They're in the Tsac quint, now?
At the building's entrance, the masses dispersed in front of him. He craned his neck upwards, trying to guess the building's height and marveling at its construction. Layers of leystone were polished fine and meticulously shaped, arranged to create perfectly round walls. Rectangular openings in the stone were interspersed through the curving walls, evenly spaced in all directions. Through them, he saw already admitted onlookers engaged in heated discussions as they awaited the night's activities with eager faces. Banners bearing the constellations of all five Houses were draped down over various sections, and small figurines of famous singers, past and present, lined the ridges of each level of the structure.
Tonight, Ezai adjudicated his first League match. He'd heard rumors of the great coliseum, House Tsac's crowning achievement, but the best of his imagination failed to live up to the sight.
He hated the ingenuity of the League, primarily because it blew wind in Veydun's sails, a dangerous whisper creeping through the Order. How many other of his first-born counterparts corrupted themselves by pursuing this false glory? Here, in the League, the Astral families raked tokens back into their House coffers after the coins had trickled down into the hands of the starless. They had created a self-perpetuating system ensuring their brutal grip over the commoners.
But what could he do? The people of the Domain followed no laws, elected no government. They managed themselves and chose this display. He only brought justice for those who summoned a bond, maintaining the balance through neutral judgment. To go further, to swear to protect the starless, was a unique perspective held by only a minority group within the Dawn. It was a long-established principle derived from a specific interpretation of the tenets.
“They say we judge the matches, but do we really?” Ezai asked in earnest, unsure of his role in the display.
Veydun chuckled. “No, not really. We’re just here for posterity, I think—to give the impression of neutrality.”
“And to comfort the starless, I imagine.”
“If you like,” said Veydun. “I’m not too concerned with that part.”
“I’m sure you’re not.”
Veydun only shook his head, smirk ever present on his face. Thankfully, he changed the subject. “So, old Sotma wants you to find whomever assassinated his children?” Veydun's disbelief masked his condescension, but Ezai heard it all the same.
“That's right.” They passed through the gate, unchecked by rough-looking starless wearing the black garb of House Tsac. They were present to verify entrance slips and ensure token payments. Only the Tsac employed the starless in that manner, creating the illusion of a soldier to project strength of their self-proclaimed warrior House.
Did these black-clad starless possess any fighting skill? At least they controlled a crowd of spectators.
“I'd say you better not disappoint the Elegance—is that what they call him? Did he bore you with war stories? If I recall correctly, he seemed to think he was a warrior mage of some sort, brandishing the star and steel in tandem.”
“He told no stories, but I am familiar. I think he was too consumed with his dead children still laying cold on the floor.”
Veydun chortled. “Yes, I supposed that would be distressing. So, who killed them? Will retribution ring from that bastard sword of yours anytime soon? Here, follow me; those steps would take you to the rest of the galleria. See that platform? That's where we go. Close, unobstructed view for easy scoring. And a short hop to the arena floor if required.”
The brutal realities of starsinging required participants to waive their right to justice along with their ability to summon an Arbiter. But Ezai didn’t care about intervening if things grew too violent; his only concern was the collateral effects on a stadium filled with innocent starless, incapable of shielding themselves. The presence of Arbiters was necessary to subdue fighting Starsingers if their light burned too bright.
Veydun led him along the arena's edge, weaving between merchants selling treats and taking bets, until they arrived at the platform guarded by multiple Tsac military men set up in a tight formation at its base. At each of the five stairs leading up stood a singer, one from each family—each except the Ferai. The Arbiters climbed a staircase—nodding at the military men as they opened their ranks—and ascended the top of the platform, already full with Astral spectators.
Ezai did not see any heads of House, but men and women of lesser station perched on chairs or laid on couches. They were attended to by starless servants bearing jugs of wine. In the middle sat a square table brimming with fruits, cheeses, and meats, and he smelled freshly baked bread milled with flour from the Lokka wheat fields.
