Maximus might have avoided my assassin’s arrow, but I had still come out ahead in this opening round of the Regalia.
* * *
Still basking in my small victory, I focused on the arena floor, where the opening ceremonies were about to begin.
Three large wooden rings, each one about a foot high, had been set into the hard-packed dirt, while thick cables had been strung up at varying heights and anchored to tall wooden platforms that rose more than a hundred feet into the air. Rectangular bales of hay lined the arena’s circular wall, along with enormous balls, hoops, and other props. Black wrought-iron poles were also spaced along the wall, each one topped with a small lit cauldron. The flames danced, and the smoke curled through the air, mixing with the crowd’s sour, sweaty eagerness.
Everyone was ready for the show to start.
A familiar figure pushed through one of the gates in the wall and strode out to the center ring. Cho looked as dashing as always in his white ruffled shirt and black leggings and boots, and Calandre had made him a special red tailcoat covered with tiny gold dragons to mark the occasion. Performers from every kingdom participated in the opening ceremonies, but choosing the ringmaster was an honor that passed from kingdom to kingdom, and this year it was Bellona’s turn.
Cho had been absolutely thrilled when I’d selected him, but in my mind there was no other choice, since he was by far the best, most entertaining and enthusiastic ringmaster I’d ever seen. But I was also making a pointed statement by choosing him. Cho and Serilda had been exiled and outcast from Seven Spire years ago, and I wanted everyone to know that they were back home where they belonged.
Cho turned around in a circle, holding up his hands and asking for quiet. The crowd did as he commanded and slowly fell silent, but he kept his hands up, smiling wide, as did the dragon face on his neck. I’d never seen either one of them look so happy before, not even when they were eating sweet cakes. This was Cho’s moment to shine, and he and his inner dragon were fully enjoying it.
“Lords and ladies, high and low!” Cho’s deep voice boomed out like thunder. “Welcome to the opening ceremonies of the Regalia Games!”
The crowd roared in response, their cheers, yells, claps, and whistles so loud that the collective sound seemed to shake the entire arena.
Cho kept his hands raised a few seconds longer, soaking up the excitement and adulation, then lowered his arms to his sides and dropped into a formal Ryusaman bow. He held the bow until the crowd had finally quieted down. Only then did he straighten up and offer everyone another wide smile.
“Let’s start the show!” he yelled.
Loud, raucous calliope music sounded, dozens of performers rushed through the gates, and everything started happening at once. Acrobats tumbled into view, while wire walkers darted out onto the cables overhead, doing their own handstands and somersaults. Morphs shifted into their other larger, stronger shapes, jumping through hoops, balancing on poles, and doing other amazing tricks, while magiers juggled balls of fire and ice, tossing them back and forth to each other at dizzying speed.
Many of the performers were from the Black Swan, of course, but I had also chosen performers from several other Bellonan gladiator troupes, including the Blue Thorns, the Scarlet Knights, and the Coral Vipers. Each performer was wearing the colors, costumes, and crests from their respective troupes, representing the best of Bellona. The gladiator tradition had been born in Bellona, and it was a part of our history, our culture, in a way that it wasn’t for the other kingdoms.
The Bellonan troupes mixed beautifully with the performers from the other kingdoms, and together they put on a dazzling show. The crowd appreciatively oohed and aahed at every flip, dip, spin, and twirl, and the acrobats, wire walkers, morphs, and magiers pushed themselves to go faster, higher, and bigger with their impressive tricks.
I cheered and clapped along with everyone else. The lively music, the colorful costumes, the bright flashes of magic, the crowd’s appreciative roars and delighted gasps. They all combined into a thrilling spectacle. This was what I had always longed to see when I’d dreamed of attending the Regalia, and it was just as exciting and wonderful as I’d imagined.
The performance also reminded me of the night when I had first snuck into the Black Swan arena to see the troupe’s opening show in Svalin. If someone had told me back then that I would be sitting here now watching the Regalia as the queen of Bellona, I wouldn’t have believed them. No, I would have laughed in their face and said they were crazy for thinking that I could ever rise so high.
