“I don’t eat meat,” Lucian muttered.
“Because the Sacred Brothers don’t?” Emilia wondered if that sounded as casual as she wanted it to. She was so bad at making conversation.
Lucian frowned. “No. I can’t stand the smell of cooked flesh.”
“You know,” Ajax said between bites, “you all look like someone pissed in your wine.”
“There’s a thirty to forty percent chance we could die during this contest, and an eighty-three percent chance of death at the end,” Emilia said flatly. To her right, Vespir shifted on the sofa and held her stomach.
“I—I think the soup is bad,” she muttered. Her eyes were glassy, and sweat beaded on her forehead. She’d never hold up under the pressure.
Lucian filled a glass with water and gave it to the girl. “Drink,” he said, his tone softening.
“Thank you, my lord.” Vespir took the cup but barely touched it to her lips.
She didn’t really want it. She took it like receiving an order, Emilia realized. A weakness. Easily exploitable.
She shook her head. Emilia did not like those thoughts.
But if she wanted to survive…
Was it wrong to strive to live? Wrong to be just a little bit selfish?
Wasn’t that behavior necessary in an empress?
“You don’t have to call me ‘my lord.’ Really,” Lucian said.
“Yes, my— Okay.” Vespir drank.
Lucian tossed the apple’s core onto a plate, licking juice from his thumb. “Well. What in the black depths are we all doing here?”
“I think the better question is, what are you all doing here?” Hyperia said. Swallowing, Emilia turned her eyes to the head of the table. The Volscia girl surveyed all of them, hands folded in her lap, the disturbing smear of blood as livid on her face as a claimed kiss.
Now, there was no ignoring her. She was the sun, and they, nervous planets in her orbit.
For a moment, even the chaos in Emilia’s soul stilled. There was something so magnificently orderly about Hyperia of the Volscia.
“Actually, we were all the first choice.” Lucian held the Volscia girl’s gaze, his copper eyes gleaming with challenge. “I guess there’s a reason Julia isn’t sitting with us now.” He gestured at Hyperia. “The truth’s written all over your gown.”
Hyperia didn’t flinch. “Her calling was a mistake that I corrected.”
White light pulsed behind Emilia’s eyeballs. She squeezed her eyes shut and fisted her skirt. Fearlessness. Utter certainty.
What would it be like, to be so awful and calm?
“Like a real empress.” Lucian clenched his jaw.
“As far as I’m concerned, the calling was the first challenge,” Hyperia answered. “The Dragon wanted to know which of us would fight for their rightful place.” She arched a perfect eyebrow. “I was the only one who passed.”
“You’re welcome to pass all the other challenges as well.” Lucian leaned back against the couch. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”
“Come on.” Ajax loaded up his plate with a second helping of peacock. “You’ve got to try to make it interesting for me.”
“You?” Emilia said it at the same time as Hyperia and Lucian. Vespir continued to stare at the floor. Ajax ripped into the bird’s leg, sneering.
“I’m a numbers guy, too. You.” He pointed at Emilia. “You got one brother, right? So you had a fifty percent chance of getting called. Not that impressive. Same goes for you, Luce?” Ajax winked at Hyperia. “And you.” To Vespir he said, “Wasn’t Antonia the only Pentri kid? Man, some people really can screw up a sure thing. Whereas me?” He thumped his chest. “I had a one in twenty-nine chance of being called—that’s only three percent—and look.” He flourished his hands.
Hyperia made a noise of disgust. “I can’t believe a bastard was admitted to the Trial.”
“Could be worse.” He blew a kiss. “I could be a murderer.”
Hyperia sat rigid as a statue. Emilia chewed the inside of her cheek. This Tiber boy was either brave or an idiot. Probably the latter. Idiocy was definitely exploitable.
“You’re not the only murderer here,” Lucian said.
Emilia flinched. Unbidden, memories flooded her of Huigh, the cook’s assistant, a handsome boy with dimples and russet hair. She’d stood on her toes to kiss him at thirteen, a daring moment stolen behind the aerie. The sweet touch of their lips and then the hot, salty rush of blood as it flooded her mouth, as it leaked from the corners of Huigh’s eyes and dribbled from his nose when his lungs and heart exploded.