A small ledge nearest the arena jutted from the platform, large enough for a few people to stand, shoulder to shoulder. Veydun waved and they walked to the ledge, ignoring the casual but disparaging remarks from the Astral around them. Ezai and Veydun may have been judges and had sway over the result, but they were detested Arbiters all the same.
The vantage point on the ledge was incredible; Ezai saw the entire oval field of battle and nearly every grain of sand within. Rows upon rows of starless flowed from the arena like an endless staircase. Flickers from contained fires dotted the mass of spectators, little vestibules of warmth to brace against the cold of the dusk in a stadium under open sky. Clear sky was a requirement for any League bouts. The cloudwatchers made a fortune by pairing with the League.
Twilight fell, the stars bright and ready. Ezai and Veydun took their places next to each other as pillars of neutrality set between opposing forces, and waited for the games to begin.
“I don't know who killed them. It's only been a few days since Sotma invoked the bond.” Ezai crossed his arms, a difficult movement in his armor. The evening's chill seeped into his bones, only his tunic providing insulation, but the singers wore light fabrics. He clenched his teeth.
“Not even a theory?” Veydun taunted him, and Ezai narrowed his eyes but pursed his lips, reaching for the stream of his calm.
“No.” A lie. He was unwilling to trust Veydun, especially not with ideas of a return of Saryx.
Just then, the first of the competing singers emerged from the gates to his left. A roar erupted from the crowd. The man was young, barely of age, and he bounded into the arena with a youthful exuberance. He wore a white cape and a skin-tight white suit, a violet constellation of a shield on his chest.
“Surely it was one of the other Houses, you must know that. Who else could kill not one but two singers—in their own homes, no less? There would be no one else with such a motivation. Singers are resources; the less you have, the less the other Houses will fear you. And fear is power. Taking two away from Rayn only strengthens those like Lokka and Tsac. You should start your inquiries there.”
The second combatant walked out of the gate to his right—a woman, middle-aged but lithe and nimble, her steps sure. She did not acknowledge her opponent. Instead, she looked up into the sky, contemplative, and began swishing the air with her finger as if drawing symbols. She wore simple attire, brown trousers of straw-weave purchasable in any district of any quint, and a loose-fitting shirt bearing the hourglass. The crowd’s roar for her was much louder than for the Lokka, a fact not lost on the lad. His face contorted and he began waving his arms up and down to the crowd, pleading for them to make noise.
“The Ferai have no singers but for the Patron, since his daughter is just learning, yet they are just as Astral as the others. I don't see them having the same concerns, Veydun. Perhaps your concepts of power are flawed. I'd ask you to please keep your thoughts to yourself; it is my bond, and justice will be served according to my own morality. From the way you've been speaking of late, I wonder if you’ve any morality left.”
The two League combatants strode to the center of the arena, where they turned to face the platform and the Arbiters. Each raised a hand in the air, and Veydun nodded at them in response. They walked back to their section of the are
na and immediately began their channel. The Lokka boy adopted a fierce stance, one leg in front of the other with hands raised to match, and his eyes turned violet. To Ezai's shock, the Vo woman sat in the sand, cross legged, with arms splayed wide and palms facing upwards. Her eyes began to mist pale yellow.
Veydun turned back to him, smiling. “You really don't get it, do you? Look where we are, Ezai, at what's happening here. The Astral have found their way around such a simple thing as defiance. Their control over the starless need not be through magic and force. It can be just as devastating to use scarcity and monopoly of resource. All these common-folk will gladly spill their tokens for a spectacle, for the darkale washing down expensive treats and helping them forget bets placed outside. The Astral adapted, and Celaena changed, but not the Order. Those like me see it for what it is, and there are many who listen. It is you who is flawed, Ezai, not me. You should be careful in the coming days, lest you lose your way.”
Was that a threat?
