. Peony took a deep breath and felt better for a moment until she realized Lily was watching her. There was a dim fire in the girl’s eyes as if she had detected weakness, or maybe it was just Peony’s imagination. Either way, Lily creeped her out.
“And you, pink one, what would you do?” Orchid said, breaking into Peony’s thoughts.
“What?” Peony said.
“What would you do if you became Queen?”
The question fell on her face like a raindrop, nearly knocking her over. What would I do? Peony hadn’t thought that far ahead. For months she was only concerned with making it through to the end. She had never considered what she would have to do if she actually won. Morning light! What would I do? The most she had ever aspired to do was survive, and maybe be considered for Advisor like her mother, but even that was an indulgent daydream.
“Well?” Orchid said.
“Don’t bother with her,” Violet said. Her voice was cool and confident, her expression bored as if the most monumental event of her life wasn’t enough to impress her, “Little puny here won’t last more than a second.” She sneered, “To put it simply, queenly aspirations are not worth considering. If she’s lucky she might become Advisor, but I can’t think of any queen that would choose her. Not after what her mother did.” It was like Peony wasn’t even in the room. She felt the tips of her ears grow hot.
“Don’t you dare besmirch my mother! Or our name! She was a better woman than any of us!”
“Aww, how cute,” Violet purred, “She thinks she’s intimidating.” She let out a coquettish laugh, “If your mother was so great, then why was she disgraced?”
Peony’s fists balled up instinctually. Orchid interjected,
“I don’t see why we can’t all be good sports. The tournament is an honorable competition.” Rose nodded her head in agreement,
“Everyone is here because they were chosen. Right now we are equals, legacies regardless.”
“The tournament is a game,” Violet said, leaning back in her seat, “And honor is won, not decided.”
Peony spoke, “I’ve figured it out.”
“Hm?” Violet said.
“If I were made Queen,” Peony said, fighting to keep her voice stable, “I would make you throw a parade for me, in my honor! Maybe I’d have you sing songs of my mother’s valor!”
Violet’s apathetic facade peeled away for just a moment, allowing hateful eyes to peer through. Passive again, her eyes shifted and they darted to Lily. Searching. Alliances were forming. It was clear that Orchid and Rose would fight together. The question remained whether Lily would side with Violet or Peony. Lily wasn’t even paying attention. The girl had discerned enough before the conversation started and was looking out at the crowds and the approaching Coliseum.
Somehow, Peony needed to get Lily on her side. There were only three options, become the new Queen of Spring, become her Advisor, or lose in disgrace. Many would choose to be an Advisor over disgrace and the moment one champion showed promise of winning the alliances would form. Each girl placed their bets now, ahead of time, hoping loyalty from the start would ensure a place at the Queen’s right hand.
…
The Coliseum was a massive amphitheater, carved into the ground and built tall with white bark. For a building erected only temporarily for the tournament, it was a sight to behold and an achievement in itself. The upper class populated the rows of seats, sitting on moss cushions and cheering the champions on. Many placed bets as couriers fluttered around in the air collecting coin and passing notes. The Queen- a tall, regal carnation- was perched, for what could be her last time, in a place of honor. Her face showed no emotions. She simply watched.
Five, isolated, towering stalks of grass occupied the center stage in a straight line, bent under the weight of glistening morning dew. Beyond them, however, was an unexpected sight. The back wall of the coliseum gave way to a steep, grassy hill, one that towered over everything. Without a doubt, the stalks and the hill had something to do with the task, but what? Peony’s mind was racing, trying to make sense of it all. She almost didn’t notice the giant barn owl that landed silently, occupying most of the empty stage. The gust from its wings ruffled the petals of everyone in the audience and its swiveling head blocked out the sun.
The feathers on its back rustled as an avian- no bigger than its foot- climbed off, carrying a tall hooked pole. The Queen’s Advisor. His feathers were speckled gold, matching perfectly with his bond, and his eyes were wise and righteous. Tall and dignified, his stature matched that of his bird. He walked past the grass stalks and waited as the ceremonial chariot reached the stage. Violet was the first to step out, even before anyone was sure that they were supposed to. Peony followed suit, the second. Every choice mattered. There wasn’t time to be nervous. She only hoped Lily was still watching her. That anxious breath might have cost her an alliance.
