“When Ion said that you didn’t help in the North, what did he mean?” Aurelia asked. Her heart skipped a beat. She was scared to know.
“We were allies of Burrath. For years they had shipped us supplies down from the North. And then the war started,” said Elara. Aurelia was holding eye contact with her; she looked sad. “We received a request to help.”
“And you didn’t?” Aurelia pulled her hand back, and Elara looked away. Suddenly, the reason they were welcomed so quickly after the mention of Aurelia’s heritage made sense. They felt guilty.
“It’s not that simple.”
“What does that mean?” said Aurelia, pushing her chair back. “You could have helped us! The number of Wielders you have here could have made a difference!”
“We just took too long to decide. And then, right after we had made the choice to join the fray, we received word Wolfmere had been killed—”
“The war had started years before that day!” Aurelia stood.
“You are right. But I was elected by our people to keep us safe. It was a long deliberation. Ultimately, it was my choice, and the Free-Wielders were following my command. I did eventually decide to go to war, but it was too late. Wolfmere was killed, I decided our best option was to stand down—the war was lost the day your father died.”
“Nobody knew that. It may have still been won.”
“What was I expected to do, risk our safety on a chance?”
“For the people who helped you—yes!” shouted Aurelia. She paused, through the pulses of the headache, she realized something. Ion was right. She was just like Elara—she was a coward. She shook her head. No, she couldn’t compare herself to Elara. Elara had been trying to protect her people and their children. She was just trying to protect herself.
“Aurelia?” said Elara softly. “Are you alright, my dear?”
“Yeah, fine.”
“It is the biggest regret of my life. Your father and your people were so brave and generous. I blame myself every day.”
“Would you make the same choice again?” asked Aurelia.
Elara was silent for a moment. Her normally poised demeanor was different—she was slouching and she looked small. She inhaled and composed herself, throwing her shoulders back and holding her chin up high. “Every time.”
Chapter 32
Azul, 18th Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.
There was silence at the table as they ate the spread of cheeses and fruits elegantly displayed on a giant wooden slab in front of them. The smell of thick dairy wafted towards Kari, and she grabbed a slice of the nearest cheese. It was savoury and milky, and she wondered where in the kingdom it came from.
Each day had been a celebration of sorts, filled with feasts and lavish outfits. Before the Ascension Trials, Kari had led a lavish life as well, being a Skreeh—an advisor to some of the most elite soldiers in the kingdom—and the last blood-relative of the God-King. But her life had never been as godly as this. Succession was not based on blood, after all.
Every person who had a chance to ascend, who had a chance to sit on one of the three thrones, sat in this dining hall. Kari frowned. Every person except one. The competitor from Sable was still missing. Though Kari was young at the last Ascension Trials, she had heard tales of Hectar’s defeat, and how he nearly went mad in the last Trial. Perhaps they did not want to make a spectacle this time around.
She scanned the room. No one in it deserved this honour. If she were Apollyon and this was the best Azanthea could offer, she would be entirely disappointed.
She glimpsed at Lord Salmond, who sat to her right. Even at this early hour, when most were in a more informal dress, he had taken the time to drench himself in gold. His white tunic had gold-plated shoulders and golden threads that pulled together the deep neckline.
To his right sat Amelie, dressed as bare as she had been on the night they met. Half of her dark hair was pulled back into a complex braid that flowed down her back. She had her feet kicked up on the table and was meticulously carving an apple with her knife. She was much too crass to be deserving of one of the three thrones.
Amelie caught Kari’s gaze and smiled, taking a bite of her apple. Kari felt a warmth crawl up her cheeks and she quickly looked away, towards the newcomer, who had just arrived the night before. Her skin and hair were pale as snow but very obviously stained by the soot of the mines. Her eyes were the colour of black coals. Lord Absinthe’s caravan had come into the city the night before, all the way from Míastrad. Behind their wagons and horses, they had dragged along a gift for the God-King. It was the reason they had taken so long to arrive.