An accident, yes. But still murder.
She stared at Lucian, chaos crawling like ants under her skin. But he wasn’t looking at her; he had eyes only for Hyperia.
“I’ve been on campaign,” he continued. “You’re not the only child killer.”
Hyperia’s lips thinned. Her already fair skin paled further.
“If you regret their deaths, then you regret your actions. In that case, you regret the empire’s actions. The only thing worse than killing is killing without a sense of honor. You disrespect the dead.”
“I’d rather my victims be alive. If that means I have no honor, so be it.”
“This is our great hero of the northern expansion?” Hyperia looked as if she smelled something foul. “There is no true nobility left, it seems.”
Emilia had not imagined that creatures like Hyperia existed outside of epic poetry. A sea goddess determined to wreck the ships of a thousand men and string their hearts upon wire to wear about her neck or a flinty-eyed king who sent legions of soldiers to their deaths in the glory of conquest—those were Hyperia’s true equals, not the people at this table.
Emilia loosened the guard on her chaos…and the table gave a faint tremor, just enough to rattle the plates. She held her breath as everyone started, paused, and then let it go. Earth tremors happened, after all. But she wouldn’t be that lucky again.
“Next question.” Ajax pointed at Vespir. “How did you get here?”
“Believe me, I’ve wondered that myself. My lord.” The girl added the lord bit as an afterthought. A vein throbbed in the servant’s neck. She looked like she was either going to be ill or start screaming.
“Maybe you’re a secret bastard.” Ajax twirled his dagger. “Maybe Lord Pentri holed up with your mother for a few—”
For the first time, Vespir looked up with confidence. “I. Am. Not. A Pentri,” she said.
“You never know.” Lucian shrugged, sounding sympathetic. “If you were secretly noble, that would explain how you got called.”
“No. I’m not related to them.” Vespir’s voice cracked. Emilia bit her lip; this wasn’t normal agitation. Something else lay under the surface here. Something too painful for Vespir to consider…
Oh. Oh.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she said quickly.
But Ajax was determined to be an absolute shit. “What’s the problem? It’s not like you’ve been—” Ajax clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, damn. Were you bedding one of them on the sly? Old man Pentri? Oh, that’s gross.” He shuddered, relishing the mayhem.
“I said stop it.” Emilia crossed her toes to stave off exploding one of the goblets. Hyperia put her head in her hand and looked weary. Meanwhile, Vespir scowled.
“No, not him,” the handler snapped. Emilia closed her eyes. Damn. Ajax’s stupid theory was now practically confirmed. Vespir realized it as well. “I—I mean,” she muttered.
“Well, if not him, then…” Ajax clapped and bounced in his seat. “The daughter! Who’s got coin on the daughter? First off, who’s got coin?”
Vespir rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her head in her hands. Emilia glared at Ajax, the best she could do with magic shouting inside her skull.
Even Lucian appeared to have had enough. “Leave her alone.”
Ajax patted Lucian’s cheek, an open invitation for the larger boy to strike.
He wants to see how far he can push Lucian, Emilia thought. She realized that Ajax’s game might be similar to hers: assess your opponents and find their weakness.
Ajax’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn. Your stubble’s thick. Bet you can grow a beard in, what, five days? Probably started shaving when you were ten.”
Lucian looked less than amused.
“Please stop fighting,” Vespir muttered. She began to make more hurking noises.
“I cannot believe this.” Hyperia spoke slowly, as if choosing her words with care. “I made the ultimate sacrifice to end up with the four of you.” Hyperia fixed each one of them with a glare. “Well, I thank the Great Dragon for my strength. If I weren’t here, one of you would be crowned.”
“Don’t go decorating your throne room just yet.” Ajax smirked. “We’ve still got a few days to enjoy each other’s company.”