“Champions!” The Advisor boomed, his deep voice echoing from the walls he faced, “The Spring Tournament is upon us! Welcome.” He turned to the crowd, “It is a day not of joy, and not of sadness, but of change. Of rebirth. One of these could become the new Queen. Only one of them is worthy. Only one of them will rise.”
Peony shifted in place, fighting the urge to adjust her armor or check for flaws in her sword. She could feel the eyes of the audience baring down at her back. Waiting. Expecting. The rest of the champions stepped out.
“It is not a tournament of sport,” The Advisor continued. “Any one of these could die.”
Watching the distinguished man wax on, Peony couldn’t help but feel contempt towards him, her mother’s replacement. But she made sure it wasn’t visible on her face. To disrespect the Advisor was to disrespect the Queen.
“Champions, step forward,” he boomed. They did so, each to their own towering stalk of grass. Helpers, mostly tulips and daisies, approached the stage with bowls of sap. “For this challenge, the use of your wings will be prohibited.” Without pause the tulips set to work, each attending to a champion and requesting they hold their wings together. Peony conceded as a tulip poured hot sap over her wings. She resisted the urge to flinch at the pain. In moments the sap had hardened and her wings were useless.
“The winner of the tournament will be the first to reach the top of this hill,” The Advisor said, gesturing behind himself, “But it will not be a safe journey. No. Predators and obstacles of every kind await you in the grass. If you cannot avoid them, and you cannot defeat them, you will die.”
Violet chuckled to herself, her expression betrayed her thoughts, Is that all? But, the Advisor wasn’t finished.
“You see the stalks of grass before you?” he addressed the champions now, “They are laden with the morning’s dew. It is our gift from the gods and the life-blood of our society. Please, hold out your hands.” Each champion held out her hands and one by one, the Advisor took his staff, hooked a tip of grass, and drew it downwards. Orbs of dew slid down and dripped from the grass into outstretched palms, sticking and jiggling in place. It felt cold in Peony’s hands as she received her own, glittering in the morning sun and perfectly clear. It was the purest substance known to her kind. Peony’s mind raced, trying to predict its purpose in the tournament.
“A Queen is not just a warrior. She holds our society in her hands. She must protect it, and guide it through the challenges we face. She is never so lucky as to devote her time all to one problem. She will always balance multiple tasks, each of paramount importance. She must be multifaceted and resilient. She must be a living contradiction. A warrior, and a caretaker. So must you be.” His eyes met each of them, one at a time, “You will carry your dew to the peak of the hill. You must not drop it. You must not lose it. You must deliver it to the pool at the top.”
This time Violet made a different sound, and her face showed a hint of trepidation. Peony hoped Lily had seen it. No. This isn’t how I will win. This rivalry is only a distraction. I can’t let Violet get inside my head. The tulips returned with sashes of thick twine, each woven like a small circular net with long strings tied at the ends. They were not unlike the sashes newblooms were carried in. Reaching around each champion, the helpers secured the sashes in place. Their purpose was clear. Peony placed her orb of dew in the net and it stuck in place, its tense surface clinging to the twine lattice. It would hold, provided she didn’t move too quickly.
Everything made sense, but it did not put Peony at ease. Escorting the fragile drop of dew to the top of the hill was difficult on its own but within the density of the towering grass, anything could be lurking. It wasn’t a test of endurance or patience. It was a test of survival. For Violet, Peony knew, it would mean survival of the fittest. The challenge wasn’t strictly competitive. A race? Sure. But just because interaction between contestants wasn’t necessary, it didn’t mean there wouldn’t be sabotage. Peony eyed Violet, trying to discern her intentions as Lily probably had. She wished she could pierce her skull and see into her mind. A gust of wind derailed Peony’s thoughts as the owl took off into the sky.
“Please line up before the starting line,” the Advisor instructed. Each champion’s spot was marked, a stride before the starting line, and spaced out generously at the gap in the back wall. A forest of grass awaited them on the other side. “At the sound of the horn. Let the Spring Tournament begin.” Orchid gave a thumbs up to the champions beside her. Only Rose returned it.