It didn't sound like one, but the words carried dark implications. “The night is darkest before the dawn, Veydun. Who will you be when you rise in the morning?” A crack broke the air as the Lokka fighter conjured a whip of starlight, causing Ezai to immediately pay closer attention. But the Lokka boy’s whip was a seamless haze of light that pulsed with energy, not black serrated metal like the assassin’s. The boy was no murderer.
“I'm not sure I know what you mean, but then again I never did. You speak just like him.” Ezai pursed his lips and glared at the redhead, but said nothing and instead turned back to face the arena. The Vo woman, now standing, erected a shimmering field around her body’s contours, as if traced by a quill with light for ink. The Lokka's whip glanced off the shimmering field, and the Vo woman continued to stand, chanting to herself and oblivious to the onslaught. Veydun changed the subject back to the Rayn children. “You never told me, do you suspect the other Astral families? I would not put assassination beyond any of them. Not even the Ferai.”
“Not that it is your concern, but I don't currently suspect any of the Houses.” He’d expected more of a reaction, but the ginger kept calm and inquired further.
“If not the Astral families, who? There is no one else. To think as much is absurd.”
“I'm not so sure.”
“Oh?”
He peered at the thin Arbiter with the flimsy rapier, then faced him and looked down on the man. “What do you know?” Just then, thunder rumbled through the arena and a miniature lightning storm appeared over the Lokka's head. He yelped and began running away, but the storm followed him, flickering tiny bolts of lightning from an ever-darkening cloud. The crowd roared, laughing as the Lokka's whip began to fade. The cloud interfered with his ability to channel, his line of sight to the stars all but obscured.
Veydun didn't return the look. Instead he continued to smile and kept his eyes fixed on the League bout which seemed to be drawing to its conclusion.
“Rumor has it that your interests are a bit, let's say, metaphysical.”
“You mean spiritual.”
“Yes. I mean that. Children's stories, Ezai, really?”
So, he knows. Has he been talking to Sotma Rayn?
“Saryx is a fairytale, Ezai, nothing more, an unknown terror in the dark created by those who say it is simply a matter of belief—a delusion for the already deluded.”
The Vo woman finally started to move, tracking the Lokka's erratic movements as he tried to escape the cloud while lashing out with his almost-dissipated light whip.
“The faith is not a delusion, Veydun. There is a basis for the legends, and there are documents evidencing the same in the arcanum. We've each seen some of those documents, as does every first-born at the outset of training. Indeed, understanding faith is crucial to appreciating the Order's place in this world. Have you forgotten?”
The Vo woman cornered the Lokka, then pushed her arms forward as if thrusting the wind. Her rippling shield shot forward and encircled the boy, then began squeezing inward until the boy was trapped inside with the intense storm. He tried and failed to strike down the field with his light whip. The field grew closer, and the storm grew more powerful. The Vo woman approached until she stood right next to the barrier, then placed one hand on it and watched the boy struggle inside.
“No, I've not forgotten being force fed fantasy. If the bedrock of institution is itself false, it becomes much easier to build false structures within. But I don't wish to argue the existence or non-existence of faith, Ezai. Even if there was some truth there, to raise the myth of the forsaken apostle as a suspect in the murders of two Astral youths—in this day and age—is ridiculous. You do the order a disservice by acting in such a way.”
“Who else knows?” He began to worry. Not about his instincts or abilities, as he remained confident in pointing the finger at Saryx, but in the darkening of the world and the growing jeopardy he sensed.
“Rumors have a way of getting around, Brother.” He didn't say more, but didn't need to, the implication enough. Veydun's behavior over the past week had left Ezai unsettled, and now it seemed larger things moved where he did not see. Undermining the credibility of an Arbiter was intolerable, the ramifications dire.