Hundreds of Míastrad’s worst felons and a group of rebellious Northerners who were caught trying to flee to the Nation of a Dozen Isles had been forced to walk all the way to Azul. They had been shackled and barely fed. Kari felt ill at the memory of the smell of their rotting flesh. It made her furious at Lord Absinthe. The God-King had appointed the lords for a reason—he entrusted them to deal with their miscreants, not to just drag them to the capital and pollute his city. Perhaps Lord Absinthe had done it to prove how mighty a warrior she was, how strict a lord. But she was no leader of the people. And certainly no God.
Then there was Dane. Kari sighed ever so quietly as her attention turned to him. Perhaps she had just been so young before that she could see no flaw in him. Or perhaps he had been in Diamonwon for too long. But now he was fraternizing with the Vyvents and bringing in precious resources to give away to prisoners and rebels. No, he was certainly not worthy.
Kari looked ahead at the seat on the opposite end of the table. It was empty. The missing competitor from Sable. Hectar had been the favourite in the last Ascension Trials even though he was not a Wielder. He was strategic and a master of the sword. The God-King himself requested he compete, the first non-Wielder to ever be invited. The common folk loved him. What no one had expected was for him and Vallich, a mere child, to be evenly matched in all the Trials. But during the last Trial, the one kept the most secret, Vallich had prevailed. That final, secret Trial nearly drove Hectar to the brink of insanity. Vallich left it a different person as well. He became stoic and cold and was a child no longer.
Vallich’s grey eyes flashed in her mind. She should have known better. She should have taken his words seriously. A lump began to form in her throat and suddenly the overlapping songs of the other Wielders in the room were becoming overwhelming. There were too many of them. There was too much noise.
“Who do you think will be the first to die?” Amelie said, sliding her feet off the table.
Kari snapped out of Mímrvor’s song. “Excuse me?” They were in the dining hall of the God-King, did Amelie have no sense of decorum?
“Somebody has died in every Ascension Trial since the first heir left years ago.” Lord Absinthe leaned forward, her elbows on the table. “Don’t be such a prude.”
“Perhaps this year will be different,” Kari said. Her palms were getting sweaty. They were all warriors and she was not. She felt suddenly out of place in her own home.
“Every year is different,” Lord Absinthe said, “but every year is also the same.” She held up three fingers and Kari could see the coal beneath her nail beds. “A Strategy Trial, a Justice Trial, and an Enlightenment Trial. What each entails always differs, but their brutality does not. The God-King will push you to your limits to see how far you will go in his name. Somebody always dies.”
They all stared at Lord Absinthe. But Kari knew what she was saying was nonsense. The God-King would never intentionally harm anyone who was underserving of punishment.
Amelie turned to Kari and winked. “Don’t worry, I won’t kill ya.”
Kari’s cheeks burned and she balled her fists. Dane let out a hearty laugh. Kari shot him a warning glare and stood from her chair. “I think I am done with breakfast for today. Thank you for your company.”
“What a pity. The conversation was just getting interesting,” Lord Salmond said, taking a b
ite out of a grape. It was ever so slight, but Kari was certain he was baring his teeth. “Still skies, Kari Sangdroi.”
“And strong roofs,” Kari said, turning away.
She walked across the dining hall and towards the doors. As she approached, they opened on their own, as if the guards on the other side could hear her coming.
“Kari, wait,” Dane said, running out into the hall after her.
“What is it, Dane?”
“Don’t let what they said in there scare you,” he said, “but—”
“They do not scare me, Dane. They infuriate me. How can they possibly be worthy to ascend?”
“I assume you group me in with them.”
“I thought you were the one above us all, destined for it. Until the other day. Vyvents, Dane! Really?” Kari said harshly, in hushed tones. She sighed and shrugged. “Turns out we are all flawed.”
“You as well?”
Kari looked into Dane’s soft eyes as Mímrvor sung a gentle tune. “Me as well,” she whispered.