But I had risen this high, and I was determined to stay here, despite all my enemies.
Forty-five minutes later, the acrobats finished their tumbles, the wire walkers climbed down from their platforms, the morphs changed back into their human shapes, and the magiers snuffed out their magic. The performers clasped hands and took several well-deserved bows, while the crowd cheered.
Finally, the performers left the arena floor, and workers streamed inside and started arranging the hay bales, archery targets, and other props for the competitions taking place this afternoon.
The first day of the Regalia was largely a skills challenge, with prizes awarded in everything from archery to spear-throwing to sprinting. Today was merely a warm-up for the Tournament of Champions, the most anticipated event, which would begin tomorrow morning. Much like this first meeting of the royals was merely a tease for bigger, bloodier, deadlier things to come.
Now that the opening ceremonies were over, that tense, heavy silence dropped over the terrace again, although it was quickly broken by Maximus, who let out a loud, exaggerated yawn, as if he’d been supremely bored. Maximus yawned again, handed his empty mug off to a servant, and turned his chair to the side so that he was facing the other royals, who were all still in line with me.
“Queen Everleigh,” he said. “Your gladiator troupes put on a charming little show. With the help of the Mortan troupes, of course.”
Charming little show? It had been magnificent, and he had been just as entertained and enthralled by it as everyone else had, despite his yawning. He was just trying to dismiss my people, and me along with them.
But two could play this game, so I shrugged as if his words didn’t bother me. “Yes, they did. I’m quite proud of them. We should all be proud of our people for setting aside their differences to give us such a wonderful treat.”
The other royals murmured their agreement.
Maximus’s eyes narrowed. He didn’t like them taking my side, not even in something as small and insignificant as this. “Yes, well, I will be even prouder when my warriors win their competitions, as well as the Tournament of Champions.”
“Who are you putting forth in the tournament?” Cisco asked, a bit of envy creeping into his voice.
Most Floresians were more farmers than fighters, and none of them had ever won the tournament. Unlike the Mortans, who had won many times, as had the Bellonans.
“Mercer, of course, along with several of my most highly skilled guards,” Maximus replied. “Any one of them could win, although Mercer will most likely prevail. He is the defending champion, after all.”
I glanced over at Mercer, who was drinking a mug of cider, his feet still up in that chair. His chin lifted, and his eyes gleamed with pride at being singled out by his father.
“Tell me, Everleigh,” Maximus said. “Who are you presenting in the tournament?”
I gestured at Paloma, who was still sitting with Sullivan, Dominic, and Rhea. “My personal guard, Paloma, among others. She’s quite formidable.”
“She does look strong,” Zariza agreed. “And she’s an ogre morph. Everyone knows that ogres are the best warriors.”
I eyed her, wondering if she was being sarcastic, but she seemed sincere. At least about ogres being the best warriors.
“Your choice surprises me,” Maximus said.
I knew it was a trap, but I couldn’t help but ask the inevitable question. “And why is that?”
/> He shrugged. “I fully expected you to participate in the tournament, Everleigh. You Bellonans do so love your barbaric gladiator tradition, and several Bellonan queens have taken part in the past. What better way to celebrate that storied history than by having the current queen participate in the Tournament of Champions?” His words were innocent enough, but a clear challenge rippled through his voice.
Worry churned in my stomach. Had Maximus somehow guessed one of my assassination plots? The thing I intended to use only as my last resort? I studied him, but his expression was more mocking than knowing. He didn’t suspect that part of my long game. Not yet.
Why would Maximus care if I participated in the tournament? The bouts were only to first blood, and not to the death like in black-ring matches. Or perhaps he thought I could have an unfortunate accident in the arena, were I to face Mercer or some other Mortan fighter.
I didn’t rise to his bait. “Unfortunately, I haven’t had nearly enough opportunity to train for something as vigorous as the tournament.”