“A bastard,” Hyperia said. Her eyes flicked to Vespir. “A servant who ruts above her station.” Her mouth thinned in an expression of distaste. Her gaze landed on Emilia. “A mouse of a girl.”
Irrationally, Emilia felt hurt. For the sake of the blue above, it was better that Hyperia not notice her. Better that she write Emilia off. Pride, arrogance were Hyperia’s faults, but…
Emilia craved approval in some lonely space within her.
Hyperia now focused on Lucian. She gave a beleaguered sigh.
“And the hero of the Vartl fjord, who turns out to be nothing more than a sniveling coward. The empire would crumble beneath any of you.” She shut her eyes. “But I know this calling isn’t your fault.”
“Thank you for your benevolence,” Emilia muttered. Hyperia’s gaze fixed on her. An itch developed between Emilia’s shoulder blades, but she’d had enough. “I just think that anyone who can kill her own sister might not be my first choice to rule.” Emilia managed to raise her head. For a minute, the air between Hyperia and her was electric. The girl, golden and bloody, gave a slight nod. She seemed almost pleased.
“The Volscia have a story about our greatest general, Aufidius. The first dragon rider.” She dipped her chin in a signal of respect at the name. “Fifteen hundred years ago, when magic and dragons were still young in the world, the forces of a forgotten civilization wanted to take the Volscia lands for their own. Aufidius was a great warrior, but the enemy had a general who matched him in strength and ferocity. Caius Martius.
“Until Martius was cast out by his own people, by scheming politicians who hated his strength. So Martius offered himself to Aufidius, promising to help the Volscia destroy their enemy, the people Martius had once called his own. Aufidius agreed and came to love his new ally like a brother.
“But Martius betrayed Aufidius. When it came time to conquer his former people, his will was too weak to kill his old friends and family. He had too much chaos in him.” At the word chaos, Emilia’s heart plunged to her stomach. “And Aufidius,” Hyperia said, “the greatest of our people, who never knew an instant’s doubt or weakness, took a sword and carved out Martius’s heart. Aufidius loved his friend, but he could not love weakness. He cleansed Martius of it, like purging a cancer.” The girl’s blue eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Aufidius summoned his dragon and burned the enemy to the ground. He showed no fear. He showed no mercy. That is why the Volscia have a right to be proud. We are the reason this great dragon empire stands today. And we have only one rule: when faced with weakness, cut out its heart.”
She picked up Camilla’s goblet, the first food or drink she’d touched that night. After a sip of wine, she smiled. “So if I am faced with weakness now, what do I do?”
Lucian regarded Hyperia with horror; Ajax’s mouth hung open, displaying the chewed remains of a fig; and Vespir slumped off the couch, onto her knees, and threw up all over the tiled floor.
While Emilia wet a cloth to bathe the servant’s wrists and forehead, she realized that this Volscia girl—this goddess, this future empress—despised chaos to the foundation of her soul.
Emilia had dreamed of many things in those lonely years locked away in her family’s tower. She had dreamed of friendship. Of love. And when the hope for those withered, she had prayed for something else.
An opponent.
And hadn’t her wish been granted?
She looked up at Hyperia of the Volscia, the most beautiful and terrible creature imaginable. The girl who hated Emilia without even realizing it.
Emilia hid a smile.
Weakness is a cancer that must be purged. Hyperia knelt upon the cool tile of her chamber, her skin studded in gooseflesh as the night wind sighed over her. She’d washed her sister’s blood from her face and removed her soiled gown. Clad in a nightdress of fine, pale gold cloth, her hair cascading to the middle of her back, she placed her hands over her breast and closed her eyes. She did not pray. There was no need, when the Great Dragon knew all. But she felt centered at night beneath the stars in the sky and found comfort in her own immovable soul.
Chaos is destruction; order stasis. Chaos is weakness; order strength. Chaos is experience; order purity. These thoughts repeated themselves on a comforting loop.
But the loop snapped when Julia’s face emerged, as if floating up from the black depths of Hyperia’s subconscious. Her beautiful, pale sister, a red slit open at her neck like a grim second mouth.
