Cyanide sliced one of the remaining three orbs with her claws, as her own orb dropped out of view. The insects tagged the Donkamin representative. He came to stand next to her on the arena floor.
“Are you bound by Fate?” The First Scholar inquired. “This is your question. You have a hundred moments to contemplate.”
Cyanide didn’t bother with waiting for 100 moments. “Yes. That which shall be, will come to pass.”
The Donkamin twisted his neck to the side, stretching it to two feet. My stomach tried to crawl out of my body.
“We are the architects of our future. Fate is an empty concept.”
Cyanide smiled, showing her blue gums and gleaming white fangs.
“If everything is predetermined, why should one try to do anything at all?” the Donkamin candidate demanded.
“Of course, one should try. The future is unknowable, and we are blind to what’s to come. Our life is a test by which we are measured. To earn your fate, one must prove they are worthy of it.”
“There is no evidence that fate exists.”
“There is no evidence that one has a soul, and yet here we are.”
“I have no soul,” the Donkamin candidate stated.
“Then I shall not speak with you any further, soulless one. Our dialogue would be pointless.”
Cyanide turned around and went back to her seat.
Okay. That was over quick.
The First Scholar waited until everyone was seated and spread his wings. “The final two candidates may come to the floor.”
Two ramps unfurled from the Team Smiles and the Temple sections. Amphie was the first on her feet. She’d practically jumped up. A long purple gown accented with geometric white and black embroidery wrapped her figure. The color was beautiful and deep but desaturated rather than vibrant. It was less of a ball gown and more of a formal state dress befitting the spouse of a Sovereign. Her dark locks crowned her head in an artful arrangement—not a hair out of place. Black sandals decorated her feet. It was all very tasteful and dignified.
Lady Wexyn also wore purple, but hers was an unrestrained celebration of amethyst. Her translucent gown flowed at the slightest breeze, iris-purple in the center, then transitioning to a fiery rose, and finally turning an exuberant yellow. Her hair was pulled back from her face into an elaborate rose secured with a spiky golden ornament that looked like stylized sun rays. The long slit of her dress opened as she walked, giving everyone a glimpse of her tan, round thigh. A dozen anklets tinkled with tiny bells as she moved, and when the breeze swept the hem of her gown aside, I saw that she was barefoot.
They stood side by side, an elegant, somber inhabitant of a palace and the woman of light and color who would’ve been at home in a flowering meadow.
“The question before you is as follows: what is love?” The First Scholar asked. “You have 100 moments.”
Sean hummed a familiar tune into my ear. I picked it up. It was catchy and I was really tired.
“Don’t hurt me…” Tony joined in.
The egg turned white.
“Love is complex,” Amphie said. “It is at once an abstract concept, yet it has the power to affect living beings. Its impact is irrevocable and those who experience it are forever changed and often scarred, and yet, despite the pain they endured, some of them have no regrets. One can say that love is a process of elevation, a transformative journey from baser animalistic urge to a near-spiritual purity of feeling, from the compulsion to possess to the enlightenment of self-sacrifice, a transcendence that no longer requires mutuality but exists independently of the object of desire. It can be a passionate longing, or appreciation rooted in respect, or it can be unilateral and impartial, as the love of a deity for its followers or a ruler for their subjects.”
The First Scholar nodded.
“Love raises questions,” Amphie continued. “It is healing and yet it can also harm. One must love oneself, but too much self-love causes one to compromise their ethics and become blind to their own flaws. One could say love is a quest to complete oneself, seeking virtue and beauty in others that we lack within ourselves. Love exists in opposition to reason, for when we love someone, we ignore their faults, allowing their moods and wellbeing to affect our own. While it is the root of charity, it is also a kind of madness. In conclusion, love is a layered phenomenon that must be examined in a specific context, for it is too broad for generalizations. Its power is immense, its impact is lifelong, and it warrants further contemplation.”
The First Scholar nodded again and looked at Lady Wexyn.
She smiled back at him. A soft blush touched her cheeks. She glanced up at Kosandion. “Love is what I feel for His Majesty.”
Resven slapped his hand over his face. Amphie stared at Lady Wexyn with an open mouth.
“He is my favorite, and I will never love anyone else in the same way.”
Lady Wexyn gave Kosandion a little wave and smiled.
16
When we last left the inn, the debates were finished, and the
The Dushegubs stared at me. ‘Stared’ was a figurative term in their case, as their eyes were hidden in the crevices of their bark. They planted themselves, standing straight and stretched their branches to take up as much space as possible. Their limbs slithered and slid over each other, reaching for me like dark nightmarish tentacles, ready to grab and constrict. The wood creaked and groaned as they moved, suggesting the sound of human bones snapping.
Sean, next to me, didn’t seem impressed. I wasn’t impressed either.
Everyone else had already been dispatched to their quarters, including Unessa. In three hours Kosandion would go on his first date, which would be with Ellenda, and everyone else would be invited to an early dinner, but until then the delegates would stay locked in. We’d had enough socializing for one day.
The largest Dushegub stretched his branches at me, holding them above me like fingers of enormous hands ready to snatch me off my feet. The translator attached to his bark hissed and spoke in a low male voice.
“Proposition. You stop interfering or we kill you and break your house-tree. Do you want to discuss?”
This was not my first Dushegub rodeo. “You follow rules, or we kill all of you, go to your planet, and kill your saplings with fire.”
The leader creaked, rocking side to side.
“Fallacy: you do not leave your tree. You cannot go to our planet. Submit or we kill you. Do you want to discuss?”
“I will kill you here. He will go to your planet.” I pointed at Sean.
Sean showed them his teeth. The arena floor parted, displaying a clump of weeds in a flowerbed. Two nozzles shot out from the stone. The first unloaded a spray of hardcore off-world weed killer on the plants. The weeds shriveled. The Dushegubs drew back. The second nozzle clicked and spat out a jet of flame, turning the withered weeds into a miniature torch.
“We kill. You die.” I crossed my arms on my chest. “No need to discuss. Return to your pit.”