by Jayne Faith
“The portal!” Orion said.
I risked a look. He was right, a portal was forming a few yards away.
“We need to hurry,” I said. “We don’t know how long they’ll leave it open.”
As a group, we began taking cautious steps toward the light. This seemed to agitate the creatures. One lunged and caught Britta by the ankle, and she went down hard on her side as it jerked her foot out from under her.
I lunged forward and jabbed, aiming for the creature’s face. I struck it in the snout and it whimpered and let go of Britta. Orion hauled her up by one arm and dragged her along with him.
We were almost there.
“The portal is blinking, we need to go!” hissed the boy whose name I still didn’t know.
“On three,” I said. “One, two, three!”
I turned and raced toward the light. The sounds of snarling and pounding feet drove me forward.
I leapt, throwing myself at the portal. Just as I passed through, I heard an agonizing scream.
I whipped around, trying to see who it was, but the blinding light of the portal obscured whatever was happening on the other side. Orion burst through, half-dragging and half-carrying Britta.
I stared at the portal, holding up one hand to shield my eyes. Seconds ticked by. Finally I turned to Orion, who had fallen to one knee, panting hard.
He looked up at me and shook his head. “The creatures got him.”
“Did you even know his name?” I whispered.
“His name was Anders.” Orion closed his eyes.
“You survived the first phase.”
I turned at the sound of a new voice. It was Akantha.
There were two more portals nearby, and a handful of other Obligates who looked as haggard as Orion, Britta, and me. Everyone had scratches or bleeding wounds. Some favored limbs, groaning in agony.
The portals contracted and then winked out. I did a quick count. Five men and seven women. Four Obligates had not returned.
“You will have your injuries repaired, and then you will go to your quarters to bathe and sleep,” Akantha said.
A hot wave of anger swelled up through me at her nonchalant tone. I stood, my arms tensed and my fingers clenched into trembling fists. “And how soon will you inform the families of the dead?”
She turned on me and pulled herself up to her full height, her glowering face looming over me. “That is not your concern, girl.”
I stared up at her, knowing that if I responded she’d bring out the wand she’d used to burn Larisa’s arm, but unable to back away. I bit down hard on the insides of my cheeks, struggling to keep in check the tirade that I wanted to hurl at her.
“Something else you want to say?” she asked with a smirk.
I finally lowered my gaze and shook my head.
“Line up,” she commanded. “The medics are waiting for you in the next room.”
I obediently followed Akantha along with the rest of the Obligates, but inside fury was burning me up. Iris had convinced me that the Calistans believed it was necessary to cull the unworthy Obligates—the ones who were weak. I found it abhorrent, but I understood that the Calistans believed in the practice as it was dictated by their sacred texts.
But had Anders been unworthy? Larisa, who’d fallen off the platform and been devoured by the creatures? To me, it simply appeared to be bad luck, not unworthiness or weakness. And for all I knew, the other two Obligates who died in the forest had been similarly unlucky.
It just as easily could have been me who fell off that platform or who was caught by the dog-bears as we raced to the portal. I could have been one of the unlucky ones.
It terrified me, but it also made me furious. How could the Calistans play with others’ lives this way? How could they live with themselves?
And what could I do about it?
This question pounded through my aching head as I sat on a hospital bed in my underclothes. A medic smeared a cool gooey substance over the deep, burning cuts on my back and shoulders, and the pain immediately began to fade. She worked on my shoulder, where the bird’s sharp beak had ripped deeply into my flesh, for several minutes with a handheld device. It was excruciating when the device first contacted the wound, but I steeled myself, sitting there like a stone and staring straight ahead. Finally she put the device aside and smeared gel on my shoulder.
After all my injuries had been attended to, she pointed at a pile of fabric and then left. I lifted it and discovered it was a simple cotton tunic dress. Seeing no clean underclothes, I left on the ones I wore and slipped the dress over my head, and then sat on my bed.
