So everyone.
Andreus shook his head. Under the beating of the windmills, a pounding came from somewhere below.
“Come on,” he said to Max as he hurried across the battlements. He followed the sound as it grew louder, until he looked over the white stone wall onto the castle guards’ practice fields and saw the source of the pounding. Torches were scattered around the field, illuminating dozens of workmen and carts filled with wood planks. More carts arrived out of the darkness.
“What are they building?” Max asked.
“I’m not sure,” Andreus said as he studied the scene below. Far to the left of the field he spotted Elder Cestrum and Elder Jacobs huddled with the castle’s head carpenter.
When Max pointed to someone painting big wooden stumps yellow and blue, Andreus realized what he was looking at.
A game board—much like the ones his mother used when scoring the card games she and her ladies played. This one, however, only had two rows of holes.
Two rows.
Two colors.
Two players.
When his mother used the board, each point a player scored was inserted in the player’s line of holes. The person with the longest line of pegs in the board by the end of the game won.
As long as no one saw his curse, he would be that winner.
He sent Max down to bed knowing he should go too. But he couldn’t make himself leave the walls as he watched proof of the contest to come brought into existence.
Imogen was wrong to question whether he could trust Carys. His sister hated these walls. There was no way she would want to doom herself to spending the rest of her life behind them. And yet he couldn’t forget her hesitation when he asked whether she wanted the throne. Her reaction played over and over in his head as the wind pulled at his clothes and the pounding of the hammers ticked off the seconds that were pushing him toward tomorrow and the unknown Trials that would decide their fate.
11
Yellow and blue flags fluttered high over the tournament field. Sunshine bathed the day and the wind was gentle, making the temperature warm for this time of year. Carys turned and looked back at the pure white walls of the castle that now had a large wooden board hanging high above the main entrance. Everyone had been whispering about the scoreboard that had been built overnight. Speculation flew as to its purpose and when the people would find out its use.
Soon. Far too soon. Because even with a plan to beat the Council of Elders at its own game, Carys knew how high the stakes were and how great the risks.
She turned back and squinted into the sunlight. Sleep had been hard to find last night. After hours of lying in the dark with her heart pounding and her back throbbing, she’d succumbed to the need for the Tears of Midnight.
First a little.
Then a bit more.
Until finally sleep came.
She’d needed the rest and calm. Andreus was counting on her to be rested today. She’d had no choice. And she’d been careful to take just a small sip of the bitter brew this morning to stave off the effects of withdrawal. As soon as they made it through the Trials, she would stop altogether. This time she would break the hold the red glass bottles had on her.
But not yet. For now, she’d be careful. She’d manage it.
Nala shifted under her and Carys pulled on her horse’s reins as she reached the top of the hill and studied the five acres of tournament grounds set in the lowest point of the valley to the west of the Palace of Winds. The earth sloped up from the tournament field, making the competition area and the viewing grounds around it seem to be in the bottom of a bowl. The location allowed even those who were not on elevated platforms on the sidelines a clear view of the action.
It looked as though everyone from Garden City had shown up to watch the tournament. Events designed for peasants and merchants had started hours ago. People turned and waved as they noticed the parade of nobility arrive, signaling the next phase of the tournament when the most skilled members of the guard would compete. A louder cheer went up as they spotted Carys and her brother and the entourage of lords and ladies spread out behind them.
Everywhere she heard shouts of “Princess Carys” and “Prince Andreus.”
Her stomach clenched as she looked up and met her brother’s hazel eyes.
So many people. So much that could go wrong.
Within the fenced boundary of the tournament grounds Carys spotted younger members of the guard, and those who aspired to gain the notice of Captain Monteros and join the rank of the King’s Guard, charging their horses down the list field in an effort to unseat and defeat their foes.
Far in the distance, past the lists, were the wrestling grounds and men swinging quarterstaffs, as well as an unusual-looking area that Carys could only assume was being used for footraces and maybe some kind of dueling. Closer to this end of the grounds where they were riding, men—and here and there a few women—were standing ready to test their aim at a row of archery targets.
On the southern edge of the tournament field, three viewing platforms had been erected. A blue canopy hung over the one to the left. A yellow canopy hung over the platform to the right. The center canopy was white and had the blue-and-yellow flag of Eden flying high above it.
Elder Cestrum pulled his horse in between Carys’s and her brother’s chestnut one.
“Princess Carys, you will be seated under the blue canopy. Prince Andreus, you will take the yellow one. I hope you will both do your best to honor the virtues today and do take care.” He smoothed his white beard. “After losing your father and your brother, and after what happened to your mother, the kingdom couldn’t bear another unfortunate circumstance.”
Elder Cestrum snapped his reins, held tight in his clawed hand, and started forward down the sloping hill toward the viewing platforms at the back of the tournament grounds.
“Are you ready?” Andreus asked, pulling his chestnut stallion up next to hers.
