Chapter 38
Thirty-Eight
Ivy
The fine chain of the concealment charm itches at my neck. I try to scratch surreptitiously, not that anyone can see me anyway.
It’s been chafing against my skin all night.
Now the dawn glow is creeping across our hastily erected stage.
The sunlight enriches the deep purples and blues and brilliant yellows and oranges that Casimir recommended.
They give the wood an otherworldly quality, like a glow of enlightened energy shining out of the darkness.
Looking up at the platform and the various painted structures rising from it, I could almost believe they were formed out of divine energy rather than human effort.
Hopefully our audience will take away the same impression. We need them to see this spectacle as definitive proof of the gods’ approval.
Beyond the ring of daimon, Black Talons members, and guards poised behind me around the platform, the crowd of spectators has swelled.
I can’t count them all, but I have to think thousands are craning their necks or sprawling on the grass, waiting for the spectacle of the trials to begin.
And more are arriving in droves as the word has spread.
It won’t be long now. All nine of the independent clerics we invited to oversee the different trials have arrived. Shortly after the last bell, the Order of the Wild brought forth a large carriage that supposedly holds three challengers to the throne who’ll compete with Petra.
They haven’t shown their faces yet, though a few different Order members have ducked into the carriage, presumably to discuss strategy.
There’s been no sign of Lothar so far, but his representatives assured us that the former magic advisor intends to be here to ensure every step of the trials is carried out “fairly.” By which I’d imagine he means, “in some way that’ll let us win.”
If he tries anything too obvious, there are thousands of witnesses to observe his villainy. But we have to stay on the alert for more subtle tricks.
I don’t expect him to back down easily.
Tinom has set himself up as a sort of master of ceremonies, which suits me just fine.
I can’t even show my face, let alone run the most important event that’s happened in Silana in decades.
He eases down from the stage at a summons and goes to speak with a couple of Order representatives within a careful cluster of protective gang members.
A group of about a dozen riders catches my eye from the north, riding toward us at a canter. I wouldn’t think much of the new arrivals, but it’s unusual to see so many together on horseback.
I slip around the stage for a closer look, and a smile springs to my lips. The warming light catches off Voleska’s sandy blond hair, swinging with her steed’s strides in its usual ponytail.
We sent a message to Pima to let her and Emor know the trials were impending, but we hadn’t known if either of them would make the trip in time.
The riders approach at the back of the platform by the spread of carts and wagons. A few of the people who came with us from Pima break from their ranks to greet Voleska and their colleagues, and Stavros and Casimir head over as well.
I slip between the carts to follow them, getting enough shelter to remove my charm.
When I step forward to meet Voleska and her gaze meets mine, I can’t help hesitating.
Something flickers through her expression in her initial pause, and it occurs to me that we never discussed the source of my magic, even though I assume she’s caught wind of the real source and extent of my power by now.
Lothar has spread his tales about my murderous ways far and wide. Maybe she isn’t enthusiastic about counting me as an ally any longer.
But the pause is only the space of a heartbeat. Then Voleska marches forward with a grin and grabs me in a brief but eager hug, topped off with a clap on the back. “Look at this production you’ve pulled together. We’ve come a long way from brandishing stolen shields, huh?”
A laugh that releases some of my bottled tension tumbles out of me. “I guess we have. I can’t take much credit for this. I’m just making sure it all goes off without a hitch.”
Voleska nods. “I’ll let you get back to that, then. And I brought a few more friends to do our part.”
Stavros taps my arm, peering toward the city. “Lothar is on his way. We’d better get into position.”
He touches my cheek in a brief caress. We set off for the stage together, me vanishing with another yank of the chain over my head.
Most of the structures on the platform are meant to serve a purpose in the trials themselves, but there’s a semi-circle of boards just a little taller than Stavros off to one side.
Slats cut between the boards give anyone standing in that alcove a view of both the rest of the platform and the audience.
Sulla, Casimir, and Rheave are already waiting for us there, their stances tensed. Stavros will be employing his gift at what seems like the most crucial moments in the hopes of preventing attacks before they happen. Casimir is judging the emotional atmosphere of the crowd.