The Lokka boy managed to put his own hand against the field, meeting the Vo woman's, then dropped to his knees and began shouting something inaudible through the contained storm, but though his forfeit was obvious. The crowd erupted, and pale-yellow fireworks went off in the arena. The Vo woman dismissed her storm and the shimmering field, then held out a hand and offered to help the shaking Lokka to his feet. She'd won the bout, and Ezai saw tokens begin changing hands throughout the crowd. The Lokka boy scowled, slapped away her hand, and stomped off out of the arena to a chorus of jeers.
“I am unconcerned, Veydun. People will think what they think, and I cannot be mindful of it. It is my bond, and I will resolve it as I wish.”
Veydun sighed, retreating back into the platform filled with chattering and somewhat intoxicated Astral. “Do so at your own peril, my friend. Come now, there is a victory to award.”
Ezai parted from Veydun as they left the stadium. His Brother was off to take care of business in the Nightmarkets, carry out the final steps of his oldest bond. Now Ezai walked alone, but together with thousands of fans who streamed into Gambler’s Row, listening to their banter as they replayed the League fight as if their friends had not been sitting next to them and watching the exact same events unfold, their penchant for exaggeration odd.
The games began again, louder and more exuberant than before, injected with energy from the starlight display. He walked slowly, taking in the sights and trying to force calm into his mind. His conversation with Veydun had left him troubled, to be sure, but at the moment he concerned himself less with the optics of chasing ghosts and more with a quick resolution. Two singers had fallen with not much to show in return, a frightening thought, but not as frightening as the prospect of an assassin, or whomever conspired in the shadows, with further work to do. If he consumed himself with the implications of naming Saryx the offender, tantamount to blaming demons or other creatures of the night from lore, then he may not be ready for the next strike.
He stopped in front of the smaller, simpler vendor stall he'd seen prior to the fight. The same old men sat around a circular table, taking turns rolling dice and jotting down the resulting evolutions of their stellar orbits. Their marks made by fragile quills on ripped straw-weave parchment barely showed through.
The players looked up, noting his presence, but paid him no heed. They moved with quick hands given their apparent ages, and metal ingots were adjusted with each full orbit. It was a cerebral game, however sanctimonious, the faithful players contemplative. His father’s words ran through his mind, encouraging him to respect the forgotten faith.
I miss him.
Hands clapped and one of the older men opened his mouth in a wide-eyed smile. Ezai scanned the table, looked over the positioning of the ingots, a
nd flicked his eyes across the man's parchment. He'd avoided supernova and black hole longer than the others, his evolution lasting the longest. Tokens rolled on the table toward him as the others grudgingly paid up for their wagers. They seemed happy, regardless—constant joy the only discernable difference between those with faith and those without.
Tonight, the faithful radiated elation. Most nights, the rigors of labor and realities of economy weighed heavy. But not so for the faithful. They did not exaggerate their glee, did not contrive their banter.
What had motivated the Patron to resurrect the ancient ways? Perhaps goodness yet remained in the Astral.
A shriek cut the air and pulled him from his thoughts. He immediately surged toward the sound, starless men and women bouncing off his broad frame as he bouldered through them. There, at the end of Gambler’s Row where it met with the main Celaena channel leading across all quints in a long circle, he found a scene pulled straight from the League event ended not an hour earlier. The same white-caped youth from the fight now stood with six others, similarly dressed, all bearing violet constellations on their chest. On the other side of the street stood the elegant-looking woman who wore brown trousers and a straw-weave blouse. The boy and woman had channeled their star, violet and pale-yellow misting in respective eyes.
“NO!” Ezai's voice boomed as he barreled his way in between the singers. What were these fools thinking, channeling starlight in the middle of all these commoners?
“This does not concern you, Arbiter.” The woman's voice was steady and calm, no hint of exertion from maintaining control over her light. In contrast, the boy looked wild, eyes wide and face hostile, arms stretched wide and hands curled into claws.
“I disagree. Break your channels, now!”
“Like she said, this doesn't concern you. You've no bond here, Dawnman.” The hairs on his neck stood on end as static from the singers' pulses grew strong.
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