“Line up,” Akantha called several minutes later.
I stepped beyond the curtains that separated my bed from those on either side and watched as the rest of the Obligates did the same. The women wore tunics like mine, and the men wore only loose-fitting drawstring pants made of the same material.
Akantha took us through windowless corridors that felt as if they were near the bottom of the palace, maybe even underground.
I wrapped my arms around my waist as I began to wonder if we’d be locked up in cells, in some dungeon deep in the bowels of the palace.
In a quiet hallway, Akantha stopped and turned to us. “The doors are marked with your names. Use the next several hours to bathe and sleep.”
I glanced at the nearest door. It had a tile with Britta’s face on it and her name printed underneath, just like the tiles on the wall that had shown our ranks of favor. I wondered bitterly if someone had come down ahead of us to remove the names of the dead from their doors.
I found mine, and when I opened the door, I paused in surprise. The room was small, but luxurious by standards back home. There was a bed made up with crisp-looking sheets, a table with a lamp, and a simple chair. Through a doorway to the right, I spotted the rim of a soaking tub.
The medic had healed my wounds and aches, but there was no cure for the exhaustion I felt. I ran a bath in the tub, but didn’t linger in the water even though it felt wonderful. I needed sleep.
Within seconds of collapsing on the bed, my hair still wet, I was out.
The next thing I was aware of was a far-away voice calling my name.
“Mother?” I mumbled. I turned on the bed, wondering if Lana and I had overslept.
This wasn’t my bed. This wasn’t my room at home. I gasped and sat up, blinking and disoriented.
“Maya, it’s time to wake up. I’ve come to help you dress.” It was Iris.
Everything came rushing back to me and I swallowed, trying to work some moisture back into my parched mouth.
“Dress for what?” I croaked.
“The ranks of favor, and then the party,” she said. She held up a shimmering pale green gown. “To celebrate the end of the first phase of the Tournament. Lord Toric will be there.”
I stared at her a moment as I tried to process what she was saying.
Lord Toric? I swung my legs over the side of the bed. Well, it would be the perfect opportunity to tell him exactly what I thought of the way he sent Earthens to get torn apart by vicious forest creatures.
12
Toric
AS I‘D WATCHED the first challenge of the Tournament of the Offered, my eyes had been drawn again and again to Maya. Inside, I was cheering her on. My heart soared at her every move that would win favor for her in the rankings.
The rankings. I grimaced at the memory of negotiating the first round.
After the Offered had completed their introductions and the Priestess, Akantha, and I were alone in the chamber under the throne, my mind churned as I searched for a way I could champion Maya without giving myself away to Akantha.
As the Mistress of Tournament, Akantha had to agree to the ranks of favor I proposed before they could become official. The Priestess, as the embodiment of the sacred texts, also had to agree, but it had become convention for the Priestess to go with the rankings the Lord set forth most of the time. As long as the Lord’s reasoning for
the rankings could be defended by passages from the sacred texts, the Priestess would not override the Lord’s decision.
But the Priestess served another critical function in these proceedings. We would call upon her to break a standoff if—or more likely, when, with Akantha involved—the Mistress of Tournament and I could not reach agreement. This was my second Tournament with Akantha as Mistress of the event. The first, six months ago, had gone relatively smoothly, but even then I’d known she was testing the waters and wasn’t yet trying to wield her power. Based on Akantha’s increasing assertiveness, I suspected that our days of relative agreement had come to an end.
I’d faced Akantha and tried to appear at ease. “Kalindi was the clear winner for the women—her introduction was impeccable. And Amet for the men.”
I wanted to choose Maya first, but it would be too obvious that I was attempting to favor her. By the interpretation of the sacred texts, there was no denying that Kalindi was the undisputed winner for the women’s rankings.
Akantha nodded. “Agreed, my Lord. They’re the obvious choices.” Then her eyes gleamed, and I could tell she was already relishing the thought of arguing with me. “It’s the next few spots in the females’ rankings that will take some hashing out. Who do you favor, my Lord?”