A shrill whistle lifted into the air from a horn Peony couldn’t see, but she didn’t bother looking, she was already sprinting into the grass and her competitors had done the same. Morning was swallowed by a sudden and artificial night, the sun hidden behind a canopy of grass. The dew in her sash jiggled dangerously as Peony scrambled over dirt and pebbles. To her right, a worm receded into the ground, thicker than three twigs, but it paid no mind as she passed it. Before Peony could blink a robin had snatched it up, the pounding of its enormous wings knocking her over. Peony held her breath as she hit the dirt and her Dew spilled out of its sash, holding firm as it struck an old brown leaf and clung there, jiggling violently. The unbonded robin spared only a glance at the girl before taking off again in a flurry of feathers. Heart racing, Peony got to her feet and scooped up the delicate orb, placing it carefully back inside its net. It was fine. She let out a shaky breath. Keep moving. Her feet moved with purpose, driving her forward faster and faster as her anxiety grew. Now she was warier of the orb than ever and half of her attention was devoted to it. The other half navigated.
Eventually, Peony slowed down, her breathing growing strained, but she kept moving. She regretted how little time she had spent on the ground while training. It was essential that she paced herself. If she had anything over the others, it was strategy and she needed to use it. An ally seemed necessary, but Peony wasn’t going to let Lily choose between Violet and herself. Lily won’t have a choice. I just need to find her first.
Lily had been placed in the center of the lineup. Violet was on the opposite end. Orchid was closest to Peony, and Rose was closer to Violet. Time was of the essence, and Peony should have been planning where to go from the start. Regardless, she adjusted her trajectory, aiming towards the center path. The path she had been following was smoother, and easier to traverse, but it didn’t matter. Peony would have to abandon the road.
The grass grew denser, and it was almost impossible to keep straight. Peony navigated it as fast as she could, one hand hovering protectively over her dew and the other carving her way forward with her blade. The sound of the cheering crowd had long faded. There was only the smell of dirt and the sound of rustling wind. Before long she found Orchid’s path. The girl was nowhere in sight. Barring the exception that Orchid was either far behind or far ahead, the burly girl had likely abandoned her path as well, in search of Rose. Peony followed it for a minute, trying to regain her momentum before breaking off into the brush again.
Morning was beginning to decline, and as the temperature rose, Peony feared that her dew wouldn’t last long. Unless her eyes were playing tricks, it seemed to have grown smaller. No time. Keep moving.
Before long she encountered her first champion. Rose had pushed her way through the grass into a small clearing where ants were walking passively in a line by her ankles. Peony stayed hidden in the shadows, watching the crimson girl romp around without concern, her dew swaying perilously at her waist. Did I already pass Orchid and Lily? Or did Rose go after Orchid? Perhaps Lily and Orchid were already far ahead. A sickening notion crept into Peony’s mind. Maybe they’re already at the top. No. That’s useless thinking. Work with what you know. In one moment everything was made clear.
From the shadows, Violet appeared, a hateful glint in her eyes as she approached Rose stealthily from behind. For a moment, Peony wanted to call out. She wanted to warn Rose. But it was too risky. She watched as Violet’s pale, slender blade flashed in the sunlight, slicing from behind and severing both skin and twine. Before Rose had time to notice, her drop of dew fell to the dirt and was absorbed. Her cry of shock was cut off as Violet kicked her squarely in the small of her back and knocked her to the ground, unconscious and bleeding globs of greenish gel from the cut across her shoulder. In moments Violet was gone.
If Violet wasn’t at the top, then no one was. Lily had yet to be found. There’s still a chance. Peony delved back into the grass, moving with renewed vigor. Her feet bounded over pebbles and around blades of grass, nearly dancing through the brush. But her vigor was not rewarded.
Even as the climb grew steeper she encountered no one. Before long Peony began to get nervous. Her wings felt stiff, held together by sap. Her feet were aching. Her armor grew heavy. The air was getting steadily warmer. Every blade of grass looked the same. Only the occasional weed anchored her and kept her going straight.
