CHAPTER TEN
BEHIND ENEMY LINES
The walls in the entryway of Widow’s Hall are crafted from tshira. It’s good, in the sense that I can use magic to watch Petruvia’s arrival from an adjoining room. Bad, in the sense that I can make out each anxious bead of sweat dripping down Luc’s forehead.
I don’t fare much better. My stomach’s been a churning mess of apprehension since I opened my eyes this morning. Once the Petruvians are here, I’ll have to begin the performance of a lifetime to keep Luc afloat and myself alive.
Although Virdei defeated Petruvia in their battle for control of the mountain, the true loser wasn’t Petruvia—it was Ophera, caught in the middle of a war between two more powerful enemies.
The fragile peace between Virdei and Petruvia depends on the ever-changing treaty. With each revision, they slice control of Ophera differently. Some years, Virdei comes out with more; other years, it’s Petruvia.
Ophera never wins much of anything.
It feels as if all of Widow’s Hall is holding its breath, waiting, when at long last, the front doors open.
A member of the decurio enters, guiding a procession of underdressed Petruvians.
They wear indigo cloaks of an expensive-looking velvet, but no sweaters, overdresses, or sjaals.
They’ve only just arrived, and already their teeth are chattering.
“Honored Praeceptor.” The decurio leading their group bows. “May I present the Petruvian court.”
Luc smiles warmly as the first guest comes forward. He is tall, shaped like a barrel, and shakes Luc’s hand with a stiff smile. “I’m Taelon Night, adviser to King Pendrix. This is my wife.” He gestures to a spindly-looking woman standing just behind him. “Lorwen.”
“Pleasure to meet you both,” Luc says.
Taelon’s smile sharpens into a smirk. “Yes. How nice to finally meet the new Praeceptor of Virdei.”
Luc’s pleasant expression slips slightly with his confusion. “New? This is my fifth year on the throne.”
“I’ve been King Pendrix’s adviser for over twenty years, and I’ve never seen you before,” says Taelon snidely. “Sounds new to me.”
The decurio all stiffen at the blatant disrespect.
None of the Petruvians react. They’re practically icicles in our court—cold, sharp, and pointed, and they each sport nearly identical smirks.
Luc bristles and draws his hand back. “There wasn’t a Tournament of Thrones when I took over.”
“So we’ve heard. Unsurprising to hear a Virdeian feels entitled to something they never earned.” Taelon wraps an arm around his wife’s waist, and together they stride farther into the entry hall, dismissing Luc altogether.
Luc is visibly shaken. A few decurio reach for their swords, but no one draws.
After a long silence, Luc puts on a strained smile and greets the next Petruvian, a short woman in a long, dark wig. “Amber Sansem, sir. Cousin to His Majesty King Pendrix.”
As each person introduces themselves, I write down their name and title.
In addition to the ambassador and the King’s cousin, there’s a commander in the Petruvian army responsible for transporting correspondence between Virdei and Petruvia; a noble who owns a large plot of land that produces most of Petruvia’s crops; and an adviser to the youngest Petruvian prince, Prince Raevin.
When the introductions are finished, Luc frowns. “I was under the impression we would be receiving a member of the royal family? Will they be arriving later?”
They’re all smirking again. It makes my skin crawl.
“Unfortunately, none of the princes could attend this year. Nor the princess. Nor any royal,” Taelon says smugly. “Perhaps they’ll attend the next Tournament, if your successor invites them.”
Successor?
Taelon is implying either that Luc will lose this Tournament or that Petruvia won’t send one of their own until he’s no longer Praeceptor.
It’s a clear slap in the face. Both Taelon’s words and the absence of any member of their royal family.
The Tournament ends with treaty negotiations—at least one of the royals should be here to facilitate that.
It’s not as if Petruvia doesn’t have plenty to choose from.
Four princes and a princess, and not a single one is here.
Luc looks as unsteady as I feel. I have to force air into my lungs.
Force myself to remember that everything is under control.
Sef already secured herself a spot on the Tournament planning committee.
After this, I will do my part to physically prepare for the first trial.
Between the two of us, we are impervious to surprise. Luc won’t lose. I won’t allow it.
As though sensing my thoughts, Luc’s eyes shoot to the wall where I’m watching.
He can’t see me, but knowing I’m here calms him.
Clumsily, he looks back to the Petruvians.
“Well, then. You’ll be shown to your rooms. The opening ceremony of the Tournament is tomorrow morning. Soldiers will direct you to—”
“The arena,” Taelon finishes Luc’s sentence, looking bored. “I’m aware. I’ve been to several Tournaments. I’ve shaken the hands of many Praeceptors before you, and I am sure I will shake the hands of many after. I know how a Tournament is meant to work.”
He doesn’t say it out loud, but his smug expression speaks volumes: I know how a Tournament works. And you don’t.