I disagreed with her use of “females” and “males” when referring to the Offered. Why couldn’t she simply say “men” and “women?” I also hated the way she said “my Lord.” It was always with her signature look—a slight twitch of her upper lip, the hint of a sneer. A look that reminded me of Jeric. Akantha got away with her sneering only because she seemed immune to insecurity and held power. Double power, in fact. The Mistress of Tournament and the favored lover of the brother of the Lord. If she figured out how to worm her way into any more power than she already had, I sincerely feared for the future of the Calistan race.
“Second . . .” I paused, pretending to think. “Meribel, perhaps. Or Maya.” I looked steadily into Akantha’s eyes, trying to remain composed while gauging her reaction to the mention of Maya.
Akantha’s face tightened into a shrewd expression, and my heart dipped. Had she guessed?
She snorted a laugh. “The sacred texts do not support choosing Maya over Meribel for second place. Meribel’s introduction was clearly superior.” Her tone dripped with haughty confidence.
I knew she was right—Meribel had exuded the grace and devotion to the Lord’s service that, though certainly not equal to Kalindi’s, was superior to Maya’s unusual introduction by the guidelines of the sacred texts.
But I looked to the Priestess, hoping she’d see something I’d missed. “I propose Maya for the rank of second,” I said. I knew I should have left it, but I couldn’t help myself.
“And I challenge for Meribel as second.” Akantha voiced her formal objection to my proposal.
If the Priestess felt the performance of two Offered were more or less equal by the sacred texts, the Lord’s choice was the default winner.
The Priestess sat very still for a moment, her gaze distant. “By the sacred texts, Meribel is more worthy.”
Akantha gave a satisfied little hum and flipped a wave of brown hair over her shoulder. I bit back my disappointment, but I knew that I couldn’t heavily vie for Maya again during this discussion. Even now, Akantha might already be suspicious.
I had to concede the third spot as well. But with a flash of triumph that I managed to hide, Maya was ranked fourth.
As I’d watched the Offered leave the throne room to enter the first official challenge of the tournament, the one Calistans informally called “the first culling,” I hoped Maya’s standing in the ranks of favor had provided her a boost of confidence. Given that she was untrained and had delivered an unorthodox introduction, her rank of fourth was a real accomplishment.
It was tradition for the Lord to throw a commencement party during the first challenge. The attendees—nobles, dignitaries, officials, celebrities, women of the harem, and the royal family—milled in small groups or sat at tables. The wine and brew flowed freely. I had to watch along with a few hundred others as live images of the Offered were projected onto the walls of the largest social room in the palace.
I wished more than anything to escape to the privacy of my chambers so that I could observe the Tournament without worrying about masking my reactions, but it was my duty to be at the party. I stayed at the royal table as much as I could during the event. I was in no mood to entertain idle small talk and knew that most of the guests wouldn’t approach me if I appeared to be in the middle of a meal or a conversation with one of the royals at my table.
When Maya nearly fell from the platform, I sucked in a breath and squeezed the armrests of my chair in a white-knuckled grip. A glance at the audience reassured me that everyone was transfixed on the action and no one had seen my slip. Except for one person: my sister Cassiopeia. She raised her brows at me, clearly curious. But Cassi wouldn’t use what she saw to torment or betray me. She was not Jeric. In fact, she was so unlike Jeric it was difficult to understand how the two of them had come from the same set of parents.
I scratched the edge of my jaw with my right hand, and Cassi replied by tapping her left index finger to the side of her chin. I allowed myself the faintest grin at our childhood signals. When we were young, we’d devised these particular gestures to be the equivalent of wagging our tongues at each other. There had been times when we’d employed them so vigorously during royal dinners that we’d both gone to bed with bright red marks on our faces.
But with Cassi, things were always in good fun. Even our childhood bickering had usually ended in laughter.