A line of earth shifted to her right and her heart skipped a beat as it slithered silently past her. Peony only caught a glimpse of its many claw-like legs before it disappeared. She froze in place. But it had already felt her presence. It broke out from the grass into the path before her, nearly a hundred legs skittering as it moved with frightening speed. Two long dangling feelers stretched out from over its sharp mandibles, leading the way as it twisted its long segmented body towards her. Peony dove out of the way as it struck, aiming to maul her. She forgot the dew dangling at her stomach as she scrambled to escape and the orb nearly fell out. Marigold had told her that centipedes were big, but she had never dreamed that they were that big.
Ruthless and fast, it reeled back towards her, twisting itself to strike again. Peony was desperate for the use of her wings, but she leaped to avoid it, unsheathing her blade. One swing took seven legs, but the monster didn’t even flinch. It had plenty to spare.
Feelers swept outwards and one of them brushed Peony’s arm. She barely had time to react as it struck again. It missed her narrowly and she fell in its wake. With a quick roll, Peony protected the dew, but the centipede was almost on top of her. She scrambled to her feet and broke out into a sprint, stumbling over a twig as she escaped the clearing.
The monster didn’t give up the chase. It writhed through the dirt, scuttling towards her with ferocious hunger, kicking up shards of dust as it went. Peony could feel it behind her, always seeming closer than it actually was. If she turned around to check, it would devour her in seconds. Something moved above her, but it was gone before she could see what it was. A commotion in the dirt behind her prompted her to turn around, against her better judgment.
Lily was on top of the thing, sword in hand, having dropped down from a towering thistle. There was a moment of elation before Peony could think clearly. Now’s my chance. She sprinted towards the centipede, blade firmly in hand, aiming to strike while it was distracted. One hand over her dew, she fell to the ground, sliding under the beast and piercing at its underbelly as its legs writhed on both sides of her. Without the strength of both hands in her thrust, her sword didn’t sink deep enough and the beast almost took the blade with it as it scrambled away.
Nearly a hundred legs pounded frantically all around her as Peony lay, eyes stitched shut; the length of the beast’s form sliding over her. The sky met her eyes again as the twin, hooked legs at its rear passed over. One of them clipped her armor and snagged her sash, dragging her through the dirt, wings first, as the beast retreated. Peony caught a glimpse of Lily running after her as the centipede dragged her through the dirt. There were only moments to react or her wings would be shredded. With one hand grasping her dew, Peony sliced the sash at her shoulder. It whipped away over her head as the centipede carried it away and she slid to a messy stop.
Breathing heavily, Peony spared a worried glance at her dew. It was safe. She breathed a sigh of relief. Lily appeared over her, offering a hand. Peony took it, letting the girl pull her to her feet. Everything still spun a little as she stood cradling her dew, but otherwise, she was fine.
“Lily-“
“If the legends are true about her, and if you are half the woman your mother was, then you will make the best queen out of all of us,” Lily said. “I never asked to be a part of this, but I didn’t have a choice. If I am going to do anything with this opportunity, then it will be to ensure your victory.”
Peony blinked in disbelief. There was no winning over to be done. Lily had been on her side from the start.
“What about Violet?” Peony managed. The girl was already proceeding down the path, and Peony was forced to follow. Lily laughed,
“That brat? Her head is too big for the crown.”
Peony decided that she liked Lily.
“Let’s keep moving,” Peony said, “Violet is likely ahead already, and that centipede cost us precious time.”
“Your sash,” Lily said, falling in behind as Peony passed her.
“I’ll have to hold my dew. I know. It’s not ideal, but I don’t have a choice.”
Lily only nodded. Despite their alliance, she wasn’t willing to give up her dew. Peony couldn’t blame her.
“Then I will protect you,” Lily said.
The hill only grew steeper, and soon running wasn’t possible. It was almost a climb, save for the places where the ground plateaued. Grass gave way to more and more weeds. Taller and taller. Peony could only hope that they were going the right way. Her sense of direction had been thrown off by their chaotic encounter with the centipede. Lily kept moving, seemingly assured of the best way up the hill. Minutes later, she stopped.
“Wait here.”
Without pause, Lily ran over to the nearest thistle, latched on to it, and started climbing. She avoided every thorn with ease, her feet and hands knowing their way as if by instinct. Peony had a feeling that she could have climbed it blind. In moments Peony lost sight of her and she could only wait in the wind-swept silence, one hand resting on the hilt of her sword and the other cradling her orb of dew. Without Lily, she felt defenseless. Her sword was designed to be used one-handed.