It was a flat-out lie, since I trained with Serilda every single day, something she had insisted upon, even after I had become queen. I was extremely grateful for Serilda’s skill and ruthlessness in knocking me on my ass time and time again, since that continued training had saved my life more than once over the past several months.
Maximus opened his mouth, no doubt to belittle and mock me again, but I cut him off.
“Besides, my thread master worked far too long and hard for me to ruin my Regalia wardrobe with blood, sweat, and dust. Why, she would kill me herself for that,” I drawled.
The other royals politely laughed at my joke. Everyone except for Maximus, but I didn’t care if he laughed. If I had my way, he’d be screaming before the Games were over. Him, Maeven, and the other Mortans, and Driscol along with them.
I stared at Maximus, silently daring him to challenge me again, but he decided to retreat—for now. He stood up and waved to his entourage. Mercer, Nox, Maeven, and Leonidas all shot to their feet and hurried over to flank him.
“Forgive me for leaving so early, but we flew directly here from the capital this morning, and it was a long, tiring journey.” Maximus looked at me. “Made even more so by my spontaneous display on the arena floor.”
This was the first time he had alluded to the assassin’s arrow, and everyone on the terrace tensed. Maximus kept staring at me, but not a flicker of emotion crossed my features. Diante had been right back at Seven Spire. That skill had already come in handy during the Regalia.
“But I suppose it’s a king’s duty to give the people a show,” Maximus continued. “I hope everyone was pleased with my little weather performance.”
I had to hold back a derisive snort. No, I had not been pleased to see exactly how much magic he had. I hadn’t thought Maximus would be easy to kill, but the depths of his power were forcing me to rethink my plots for eliminating him.
“Either way, I want to rest up for the kronekling tournament tonight,” he finished.
As part of the Regalia, the kings and queens held a competition among themselves—kronekling, a card game that was played in front of all the other royals, nobles, and advisors. The game was always held during the opening-night ball, and it often set the tone for the rest of the Regalia, as the winning royal earned bragging rights that often bolstered their kingdom’s competitors to even greater feats of athletic and magical prowess.
“Oh, yes,” I replied. “I’m sure it will be a game that none of us will ever forget.”
Maximus eyed me a moment longer before waving his hand at Driscol, indicating that the other man could finally approach His Royal Majesty again. The two of them spoke in low voices for several seconds before Driscol nodded and stepped back.
Maximus crooked his finger at first Mercer, then Nox, gesturing for the two younger men to follow him. He didn’t acknowledge Maeven or Leonidas. He didn’t even look at them as he left the terrace, and I realized that he hadn’t introduced them earlier, or called their names, or done anything to indicate that he was even remotely aware of their presence. It was like his sister and her son were as invisible to him as the servants were, and he only noticed the pair whenever he wanted them to fetch him something. An interesting—and insulting—family dynamic.
Mercer sneered at me again, then followed his father. He didn’t acknowledge Maeven or Leonidas either. Nox shot Maeven a guilty look and hurried to catch up with his legitimate relatives.
Maeven held her position on the terrace, her face calm and impassive, but a muscle ticked in her jaw, and hot, peppery anger blasted off her body. She didn’t like being ignored by her brother, especially not in front of so many rich, powerful, important people. Leonidas stood quietly beside his mother, ducking his head and doing his best to remain as small and invisible as possible.
Once again, I felt a surprising amount of sympathy for the boy. Unlike his other relatives, he didn’t seem to be an overtly bad sort, although I wondered how long that would last. Sooner or later, Leonidas would have to become as ruthless as his other relatives, if only to survive their petty games and deadly power struggles.
Maeven noticed me staring at her son, and she put her arm around his shoulders, bent down, and whispered something in his ear. Leonidas nodded, then left the terrace, heading after Maximus, Mercer, and Nox, although the three of them had already vanished into the crowd at the bottom of the bleachers.
