CHAPTER TWENTY #2
I slip out of my seat before the second to last participant.
No one pays me any mind as I duck beneath the arena stands and make my way to the other side—to where the cord Flynn pulls to trigger the crossbow leads.
I hear rather than see Kaidren’s deep, confident voice proclaim the final contender isn’t aikkari.
As the audience stomps their feet, I stop moving.
I’m directly under a giant weapon. It looks like a crossbow, but larger than any I’ve ever seen, and the loading mechanism is piled high with additional bolts that slide into place when the previous one is released.
The next spear is already loaded, just waiting for a trigger.
By this point, everyone is cheering, Flynn is all smiles, and Kaidren is soaking up the attention.
Flynn takes Kaidren by the wrist and holds it up. “Congratulations to Honorate Kaidren Vale . . .”
He keeps speaking, but I’m no longer listening. It’s too easy to reach for the cord connected to the massive crossbow and loop it loosely around the ankle of a man seated overhead. I send a tendril of heat to his seat. Not enough to burn, just enough to startle.
He leaps with a yelp. The motion pulls the cord. The device beneath him launches, and another tshira bolt sails toward the center of the arena, right at the final contender, Rilan.
It takes people a moment to notice it. After all, the event is supposed to be over. No one is expecting another attack.
Then someone screams.
The decurio in the arena react quickly, but not quickly enough. As they scramble for their sources to use magic to deflect the spear, Rilan is utterly terrified and completely defenseless.
Instinct takes over. His hands shoot up to guard his face, and he cries out.
The crossbow bolt is a whisper away from him when I shift it out of the way.
I’m not as practiced as the decurio, so it’s not nearly as graceful as it jolts to the side.
The jerky movements of the tshira only serve to better sell my lie: it looks as if the man the tshira was about to spear just used magic to protect himself.
The same man Kaidren Vale very clearly announced to the world isn’t aikkari.
Rilan’s scream of terror fades.
The excitement of the arena softens into confused whispers.
Kaidren’s jaw slackens. He whirls to Rilan, expression flickering between shock and confusion. “What—how did you do that?”
Rilan lowers his hands. “That wasn’t me.” He wavers and stares at his hands in astonishment. “At least, I don’t think it was.”
Flynn’s frown is deep, and the furrow in his brow grows more pronounced. He raises his voice. “Will the aikkari responsible for blocking the misfired bolt please come forward?”
All around, aikkari glance at one another in question, waiting for someone to claim responsibility.
No one moves.
Clearly frustrated, Flynn moves down the line of soldiers. He stops in front of each aikkari participant and directly asks them: “Did you move that crossbow bolt?”
When they each deny it, he pushes further: “Are you certain?”
Each aikkari confirms they are.
Confusion abounds, in the stands and the arena alike. Flynn fixes his gaze on the final participant, Rilan. “It must have been you.”
Rilan stares at his hands again. “But I’m not aikkari. That’s impossible.”
“Just because you didn’t know doesn’t mean you don’t have magic. It’s not uncommon for someone to be aikkari and not know their source.”
“I’ve never done anything like that before.”
“You were about to be killed—you acted on instinct. Did you feel a rush of heat before the spear moved?”
“No, I—” Rilan hesitates, now doubting what he felt. “Maybe. I was panicking. I didn’t even notice. But maybe I did.”
If the audience was confused before, it’s nothing compared to how it feels now.
Flynn snatches Kaidren’s arm and pulls him to stand before Rilan. “Honorate Vale, can you tell us what this man’s source is?”
Kaidren’s already shaking his head. “He isn’t aikkari. When I touched him, I didn’t feel anything.”
“Maybe you missed something. Try again.”
Kaidren touches Rilan’s cheek. Holds it for a few seconds. He frowns. “I’m telling you, he isn’t aikkari. He doesn’t have a source. I don’t know what’s going on, but—”
I release another surge of magic. This time, I direct it at the tshira tube I hid in Kaidren’s sleeve. It falls free from Kaidren’s robe and lands in the snow. I send a final wave of magic to roll it over the ground, coming to a rest at Flynn’s feet. Impossible for him to miss.
Flynn looks from Kaidren to the tube and back again. “What’s this?”
Kaidren frowns and shakes his sleeve to see if anything else falls out. Nothing does. “I have no idea.”
Flynn casts Kaidren a doubtful look as he scoops up the tube and finds a rolled-up sheet of parchment tucked inside.
The crowd can’t see what’s written on it from the distance, but I already know. Because I wrote it.
Gavin Tassim: cerulean blue
Bahni Hidday: orchid
It keeps going. Five names. One for each of the aikkari who participated in Eteria along with their sources.
I wrote it yesterday, in my hidden room next to the interrogation chamber. Luc shook hands with each aikkari set to participate today. He confirmed that their source would be present in the arena. And I listened and wrote them all down.
Judging by the several seconds Flynn spends staring at it, the doubt is properly sown.
His face darkens as he finally looks to Kaidren. “Honorate Vale, can you please explain to me what this is?” His voice is tempered. Controlled. But anyone can hear the anger underlying each word.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Kaidren reaches for the parchment, but Flynn jerks it out of reach.
“Honorate Vale, on this parchment are the names of each of the five aikkari contenders and their sources. You obviously didn’t write them during Eteria, so you must have written them beforehand. You cheated.”
“What?” Kaidren successfully snatches the parchment from Flynn as the audience sucks in a collective gasp.
Whispers intensify.
From beneath the stands, I catch a few of the accusatory whispers directed at Kaidren Vale:
“He’s a liar.”
“He cheated?”
“The Shadow Queen was right—he made it all up.”
Kaidren is shaking. “I’ve never seen this before in my life.”
“Yet it was on your person.”
“Someone must’ve put it there.”
“That’s a serious accusation. Do you have a name for me?”
“No . . .” Kaidren’s frantic gaze flits around the arena. He knows I have something to do with this—he must—but he can’t prove it. “But it wasn’t me. I swear. I am an isha. I had no need to cheat.”
Flynn scoffs, disbelieving. “You claim you’ve never seen this before, yet you were able to correctly identify each of the aikkari and their sources except for Rilan. Either you’re an awful isha, or a terrible liar. Which is it?”
“I—” Kaidren’s sentence falters. He has no excuses. No explanations. All he knows is that the sense of victory he felt only moments ago is gone now. “I can prove it. Give me your hand, sir. I’ll tell you your source.”
“Of course you will. You’ve clearly done your research.”
“I haven’t. Give me any aikkari and I’ll prove it.”
Flynn gestures toward Rilan. “Him. Tell me his source. He is the only aikkari here whose source I don’t already know.”
Kaidren doesn’t have a response to that.
Scowling, Flynn raises his voice. We could all hear him before anyway, but now he addresses the crowd directly. “I apologize, everyone. Thank you for attending Eteria. Unfortunately”—here, he shoots Kaidren a sharp look, dripping fury—“it would seem we do not have an isha in Virdei after all.”