After a minute, Lily returned, climbing down the weed and hopping back down to the ground.
“We’re close,” she pointed, “the peak is that way.”
“Then let’s keep moving,” Peony said, starting off. A hand stopped her.
“Look.” Lily pointed upwards.
White feathery Dandelion seeds were fluttering in the wind above, passing over the tips of the grass.
“What is it?”
Lily pointed, “There’s a cluster of dandelions ahead of us. Someone was chopping their way through. They are going to cut us off before we reach the peak”
“Orchid?”
“No, I saw Orchid a while back, she’s not doing a whole lot of moving.”
“Violet.” Peony stood up straighter. “We need to hurry. She’ll reach the top before we do.”
Lily shook her head, “Don’t you realize? The first person to reach the top will become Queen, but if anyone else wins, they will be honored, whether or not the new Queen likes it.”
It all made sense.”Violet will ensure that I don’t make it.”
“We need a plan to face her. You’re basically defenseless,” Lily said.
“Then I will be the bait. She doesn’t know about our alliance, I’ll face her from a distance, distracting her, then you will do the centipede maneuver.”
“I can’t climb dandelions. Thistles, sure, but there aren’t any up ahead.”
“Then flank her.”
Lily nodded, and without another word, she was off. If Peony did become Queen- a thought she chose not to dwell on- Lily would make a fine Advisor. Her loyalty was reassuring.
Once enough time had passed for Lily to get in place, Peony approached the dandelions, walking in the direction Lily had pointed out. It was unlike anything she had ever seen. Every single dandelion was decaying and white, tufts of a cotton-like substance molting away piece by piece. Even the gentle wind was enough to scatter the seeds that had held strong in their youth. It seemed all too appropriate considering what stood beneath them.
Any apathetic facade that Violet had once adorned had been completely discarded. She glared out with eyes as sharp as the blade she held out at the ready, her narrow form blocking the path to the top. For a split second, she regarded Peony, eyes flitting down to the dew Peony held in her hand. A weakness. But Peony showed no signs of it.
“Are you going to slaughter me, like you did the other three?” Peony said. Violet glared back, perhaps detecting the deceit.
“They will live through today. I made sure of that. You, on the other hand, well… I haven’t decided yet.”
She feigned disinterest, but Peony could tell she was fuming. Whatever happened, Violet could not be made Queen. Peony eyed Violet’s sash,
“You still have your dew I see.”
“In better shape than yours, I’m sure.” Violet stepped closer carefully. Deliberately. “I will have my chance to deposit it. Don’t worry about holding me back, this should only take a second.”
Peony tried not to break eye contact, fighting the urge to find Lily behind her competitor. Any second now…
“You’re right,” Peony said, “I’ll make short work of this.”
Violet roared, clearing the ground between them in half a second of pure, unfiltered rage. Peony had only moments to evade as a long pale blade sliced through the air. Without skipping a beat, Violet was on her again, striking faster than the centipede. Cold blade nicked Peony’s shoulder and she stumbled back, making distance before she could even feel the pain. Violet only laughed, dragging the tip of her sword in the dirt as she prowled closer. Peony didn’t need to see into Violet’s head to know she intended to kill. Any time Lily.
This time, Peony spared a glance towards the peak. There was nothing but dandelions. An evil thought crossed her mind, piercing with dreadful clarity. Lily was never her ally. She was already at the top, depositing her dew. Both Peony and Violet had already lost.
Peony tried to think. Violet’s blade missed her by a hair. She spun out of the way. Her own blade deflected the next attack, awkward and weak with only one arm. No. I can’t give up on Lily yet. She might have been delayed. Maybe this is part of the plan.
Peony hit the ground, her feet swept out from under her by a low kick. A deadly blow arched down towards her and it was too late to roll away. One hand wasn’t going to block it. Thinking quickly, Peony stuffed the dew in her mouth before grabbing her hilt firm with both hands and deflecting Violet’s blade. A quick roll took her out of Violet’s range, and within a moment she had gotten back on her feet and was on the offensive. Her first attacks were deflected and the dew sat uncomfortably in her mouth, tightening her jaw as she stretched her lips to close around it. At any moment she feared that she would spit it in Violet’s face.
