He woke up dry.
He had not slept well but not badly either. He had closed his eyes and opened them later and nothing had changed in between.
The corridor where he had broken down was empty and Sera was gone. The stone floor was cold. He got up. His knees ached. 'Dry eyes. Dry face. This is it. This is what settling means.'
He found a quiet corner behind the water barrels.
He crouched there and tried to cry. Thought about his family.
Nothing.
His eyes stayed dry. His throat stayed open. The muscles in his face would not move the way he told them to. He could do the grin or blank. Those were the options.
He pressed his palms against his eyes until he saw colors. Still dry. He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. Still nothing. His body would not cooperate.
It only knew how to laugh now. 'Useless. The one time I want to be miserable and my body refuse.'
Harsk found him there. The old man stood in the doorway of the alcove and looked at Chris crouching behind the barrels with blood on his lip. Then he said: "You've settled."
It was not a question. Chris wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "How can you tell?"
"Your face doesn't move right anymore. Same thing happened to me. Shadows don't let me squint anymore. Haven't squinted in maybe twelve years." Harsk sat down cross legged across from him. "What did you lose?"
Chris told him and Harsk listened and did not interrupt.
"It is not all loss," Harsk said when Chris finished. "The Price takes something. It also fixes something. My shadows will never leave me now. That is bad in sunlight but it's good in a fight. I do not lose my power. Ever."
"So I'll never stop being funny."
"You will never stop being able to make others laugh. Even when you are dying. Even when you want to scream. The warmth will always come if there is an audience. That is the fixed part."
Chris thought about that. A power that would never leave him.
'Great. I'll die as a clown.'
He left the alcove and walked toward the yard .
The yard was half full when he got there. Slaves sparring. Guards watching. The usual. What was not usual was Commander Voss standing at the edge of the sand with his arms folded and his iron colored eyes fixed on Chris.
Voss had not watched him before. Not like this.
A glance during performances, sure. The Iron Face commander had better things to do than study a Jester.
But today Voss was watching.
A guard handed Chris a practice sword.
He twirled it once for the crowd.
A few slaves chuckled. The warmth stirred.
Voss wrote something on a small tablet. Chris did not like that at all.
'He's taking notes onn me. how creepy.'
The Bolt Face was named for the way she moved. So fast.
Chris swung the practice sword and hit air.
She was already behind him. The wooden blade cracked against his ribs. He spun. She was five feet away grinning at him. "Okay," Chris said. "So fast. I don't like that but I respect it."
She came again. He dodged left and she was already right, blade tapping his shoulder. Then his hip. Then his knee. She was toying with him.
The crowd went quieter and the warmth drained.
Chris was losing and losing badly and there was nothing funny about it.
He stopped trying to hit her. That was the trick. Predictability. She was fast because she read where he would be and got there first.
So he became unreadable.
He threw the sword straight up. She froze. The crowd start laughing.
He dropped to the ground and rolled sideways for no reason gaining more laughter. The warmth surged. She came at him and he fell backward on purpose, legs flailing, and she tripped over him and went sprawling into the sand.
The crowd lost it. The warmth hit hard.
Chris was on his back in the dirt and the Bolt Face was on her face in the dirt.
She got up angry. But now she was hesitating. Because the idiot on the ground who could not land a hit had just put her face first in the sand, and she could not predict what he would do next because there was nothing to predict. He was not thinking two moves ahead. He was not thinking at all.
She lunged. Chris sidestepped, stumbled on purpose, grabbed her arm as he fell and dragged her down with him. They hit the sand together. He scrambled up first, grabbed the practice sword he had thrown earlier, and put the wooden tip against her throat. "Yield?"
She yielded.
The crowd roared. The warmth burned through him, too much too fast, and Chris took a bow so exaggerated he nearly fell over again, which got more laughter.
Voss wrote something on his tablet.
Evening. Chris sat on the steps outside the kitchen where the cooks dumped scraps and slaves gathered to eat whatever the nobles had not finished.
The food was bad. He ate it anyway. His ribs hurt from the Bolt Face's hits.
Sera sat beside him. She had a piece of bread. She tore it in half and gave him some without asking if he wanted it. He took it. "What did settling feel like?" she asked.
He chewed the bread and thought about it.
"Nothing." He said it flat. " It really feels like nothing. I should be sad. I know I should be sad. I am not sad. I am just... this." Sera nodded. No attempt to fix it.
She sat there with her half of the bread and let the silence exist between them. After a while she said: "My mother used to make me recite poetry when I was angry. Said it would calm me down. It never calmed me down. But I still remember the poems." Chris looked at her. "That is the saddest thing anyone has ever told me."
"I know." She tore off another piece of bread.
A guard appeared at the edge of the steps. One of Maren's men. The metal insignia on his collar caught the torchlight.
"The Warlord wants you in the arena tomorrow."
Chris looked up. "Practice?"
"No." The guard's face was blank. "Real bout. Opponent is a Worn Face. Full settlement."
A Worn Face. Someone whose power had gone all the way down. Someone who did not just wear their Face . they were their Face. No gap between the power and the person. The most dangerous kind of opponent because they had nothing left to lose.
Chris knew this because Harsk had told him, and Harsk had told him because Harsk was one.
Sera's hand tightened on the bread. She said nothing.
The guard left. Chris sat on the step and stared at the wall across the courtyard for some time then he got up and walked toward the pens.
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A/N: I hope you enjoy this novel. Support by adding to your library and giving a power stone or two. Thank you.