The other three of us are staying braced to use our magic to solve any problems that arise.
As I settle into place, the crowd parts in front of the stage. Lothar strides between the watching figures, his posture as haughty as always. His velvet cloak drapes unevenly across his one-armed form.
Tinom makes a gesture, and our defensive force gives way to let his former colleague through. My teeth set on edge.
“We’re letting him walk right up here?” I murmur.
Casimir smiles tightly. “It was negotiated. Tinom and Lothar are going to look over each of the candidates to confirm there are no signs of hidden magical advantages.”
A chill rushes through me. “He’s going to get that close to Petra?”
“I don’t like it either, but it’s supposed to be a show of trust. The other clerics will be right there, along with her guards.”
That doesn’t feel like enough. Without another word, I ease away from the wall and slink across the brightly painted boards amid the looming equipment.
Petra stands in the open center, now joined by the other three candidates: a lean man with a sharply pointed beard who I think I recognize as a count, a bulky fellow with flinty eyes who I wouldn’t be surprised to discover was once in military service, and a sinewy-limbed woman with elegantly braided hair who’s probably a minor noblewoman of some sort.
They’ve all dressed in the agreed-upon outfits of a simple short tunic and slacks. The single layer of fabric leaves little opportunity to disguise even small blades or magical trinkets, and their tight shoes offer no room to conceal a weapon.
As Lothar ascends the steps to the right of the stage to stand next to Tinom, I dart over behind him. The towering, lopsided man wafts a smoky cologne that makes my nose wrinkle. It reminds me too much of the late-night rituals his scourge sorcerer colleagues conducted.
I don’t sense any magic in it, though. Even when I lean as close to him as I dare, I can’t pick up the faintest vibration of magic on or around his body.
He could be holding his gift in reserve until he’s right in front of Petra. Or maybe whatever his talent is, it wouldn’t help him sabotage her, so he’s counting on someone else’s help.
At least I know he isn’t carrying an enchanted object on him that could harm her.
My magic reverberates through my torso. My fingers curl into my palms, holding back the urge to harm him quite permanently now that he’s finally right in front of me.
But he knows the audience works in his favor to some extent as well as ours. If Petra’s allies murder the leader of the Order seemingly unprovoked, it’ll appear to prove all his claims true.
Even if it looks like an accident, his people will blame it on treachery.
We need to treat him as an equal rather than a criminal until he exposes his true colors.
Restraining my power deep within me despite its frantic burn, I lurk nearby as he moves down the row of candidates. He gives each of his own only a cursory examination, already familiar with them. Any stealthy advantages they’re concealing, he’s approved.
When he stops in front of Petra, I tense even more, focusing all my senses on every minute movement of his body. Petra stands rigidly, her eyes fierce as she gazes back at the man she watched slaughter her parents. Her guards step forward to shadow her more closely.
Lothar skims his hands through the air around her body as if testing her, but I still can’t pick up on any magic emanating from him. From his grimly satisfied expression, I think maybe he’s just hoping to intimidate her.
Well, it would look awfully suspicious if she experienced any ill effects while he’s standing right in front of her. Any sabotage he’s planning, it’d be easier for him to get away with it once the trials have begun.
I don’t completely let out my breath until he moves away from her. Tinom finishes studying the last of the Order’s candidates and steps to the front of the stage.
Magical amplification sends his voice ringing over the crowd.
“Now each of the candidates will swear before the All-Giver and all the godlen that they will not use their own or any other’s gifts to assist their performance in these trials.
They come to these tests with no foreknowledge of the correct answers or approach.
They accept their judgment based on their own mortal skills. ”
As the candidates swear in one by one, I duck back into the spy alcove. I’ve only just returned when Filip hustles over to our part of the platform.
The Order defector faces us with an uncertain expression. “The three sacrificial accomplices who came with us in case we needed them to speak—they want to stay near Ivy and Sulla.”
Sulla turns and asks the obvious question for me. “Why?”
He seems to grope for his words. “I’m not sure—I—”