With both hands, Peony had acute control over the weight of the blade. Swinging it in continuous arcs, she played its momentum to her advantage. Violet was forced to fall back in her defense, and she got weaker with every successive parry.
Her blade carried her as Peony made a final stroke. Violet’s cry of pain echoed among the dandelions and her hands fell severed to the ground, turning black as they wilted around her useless sword. She fell to her knees, uttering every curse she could think of as Peony stood over her. But there was no time to wait. Lily hadn’t returned.
Peony sprinted up the hill, almost forgetting the dew that swelled her cheeks. Her heart raced. Her legs ached. The pool at the peak was so close. She could feel it. Only the pulsing thrill of victory carried her forward. It swelled within her and for a moment, she felt like her mother, brave and unstoppable. Up ahead, the hill flattened but she couldn’t see over the edge. It took all four of her limbs to scale it, but when she did Peony was surprised by what she saw.
All that adorned the peak was a large clay bowl half filled with dew and the dandelions that surrounded it. Something wasn’t right. The Advisor should have been there. Peony stepped forward cautiously, the dew still straining at her lips as something moved in her peripheral vision. Out of nowhere, someone walloped Peony in the stomach and she keeled over, retching out the dew. She could only watch helplessly as it was devoured by the dirt. Shivers swept her skin. It all happened so fast. Something kicked her in the side and she rolled over, the sun blaring into her eyes.
Standing over her was a figure she recognized, but it wasn’t Lily.
“Your glory,” Peony choked. The Queen scowled down at her, reproachful eyes glaring from a regal face. Confusion and pain filled Peony’s mind. I don’t understand? What’s going on? Where is Lily? The Advisor? All she managed to utter was, “…why?”
The Queen looked down at her, white, ruffled petals lined with red and the emerald green Spring Crown heavy atop her brow. Her wings fluttered, spotted and pale, like those of a moth.
“I am sorry that you were mixed up in all this, ” she said, “It’s truly nothing personal, but it is time for this tradition to end.”
Morning Light. Marigold was right. Peony suddenly recognized the unconscious form laying behind the Queen. It was Lily. Peony’s strength had returned, but she continued a charade of weakness.
“What did you do to her?” she said.
“The same I’m about to do to you.” The Queen drew her blade, the finest fold Peony had ever seen, but the Queen didn’t have a chance to use it. Peony was on her feet and making distance, leaping over the pool to put it between them. Surprise was evident on the Queen’s face. Her prey had disappeared from beneath her.
“Why are you doing this?” Peony said. “This tournament is sacred!”
The Queen rounded the pool, but Peony mirrored her. “You don’t understand,” The Queen said, “If you knew what was best for you, you would back away. Now.”
“Then help me understand, your glory.”
“Your mother would have backed down,” The Queen said, growing frustrated, “Why don’t you follow her example?”
“Something tells me she would have held her ground.” Peony said. Her victory over Violet still held fresh in her mind, giving her confidence she might have lacked. Even now, her mother’s hands guided her. The Queen stopped circling and glared straight at her,
“Then you are just like her.”
In a flash of motion, the Queen lunged over the pool, flying at Peony with a burning fury. Blades clapped together as the two engaged. Peony had to keep moving, her superior holding fast to the offensive. There wasn’t much high ground to retreat to. What about… Yes. I’ll play to her vanity. Deflecting a low swing, Peony hopped up on the rim of the pool. Before it could tip she danced across to the opposite side. The Queen met her challenge as she had expected, and the two fought from opposite sides of the pivoting bowl, the water sloshing around at the hand-carved fill line.
Not a drop spilled as they toiled over the water; one aiming to kill, the other trying to survive. Finding an opening, Peony pushed forward, one foot on each side of the bowl as she knocked the Queen down to the ground. She stood, poised, sword at the ready as the Queen recovered.
“There is still time to back down, your glory.”
The Queen spread her wings, “What gives the elders the right to usurp my authority? They don’t know what’s coming! Only I can stop the return of winter! Yet they do not believe me!” She lunged forward, taking off into the air as she caught Peony in her cold grasp, lifting the girl up over the heads of the dandelions. “If I hadn’t banished your mother when I did, they would have usurped me sooner yet.”