Carys wished she could ask him how he was feeling, but she spotted Elder Jacobs watching them. The Elder had a black falcon resting on his gloved hand. The bird was unhooded and Carys knew it was just waiting for the Elder’s command to attack. Elder Jacobs had never lifted a sword in a tournament. Instead, he let the bird he trained cause pain to others for him. She spotted Elder Ulrich, watching the bird—disdain pouring from his one good eye. Riding next to Ulrich was an elegant-looking, olive-skinned young man around her age who seemed vaguely familiar. He had a narrow, sculpted face and dark wavy hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders. But it was the seemingly careless command of his horse as he steered it around several children who came racing out of the crowd that struck a chord in her memory. This was the man responsible for catching her mother when she attempted to race back to the mountains. The unfamiliar crest on his cloak announced him as one of the foreign dignitaries who had come for the funeral and coronation.
The foreigner listened to whatever Elder Ulrich was saying, but he was watching her intently. Just as Elder Jacobs and his falcon were.
So instead of offering her support to her brother as she wished to, she straightened her shoulders and said, “I’m looking forward to winning, brother.” And nudged her horse down the slope of the hill to whatever the Council of Elders had waiting for them.
Children waved and ran after her and her brother as their horses cantered past. Loud cheers shook the earth from those standing twenty or more deep around the tournament fences. Vendors darted around, selling strips of blue and yellow fabric, the colors of Eden’s flag. But instead of being combined they were separate. Divided. Like the two platforms she and Andreus would stand upon.
Blue for her. Yellow for her brother.
As she looked around the spectators she spotted dozens who must have heard what the colored bands symbolized. They were sporting yellow flags and armbands. None that Carys could see in the crowds displayed blue favors. Her brother’s skill and magnanimity were known far and wide. The people already thought he was a
hero. They would be excited to have him as their King.
She hadn’t been flattering Dreus when she assured him he’d make a good ruler—far better than she would. She didn’t have the patience for listening to the grievances of blacksmiths and merchants and lords and soldiers, didn’t have the desire to fix their petty concerns with a royal decree. And when it came to the windmills—she liked the results of the powerful machines, but she had no interest in understanding how they worked or managing the Masters of Light or allocating power allotments to the city.
And even if she was willing to deal with those things, the idea of having armed guards follow her wherever she went sounded horrifying. Andreus liked attention. But every time Carys had to push herself in front to protect her brother she learned anew how painful it was to be seen—and judged. The strap hurt, but those wounds healed. It was the way everyone looked at her—as though she were unworthy of the crown—that made her want to sink into the red bottle and stay there.
People whispered.
They shook their heads, and Carys knew that even if she had not given her promise to keep her brother safe, she would still get those reactions.
Needlepoint and sitting around playing cards or strumming instruments held no fascination for her. A model of feminine decorum she’d never be. She was destined to be the royal disappointment to the kingdom. There was no point in inflicting that on the throne if there was another choice. As long as she got Andreus through whatever these Trials would be, he would keep the kingdom from passing judgment on her.
Carys pushed Nala to a gallop to the south side where the viewing platforms waited. Spectators in the back pushed and jostled to get a glimpse of the noble procession, while the others up front cheered when one of the men competing at the lists was knocked from his horse. The fallen man scrambled to his feet and raced for his sword instead of yielding. Carys didn’t have to watch to know that, for the smaller man, it wouldn’t end well as he faced down a much larger opponent who had ditched his lance in favor of a battle-ax. The promise of the coins or valuable weapons offered to the winners was too tempting for those in need to turn down. They’d rather risk an ax in their throats for the possibility of a better life than survive and be forced to live the lives they currently had.
The procession rounded the back of the platforms as the spectators gasped and then several long seconds of silence descended on the crowd. Quiet in the middle of the tournament meant only one thing.
Death.
The sound of cheering then resumed, signaling the body had been removed and the next contest had begun. Nobles often bet on whether or not competitors would survive the events they participated in. She wondered if they would bet on her and her brother today.
When they reached the viewing platforms, grooms came to take their horses as the Council of Elders’ pages, easy to spot in their all-black attire, informed the nobles of the purpose of the yellow and blue platforms and instructed them to choose a spot on the one representing the successor they hoped would win the crown.
One by one familiar faces from the court hurried toward the platform with the yellow canopy. A few had the decency to look back at Carys with guilt, but most never bothered to glance her way as they pledged their support to her brother.
She then saw Imogen, wrapped in a snow-white cloak, blush as Andreus escorted the seer up the stairs to his platform.
Good, she thought. If the seer and the court openly supported Andreus, it would make it harder for the Council to depose him in favor of Lord Garret. Carys spotted him now, looking at her from the base of the center platform where the Council members sat. Elder Cestrum put his clawed hand on Garret’s broad shoulder and said something to him, but still Garret didn’t move. He just stared at her. His long red hair hung free today and in the sunlight framed his face like the sun.
Carys resisted the urge to smooth her hair or straighten her dress. She wasn’t fifteen anymore and infatuated with the solidly built, skilled nineteen-year-old who had bluntly said her erratic behavior and stupors were an embarrassment to the entire kingdom. She’d admired him for speaking the truth to her face instead of whispering it behind her back and for thinking she was strong enough to handle it. But he was her enemy now, and it was clear by the way Elder Jacobs clapped Garret on the back that he was part of whatever the Council had planned for her and her brother.