“Then from one flawed person to another, watch out for yourself, Kari.” Dane took a step forward and looked deep into her eyes. “You were young during Vallich’s Ascension Trials. And though you may not remember them well, I was there. Lord Absinthe was there. We watched the bloodshed. You are no fighter, so be careful.”
Kari quietly nodded. “You too.”
Chapter 33
Azul, 20th Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.
Kari stood shoulder to shoulder with Dane on her left and Lord Absinthe on her right. Amelie and Lord Salmond flanked their sides. A crowd, gathered in wooden bleachers that seemed to have appeared overnight, roared in the background. The five of them stood at the bottom of the arched bridge that crossed the water to the House of Historians. It was lined with the flags of Azanthea, the Highwings. The sun rising behind the large tower of the House of Historians cast a dark shadow over them.
Kari regarded her competitors. Amelie was dressed in her typical fashion—black with almost all of her skin exposed. Except today she was also covered in an assortment of weapons. Short copper knives hung from a belt that sat low on her hips and a steel crossbow that was strapped across her back. Her long hair was tied into a knot on the top of her head so as not to interfere with her weapons. Her dark Godstone, sewn into her leather armband, glistened in the morning light. Amelie was focused on their target ahead.
Dane was no longer covered in furs, which would have been much too hot in the summer sun, opting for a loose long sleeve. His copper sword was already in hand. Kari could feel him shifting next to her, constantly shaking the clinging fabric off himself. He looked uncomfortable, and Kari knew it was not because of the Trials. She could see the tight wrapping he wore around his chest through the loose fabrics and she recalled how he used to fret over it in the summer months. Kari smiled weakly; it was probably one of the reasons he preferred the cooler north.
Lord Salmond and Lord Absinthe both wore armour. While Lord Absinthe’s was plain and plated, crafted from metals taken from deep within the mines of Míastrad, Lord Salmond’s was much more regal. He wore fine chainmail with gold chains weaved throughout. One long, gold earring dripped down from the upper cartilage of his ear and pierced back into it again at the lobe. His illusion of superiority was tattered by the vicious-looking gold-plated mace hanging from his belt.
“Competitors.” Xenophon’s voice boomed, and Kari searched for the source of it. The crowd around them settled. Two shadows appeared on the top of the bridge, and Xenophon and Noramilli walked in tandem up the other side of the bridge. The low sun behind them made their faces and bodies dark, the purple of Xenophon’s robes appearing almost black in the shadows. Kari studied Noramilli for a moment. He did not shine like Dane’s Vyvent comrade. She suddenly felt a little guilty, having judged him harshly for so many years, merely on the basis of rumours.
“Welcome to the first of the Ascension Trials,” Xenophon continued, addressing their group. “Today marks the first of the Trials: Strategy.” A wave of whispers echoed through the crowd, but the louder whispers were in Kari’s ear. Mímrvor’s song was frantic and excited as he sung the tune of all the Godstones around them. Xenophon continued. “It appears we are one short, though.” He raised his head to the crowd beyond them. “Has Lord Hectar sent no one from Sable to compete?”
There were more whispers, but no one stepped forward. Kari peered over her shoulder into the bleachers. And there, in the front row, stood the same dark, hooded figured from the docks. This time he was more careful with his hood. The Vyvent named Saxon. Mímrvor screeched in her ears—a wicked jumble of nonsensical words and sounds.
“Shh, my love, we are fine,” Kari said under her breath. She clenched her fists, focusing on the excited songs of her competitors.
“Are you alright?” Dane asked, leaning slightly towards her.
Before Kari could tell him that she wouldn’t speak of her problems to someone who affiliated with Vyvents, Xenophon continued his address.
“Then let it be on the record that Sable forfeits their claim to the heir’s throne and that their lord will accept the God-King’s punishment for failing to send a competitor.”
Kari watched as Noramilli, who looked particularly short next to Xenophon, scribbled the address onto a scroll.