That left Maeven standing all alone. Once again, I was tempted to draw my sword, close the distance between us, and bury my blade in her heart, but I tamped down the urge. I couldn’t kill her. Not here, not now.
But I could certainly add to her humiliation.
I was still clutching my empty mug, so I got to my feet and toasted Maeven with it. “To family,” I called out. “Isn’t it wonderful?”
At my obvious mockery, chuckles rang out from several people, including Heinrich and Zariza, who were still sitting beside me.
Maeven’s nostrils flared, her amethyst eyes glittered with anger, and hot pink streaked across her cheekbones, but she didn’t respond. Instead, she whirled around and stormed off the terrace. I watched her go with a thin smile on my face.
Maximus might still be breathing, but I had definitely won this round in my ongoing battle against Maeven.
Chapter Eleven
With Maximus gone, the other kings and queens said their goodbyes and left.
Heinrich was among the last to go, and he squeezed my arm before following Dominic off the terrace. Several guards flanked them, including Rhea, who had her hand on her sword. She might be Dominic’s unofficial consort, but she was also the captain of the Andvarian guards, and she was totally focused on protecting her king and prince. I wasn’t the only royal the Mortans wanted to kill.
I waited until the Andvarians had walked down the steps and disappeared from sight before leaving the terrace. Sullivan, Paloma, and Captain Auster formed a loose, protective semicircle around me, with the Bellonan guards behind them. Xenia had already left with Zariza and the Ungers, while Cho was still down on the arena floor, helping the workers get ready for the afternoon competitions.
My friends and I quickly walked down the bleacher steps, circled around the arena wall, and stepped through one of the open archways and back out onto the plaza. Auster sent the guards on ahead to scout our route and report back if there were any signs of trouble. No one spoke until we had left the plaza and the crowds behind and were heading down the hillside steps toward the waterfront.
“Well, that went better than I expected,” Paloma said, repeating her earlier sentiment.
I snorted. “Why? Because no one tried to kill me over cider and sweet cakes?”
She grinned. “That is a marked improvement from what usually happens whenever we leave Seven Spire.”
I rolled my eyes, but I couldn’t disagree.
“Yes, it did go well,” Auster murmured, his head swiveling from side to side, examining everyone around us. “Per
haps a little too well.”
“What do you mean?” Sullivan asked.
Auster rubbed his thumb over the hilt of his sword as if the motion was helping him organize his thoughts. “Maximus had enough guards and strixes to take control of the arena and try to kill anyone he wanted to, including Evie and the other royals. So why didn’t he? Especially after our failed assassination attempt.”
“Maybe Evie surprised him by striking so quickly. Or maybe he realized that there would have been an all-out riot if he’d tried to assassinate the other royals,” Paloma said.
“That’s certainly true, but Maximus isn’t concerned with things like riots. He doesn’t care who he has to slaughter to get what he wants,” Auster replied. “He’s never brought so many men and strixes to the Regalia before. He has something planned, something bigger than just killing Evie.”
“Perhaps he brought the strixes so his guards could fly across the river and try to assassinate Evie in the Bellonan camp,” Sullivan suggested.
“That thought has crossed my mind,” Auster muttered.
“Mine too,” I added. “When we get back, post more guards around the camp perimeter and tell them to keep their eyes on the sky. I also want your men to track the Mortans’ movements. I want to know how the king and his entourage are getting from their camp to the island and back again. Just because Maximus survived one arrow doesn’t mean that we can’t try to kill him with another one.”
“Yes, my queen,” Auster replied.
But there was nothing my friends and I could do about Maximus or his plots at the moment, so we walked on. Eventually, we reached the boulevard at the bottom of the steps. Auster had led us down a different route than what we’d used climbing the hill, and we had ended up close to the Fortuna Mint.
We crossed the boulevard and went over to the plaza on the opposite side. It was just after noon, and the area was filled with people browsing the wares the merchants were enthusiastically hawking from their carts, eating bags of cornucopia, and strolling along the waterfront and admiring the picturesque view of the harbor.
Crush the King Page 14