Page 5 of Whispers of Wisteria
I blinked through my blurring vision and looked at the jar of cookies again. This time, he reached over and handed me one directly.
I nibbled on it, thoughts heavy, before deciding on a better topic.
I glanced up. “How do you ‘win’ a ring?”
He’d been watching me before, but now he smiled. It was the first indication that something truly deranged was about to come out of his mouth.
“Only the strongest can make it through the new moon ritual,” he said proudly.
What an opening. Well, it was too late to back out now.
“What does that mean?” I asked cautiously.
“The Coliseum.” Dr. Stephens smirked. “It is a humbling, yet thrilling, rite of passage.”
The Coliseum? Did I even want to know?
“You mean like…” I began. “Roman gladiators?”
“They may have adopted it to suit their agenda, but know that the fae came up with it first.”
I studied the innocent-looking jewelry that’d been placed on the middle of his desk. “How exactly do youwinthe right to this special ring?”
“I’m glad you asked.” Dr. Stephens sounded genuinely pleased. He stroked his chin, his attention drifting past my shoulder in contemplative fondness. “It’s good to show interest in your own culture.”
But that wasn’t why I was asking. I wanted to know why this normally expressionless man was so deeply moved by this very odd topic.
“When a young man reaches the age of eligibility—that is, between twelve and eighteen—they gain the privilege of partaking in the Rite of Inheritance,” he began solemnly.
What in the world…
“In the Coliseum, we no longer stand amongst our blood and comrades. With the jewelry as our prize, everyone is an enemy.” Dr. Stephens was still gazing into the distance. “Once a winner emerges victorious, the ring is returned to the family estate’s treasury for safekeeping until a potential mate is found. Then we hold a service for any casualties. The finest chefs showcase their greatest works at the feast that follows.”
What the heck? He didn’t even flinch at the last bit!
There was no way I understood this correctly because if so, then…
“Are you saying that the fae throw their children into a pit so they can fight to the death for a stupid ring?”
Dr. Stephens frowned. I’d offended him. “It’s not a pit; it’s aColiseum. And no oneusuallydies. For example, Bryce and Brayden fought as rivals and Brayden survived. Then he went on to win his own Legacy ring during another new moon.”
Oh, okay. That seemed a bit better.
Maybe this wasn’t as horrible as I’d first imagined. After all, some competitive rivalry wasn’t all that bad. Such activities tended to build character. In nature, battle was a way for the male to show his prowess to potential partners. A ring was a nice touch—I always believed in encouraging excellence.
Might some people think it extreme to give youngsters magical items that would determine the course of their entire future? Maybe. Logically, though, what was the harm? After all, why shouldn’t the strongest scamp reap the reward of a secure and prosperous future?
“Accidents do happen, of course, and long-time grudges can be born. Caleb lost his pinky toe; even in death, he’s still bitter,” Dr. Stephens said nonchalantly as he dipped a cookie into his coffee mug. “Then Declan accidentally tore off part of Elias’s ear. He’s your half-uncle from Vivian and Nikolas. But, between us, I think that was deliberate. They were always so rough with each other.”
My mouth dropped open.
He pretended not to notice. “My point is that things can become chaotic when caught in the thrall of the Coliseum.”
“What?” The sense of foreboding returned. “You’re losing body parts too?”
And how did you accidentally tear off part of an ear?
Dr. Stephens frowned, openly sad that I disapproved. He set down the cookie and linked his hands. “You, dear, have so much to learn about our people. We’re not just men, we’re fae. We can handle some everyday, surface-level maiming. We’re made to be resilient, and fae have a higher pain tolerance than humans.”