“For the competitors who are here—welcome! The God-King sends his thanks for your loyalty and is eager to see which of you will reign victorious. The three Ascension Trials commence today with the Strategy Trial—a test to prove your abilities as a leader in battle. The rules are simple, when the sun no longer touches the horizon, the Trial will commence. The House of Historians is the most impervious place in all Azanthea. It is heavily guarded, even more so today, by Tekera, Skreeh, and soldiers who would die to defend its contents. Your goal is to break in to the most guarded room, one at the very depths of the tower’s underground, and steal an item from the Tekera Vault. Once you have, bring it back here, and your task will be complete. Use whatever means necessary.”
Kari brought her hand down onto the hilt of her sword and looked towards the massive stone tower behind Xenophon, the tower that was her home. Her stomach fluttered. Though she had been taught by the best, even by Dane himself, she had never been good with a sword. At least she knew the layout of the tower—that was to her advantage.
When her competitors would go down, she would go up.
Chapter 34
Spearield, 20th Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.
“You should really talk to her, you know,” said Gentry, slamming his staff down.
Ion, who was already on one knee, blocked the downward attack with his own staff, almost caving under the pressure of the blow. Gentry was incredibly strong.
“No. Argh!” said Ion as he pushed off the ground. He was almost standing when Gentry shoved his shoulder down, applying enough pressure that Ion fell onto his arse.
“What did I tell you?” said Gentry as he slung his staff over his shoulder. “It’s about balance. If you fall, you need to make sure you find your balance before you get up.”
Ion grunted as he got to his feet. He wiped the sand off his pants.
“Relationships are about balance, too.”
“Shut up,” said Ion, waving Gentry off. “How many do we have now?”
“Eighteen. That’s almost half of us.”
Ion walked over to the edge of the forested area. He plopped down like a starfish in the shade, breathing heavily. “I still don’t see how you are going to take on all of Azanthea with eighteen people,” said Ion, lifting his head to look at Gentry.
Gentry walked over and sat beside him in the shade of the palm tree, wrapping his arms around his knees.
Ion arched his head up, trying to get a look at Gentry’s face, but could only see the back of his shiny head. He lay his head back down in the sand, still tired.
“We won’t,” said Gentry. “We have to be smart. We’ll sneak into Sable. We have an ins
ider who can help us.”
“I think I may have met him. Rohan?” said Ion, recalling the name from when he told Gentry the story of their journey. Ion finally felt like he was catching his breath.
“At the gate?”
Ion nodded
“Yes, that would be Rohan,” said Gentry. “If he can help us get to the Northern prisoners, we will have an army to take Sable. We will start there, rally the people, and move inland.”
Ion looked up. The sun danced between the leaves of the palm tree. “It’s too long.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s too long,” Ion said, pulling himself up to sit. “What if they kill my Mum by then? Or my Pa?”
Gentry put his hand on Ion’s back. “I don’t want to sound callous, but if that’s what Apollyon wanted to do, it would already be done.”
Ion shuddered, looking at his feet. “This is the only way, isn’t it?”
“The only way I see,” said Gentry.
Ion lifted his head and stared off into the ocean. He tried to silence the sound of the waves so he could think. He closed his eyes and breathed in the salty air. He sighed. “Then count me in.”
“That’s the spirit!” said Gentry as he slammed his hand into Ion’s back, making him cough. “Back to training then! You still suck.”
Ion reluctantly got up. His body was tired, but his mind was ready—they had their plan. He stared off at the ocean one last time.
“I’m coming for you, Mum.”
Chapter 35
Azul, 20th Day of the Month of Warmth, 1114 A.F.F.
The sun had almost fully risen. The very last piece of it still just underneath the horizon. Kari had her plan. Her hands trembled as she unsheathed her copper sword, causing it to rattle against its metallic covering. Mímrvor’s song was fast paced and unearthly. Her heartbeat naturally mimicked the beat.
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