Turning toward the steps to the blue platform, Carys stopped short of running smack into the same dark-haired dignitary she’d spotted riding with Elder Ulrich.
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he said with a smile that softened his sharp, tanned features in a compelling way. “I didn’t mean to get in the way. Although, it seems like I am making a habit of that when it comes to your family.”
“It does seem to be a skill of yours, Lord . . .”
“Errik of the House of Yarxbell, Trade Master of Chinera, and a lot of other titles my father and mother would say are necessary but mean just about nothing to those who don’t live within our borders.” His mocking charm should annoy her. Instead, she was intrigued by his lack of fascination with his own importance.
“Trade Master.” Chinera was at least fifteen hundred leagues away, across the Fire Sea, but she had been schooled thoroughly enough on the power structure of the kingdom to know the Trade Master was a counselor to the King and empowered to speak on his behalf in negotiations beyond the Chinera border. Lord Errik appeared at most only a year or two older than herself. To rise to that position so quickly spoke either of the influence of his family or his skill. Perhaps both. “It’s been at least fifty years since the last Trade Master visited Eden. And your visit was timely for my family. My brother and I owe you thanks for your interference with our mother yesterday. That habit came in useful.”
“It’s always nice to be of service. Although, I have a feeling you would have found a way to solve the problem had I not been so intrusive, Highness.” His deep blue eyes turned serious. “I should probably get out of your way now, unless you’d allow me the honor of escorting you to your platform.”
Carys shook her head as trumpets sounded, signaling that the nobility’s participation in the tournament was about to begin. “I believe the High Lords and visiting dignitaries are to be seated with the Council of Elders in the center. I’m sure they’ll be able to make you comfortable there.”
“I find comfort to be highly overrated, Your Highness.” He offered his arm. “May I have the honor of joining you?”
Normally, Carys would turn him down flat. But as much as she told herself she didn’t care what people thought of her, she didn’t want everyone to see her standing atop her platform at the start of these trials utterly alone.
She placed her hand on his arm and was surprised at the strength and muscle she felt there. Lord Errik was not bulky like Lord Garret or most of the guard, but there was strength in him others probably missed. She had. She wouldn’t again. She noticed him studying her and said, “I trust you realize you’ve picked the less popular side, Lord Errik.”
He put his hand atop hers and smiled. “Which makes it the far more interesting one.”
There was strength in his fingers, too. And calluses that spoke of hours spent training with steel. Yes. Carys had missed much about Lord Errik in her first assessment. She tried to remedy that as they climbed the steps to the long rectangular platform, and she was surprised when they reached the top to see she and Errik wouldn’t be completely alone. Eight of the young women of the court sat on wooden benches facing the tournament grounds—all girls Carys recognized as conquests of her twin brother’s charms. The girls stood and curtsied when they saw her and Errik appear. They all eyed Carys’s escort with interest as he walked her to the blue-cushioned throne-like chair in the center of the viewing stand. Not that Carys could blame them. Lord Errik’s strong chin and angular features would catch any girl’s attention.
When they reached her seat, Errik raised her hand and brushed his lips over her knuckles. Trumpets sounded and
her heart skipped as she stood in front of her chair and straightened her shoulders; the people crowded around the tournament field grew quiet and turned toward the platforms.
Elder Cestrum stepped forward on the center viewing area and held up his good hand and his metal claw. Heralds stationed near the fence of the tournament area prepared to memorize his words and plunge into the crowd to make sure all who were too far away to hear learned what was said.
“Congratulations to all the tournament winners thus far. The winds blew strong for you today. I had planned to be standing in front of you now under very different circumstances. Today was to be the first of our celebrations to honor the reign of Queen Betrice. But the Queen has been struck hard by the death of King Ulron and Prince Micah and is unable to take her rightful place in the Hall of Virtues.”
The crowd shifted and murmured. On the center platform, just behind Elder Cestrum, Garret turned his head and looked again at Carys. She pulled her eyes away from him and focused on his uncle as he waved off the crowd’s concern. “While we are saddened that Queen Betrice cannot take the throne, we are fortunate to have two of King Ulron’s children who are ready to wear the crown. Since only one can sit on the throne, starting here at this tournament we will hold a series of Trials based on the seven virtues to determine whether Prince Andreus or Princess Carys will stand as our ruler.”
The crowd around them erupted in cheers. A few of them took the form of her brother’s name.
When the applause quieted, Elder Cestrum continued. “He who is on the throne is required to sit in judgment of us all. It would be easy for anyone in that position of power to become prideful. But pride leads to destruction. The best kings and queens are the ones who understand humility. Today on the tournament field we will put Prince Andreus and Princes Carys’s humility to the test in three separate events. In the first two events, they will compete against each other. Nobility usually competes against their peers. But today, in the third event, to demonstrate their humility, our prince and princess will also be competing with some of you who have already demonstrated skill on this field.”
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