Without another word, the Queen dropped Peony, watching her breach the dandelion canopy before hitting the ground. Pain flared out from her back and black dots crowded her vision. Tufts of seed fluttered down all around her as the Queen descended upon her.
There was only anger. There was only hate. It was stronger than the pain. Truth her kindling, Peony watched with eyes of fire as the Queen descended. Her mother was never a disgrace, she had only served a corrupted Queen. When the Queen drew her blade, that hate was distilled with fear. In vain, Peony tried to move her limbs, but they were numb. Her fingers were limp around the hilt of her blade.
“On the day of the Tournament, all five champions were slain,” The Queen said, “Taken by the predators and the blade of their competitors. The reigning Queen ruled for another term.” her feet touched the ground. “The Peony line ends here.”
There was a flash of movement behind her as something large and white landed across the rippling pool.
“My Queen!” The Advisor called, dismounting his owl, “What are you doing?”
She turned on him instantly, “Stay where you are! You still owe your allegiance to me!”
“You must not interfere with the tournament!”
“One more word and I will have you disgraced! My reign doesn’t end here!” She turned back and raised her blade above her head, preparing to strike at Peony’s heart. The Advisor could only watch in horror. The blade glistened in the sun. Peony couldn’t move. It pierced downward.
Without warning, the Queen was bowled over, the blade knocked out of her hand. Before she had time to react there was a blade through her throat. Lily’s blade. A gurgle escaped the Queen’s lips, and she exhaled a strained breath as the champion stood over her, bleeding green from a gash across her chest.
“Us lilies are tougher than we look, your glory.”
The Queen’s eyes dulled with her final words, uttered breathlessly from her shivering form, “…heed… Winter…” In the next moment, she became still.
The Advisor didn’t move, shock overwhelming his features.
“I hope you’ll understand, Advisor,” Lily said, “It had to be done.”
The gold-feathered man hung his head, “I’m afraid so. There was reason for the calling of the tournament. I had hoped, perhaps in vain, that it wouldn’t end like this.” Lily’s sash was empty, Peony noticed, likely spilled by the efforts of the Queen. What does this mean? Will the tournament be repeated? For the first time in generations, Spring had no Queen. Peony finally sat up, her limbs aching and her head spinning. They couldn’t hold the tournament again. Half of the champions were dead or incapacitated. Will they choose new champions? That would mean months without leadership. Society would crumble.
“Who was it?” The Advisor asked.
“What?” Peony managed, getting to her feet.
“The water is at the fill line, one of you succeeded.”
Morning light! Peony’s eyes widened. Lily hadn’t spilled her dew. She had made it! Somehow she had escaped the Queen long enough to deposit her dew!
Lily kneeled before the Advisor, “Your honor, I wish I could lie, but it would make me no better a Queen than that hag that is bleeding out in the dirt.” She turned her head downward, “It was Peony who succeeded.”
It took a moment for the words to register in Peony’s head. At first, they meant nothing, a whisper in the wind. Then meaning struck her. She was my ally after all. She would have helped me defeat Violet but the Queen ambushed her. It took the Advisor kneeling for her to register the gravity of what Lily had just done.
“My Queen,” he said.
Peony simply stood, dumbfounded, as the two kneeled before her. Lily looked up at her, eyes sincere,
“If you would have me, I would be honored to serve as your Advisor.”
Before Peony could answer, Lily had removed the crown from the Queen’s corpse and was holding it out before her. It glistened green and translucent in the sunlight, molded from stained amber and polished beyond perfection. Peony took it in her hands. It was heavy, in more ways than one. Am I ready for this? It was worn down and smooth on the inside. They must have chosen me for a reason. All of the champions are chosen because of their potential to lead the people. She thought of Marigold and the endorsement she had given. Perhaps she saw in me more than I did. The crown’s warmth was dissipating, growing cold without a head to keep it warm. This honor has been bestowed upon me, willingly. I will honor my mother and take it with pride.
“I will have you.”
The Crown fit perfectly.
Prompt:
“Competing fiercely to become Spring’s queen, the garden flowers blossomed to their full beauty. Who will win the golden crown of glory? Among them all, only the peony stands out.”
– The I Ching