My sister had often been my sounding board and confidant. Perhaps I could confess to her something about my intense reaction to Maya? It might be safe. But certainly not here.
The culling challenges of the Tournament always turned my stomach. Not for the first time, I wished my father were still alive so I could ask him how he’d approached the Tournament. As the Calistan Lord, I was supposed to be the royal example of dedication to the sacred texts, and I believed that in nearly every way I was. But watching young Earthens die brought me no satisfaction, even though the culling challenges were required in the texts.
Some of the more fanatically devout attendees actually cried out praises when an Earthen Offered—Larisa, who’d fallen from the platform and been knocked unconscious—lost her life early in the challenge. And the ones who truly enjoyed bloodshed—Akantha and Jeric among them—often applauded or cheered the deaths, poorly masking their enjoyment behind insincere shouted quotations from the sacred texts.
During past Tournaments, I’d always managed to steel myself during the culling. I’d remind myself that this was the way of things, it had always been the way of things, and as Lord it was my duty to continue to uphold the way of things. While young Earthens died, I would repeat that thought over and over to myself. But this time, my heart lurched and pounded with every dramatic turn of events as the Offered fought for their lives.
As the late evening wore on, some of the attendees grew tired and went home. But many stayed through the night and into the morning, partying as the Offered suffered injuries and fended off dangers in a wild forest of a neighboring planet under Calistan control.
Just before dawn, Cassi came to sit next to me. “How do you find these Offered, my Lord?” she asked. Her words were formal, but she leaned over, resting her elbow on the arm of my chair and propping her chin on her hand, grinning up at me in a girlish fashion.
“I find them as suitable as any others,” I answered.
“And have you been entertained by this first challenge of the Tournament?”
“Entertained, yes, Lady Cassiopeia.” If entertainment meant having my heart jump up my throat every few minutes, then I was certainly entertained. I couldn’t help a quick glance up at the projection on the wall that was trained on Maya.
I reached for a goblet and sipped sweet wine. “How are you, Cassi
?” I asked quietly, dropping any pretense of formality.
She sighed, but it was a sigh of contentment. “So well. So very well.” She leaned in and bit her lower lip for a moment, her eyes sparkling. “We’re expecting. I haven’t even told Mother yet.”
My lips parted in surprise, and then my surprise melted into joy. I gripped her hand, giving it a brief warm squeeze. “I’m so happy for you and Ralor.”
I should have noticed that she had not partaken of any wine or brew all night. At any other Tournament, I’m sure I would have noticed, but tonight I’d been very distracted.
Cassi’s eyes shone. All she’d ever wanted was to have a family of her own. She and Ralor had been married barely a year, but when it came to children they’d both been eager from the start. A part of me envied her. She’d married the man she loved, and she was starting the life she’d dreamed of since we were little.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“I need to get to bed, I’m absolutely exhausted. But other than that, I’m wonderful.” A tinkling laugh escaped her lips. Then her expression grew wry. “Well, aside from all the vomiting. But even that can’t get me down. I’m just so thrilled. And so is Ralor.”
“I am thrilled, too. I quite like the thought of a little niece or nephew running through the palace hallways.”
She tilted her head to one side. “What about you, brother? You are nearing the time of choosing a Calistan wife to bear your heirs. Then you’ll have children of your own.”
I shook my head and flicked my fingers back and forth as if shooing away a fly. “That is still months away.”
“It will be here before you know it.”
I took another sip of wine to avoid responding. At the age of twenty-eight, the Lord was obligated to take a wife. It wasn’t a union of love like Cassi and Ralor’s, but one of necessity. The Lord must bear children—at least one son, in particular—so that a new Lord would be ready to take his place if the Return to Earthenfell did not occur within his reign.
I was not eager to go through with the process. The woman had to be Calistan, and she had to be approved by the Council, High Priestess Lunaria, and the immediate members of my family. That meant Jeric would have a say, and the thought turned my stomach.