It’s snowing (again), the air is freezing (as always), but my palms puddle with sweat as I enter the arena.
The domed tshira roof is drawn today, as the field is being used for decurio training. Although the arena is open to viewing, the stands are empty. Virdeian soldiers dot the field, all casting me lingering, confused looks as I pass.
I keep my head high and pretend I don’t notice.
My roving gaze scans the soldiers, stopping when I catch sight of one in particular.
Flynn Sixmen. A decurio I know by reputation but have never formally met.
Nothing about his appearance is bold, but the way he carries himself makes him impossible to miss.
At just twenty years old, Flynn isn’t much older than me, but he’s already made a name for himself.
He’s only decent-looking, but he has the confidence that comes with being the son of an Honorate, and one of the decurio’s rising heroes.
Flynn is taller than me but not tall. Broader than average but not stocky.
Close-cropped hair (all men in the decurio have the same haircut), eyes that are light and brown like amber, and a tiny mole above his upper lip.
He’s in the middle of a tense conversation with a fellow soldier. I move closer.
“The General isn’t willing to risk war,” Flynn is saying. “Petruvia is growing restless. We can’t—” He stops mid-sentence when he notices me. He mumbles something I can’t hear to the soldier before dismissing him.
He raises his eyebrows expectantly as he approaches me. “Remira Kyler. To what do I owe this pleasure?”
I wasn’t expecting him to know who I am. Everyone knows him, of course, but I usually spend as little time around the decurio as possible. A small, silly part of me fears proximity is enough for them to figure out I’m one of them. “Hello, sir. Your reputation precedes you.”
“Are you here on behalf of His Honored Praeceptor for the opening ceremony tomorrow?” he asks.
“I’m actually here for more personal reasons,” I say. “I’d like to learn how to fight.”
I’ve always done my best work in the shadows. Eavesdropping and manipulating and pulling strings from the safety of obscurity. It won’t be enough. Not for the Tournament.
Tomorrow is the opening ceremony. One week later is the first trial. In it, Luc and Kaidren will lead a team of aikkari, each fighting to put the other candidate in a death position. They can’t actually kill the candidates, but there are no rules against killing other soldiers.
It will be dangerous. Deadly. If I’m to cheat Luc’s way to victory, I’ll have to step out of the shadows and onto the battlefield myself. To win—to survive—I must expand my skills to physical combat.
Flynn looks bewildered by the request. “I can’t teach someone who’s not aikkari how to wield magic. You know that.”
Magic is a birthright. It can’t be taught. Still, there are charlatans who peddle baubles and contraband they swear to the stars can give its users magic. They’re overpriced, useless, and very illegal.
“I have no interest in magic, sir. I want to learn basic combat.” I prepared a sob story to tug at his heart.
“My brother has a team of selectmen for his protection. I don’t.
” I relax my face, drooping the corners of my mouth into a frown.
“There are so many newcomers at court. Luc has more guards than ever, just in case any of our guests wish him ill. Everyone looks at me as if I’m a threat somehow.
” I trace my tattoo, trying to make the motion look absent.
“There are eyes on me at all times, and I feel their disdain. If one of them were to attack, I would have no means of defending myself. I only want to feel safe in my own home.”
The wariness in Flynn’s eyes subsides as he regards my tattoo with thinly veiled pity. “First of all, call me Flynn. Second of all, if you want to learn to fight, Miss Kyler, I will happily instruct you.”
Relief floods my chest. Of all the soldiers in the decurio, I specifically chose Flynn Sixmen for a reason.
His father, Selva Sixmen, received a letter from the imposter Shadow Queen.
I can use our time together to prod Flynn about his father and prepare myself for the first trial in one fell swoop. “Truly? Thank you, sir.”
He gives me a sharp look. It takes a moment for me to interpret its meaning. “I mean, thank you, Flynn.” For once, my smile is genuine. “And please, call me Mira.”
“I can’t promise to make you an expert, but I can teach you the basics of self-defense. It’s the most personal kind of attack. You use your specific set of skills to your advantage. Take yourself, for instance. You’re not very tall, and you don’t have much muscle.” He pauses. “No offense.”
I don’t fight a grin. “None taken.”
“Which means you need to focus on exploiting weakness. If you aim for the groin or eyes, you can disorient an attacker and escape.”
I nod along. “Or distract them long enough to knock them out.”
Flynn blinks a few times, frowning. “Well—sure. You could do that. Another approach is to aim for the joints. Get their knees to buckle, you can knock them off-balance and give yourself enough time to run away.”
“Or attack,” I say.
Flynn’s brows shoot up, and he laughs. “You’re very enthusiastic about violence.”
I smile as innocently as I can. “Just an eager student.”
“Yes, I can see that.” He’s still chuckling. “I have the opening ceremony to prepare for, so why don’t you come back in a few days and I’ll get you a uniform. I’m very curious to see if you’re as violent in action as you are with your words.”