Stasis. Strength. Purity. Order.
The words dropped in her mind, like the tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Julia,” Hyperia gasped, falling onto her hands and sobbing into the floor. Her breath washed back hot on her face. She pressed her forehead to the tile, her nails trying to dig in, to find purchase on something. How could she sleep tonight? How could she sleep again? Yes, she had been the only right choice to come here, and, yes, she was needed, but the price. “My baby. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” She sat up, rocked back and forth as she wept into her hands. She wanted to run wild under the moon, tear every golden strand of hair from her head, plunge into the sea, and let the waves swallow her—
No.
“Weak.” She braced and slapped herself hard across the face. The sting returned her to her senses. Her palm was wet from the tears. Unacceptable. Hyperia clenched her teeth before striking herself again. And again. And again. The pain ebbed, the chaos bled from her soul. Gasping, she got to her feet and smoothed back her hair. She was all right. This turmoil would pass quickly. It had to.
The curtains bulged in the wind as she turned to her bed, the blankets golden and lush, the pillows stuffed with goose down. The empire needed her, and she needed her rest for tomorrow.
But her fragile calm shattered when she found her sister sitting up against the cushions, her legs crossed at the ankle.
“Julia?” Hyperia blinked. The apparition remained, a perfect image of her sister with flowing chestnut hair, delicate folded hands, and a slit throat. Gore covered Julia’s golden dress front, but her smile was the most disturbing decoration of all.
It was no dream. Trembling, Hyperia took her dagger from the table next to her and unsheathed it. Heart pounding, she stepped backward and felt the gauze curtain mold itself against her body. All the while, Julia smiled and watched her.
Why draw her dagger? What did she have to fear from a ghost?
Unless the dagger was for herself, because she didn’t know how long she could gaze into her dead sister’s eyes until she ran absolutely mad—
“Hello? Are you all right?” a deep voice said behind her. Hyperia whirled around, thrusting the curtain aside to prick her dagger against Lucian’s throat. He swallowed, allowing the dagger’s sharp tip to almost—almost—pierce his flesh.
“I—” Hyperia glanced over her shoulder. Julia had vanished. S
he turned back to the Sabel boy with a cool air. “Why did you sneak up on me?”
“I was walking back to my room when I heard crying.” He lifted an eyebrow. “I thought someone needed help.”
She narrowed her eyes. “You ought to be more careful. Time away from war has made you sloppy.” She pressed the dagger a millimeter farther to show her point. Unperturbed, Lucian held up his empty hands, displaying how utterly unarmed he was.
“I’ve sworn never to raise a blade against another living soul.”
“What an idiotic vow.”
She exhaled lightly and stepped back. He remained outside, dark against the night. Meanwhile, the lamp’s fire warmed her back and, she knew, highlighted the brightness of her hair and clothes.
“I’m sorry you won’t compete properly,” she said.
He smiled. “That’s a polite way to lie.”
“I don’t lie.” Her temper pulsed. “You’re the only competition that matters.” The others were near her in age, but to Hyperia they might as well have been trundling around in a nursery for all the challenge they presented. “You’re my equal, or near to it.”
Lucian frowned. “I’m not sure that’s a compliment for either of us.”
Hyperia noted coolly—academically—that Lucian of the Sabel was handsome. That his looks combined with his abilities, and even his deferential manners, would be attractive to people. Just not to her. It wasn’t specifically him; Hyperia had not yet known desire. If she experienced it one day, that would be fine. But she wasn’t going to force a sensation because the world deemed her age and, apparently, her beauty required it.
She did not want this young man, but she wanted to compete with him. She wanted a clean, honest victory.
Before she could speak again, he said, “Besides, you convinced me at dinner.”
“What?” She finally lowered the dagger to her side.
“I wasn’t going to throw myself into the Trial, until you started talking.” His features were unreadable, but he seemed sincere. “I think the way you see this world is ugly. The empire is crying out for peace. I won’t break my vows to achieve it, but I’ll give everything I have otherwise.”
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