Chapter 37
Alek
Wooden thumps and metallic clinks resonate through the night. The structures our allies hurriedly designed and fashioned the pieces for are coming together all across the field far beyond Florian’s walls.
The builders are working by only the faintest lanternlight in an attempt to avoid drawing too much attention to ourselves. The dim glow gives the scene a ghostly atmosphere.
I stand back from the enormous platform that’ll allow our eventual audience to view the trials, watching it spread out piece by piece across the grass. The wind licks under my cloak, and a shiver travels down my spine, but it’s not only due to the lingering winter chill.
I’ve spent most of my life immersing myself in historical records, chasing down the details of what the world was like and how people lived centuries ago. Now, for the first time, it’s hit me that in this one instance I’m part of real, living history in the making.
The knowledge is terrifying and yet also incredible.
At the rustle of footsteps over the grass, I turn. The few lights still glinting behind the capital city’s walls at this dark hour gleam in the distance, about a mile away.
No aggressive shouts have broken the sounds of construction around me yet, but I know they’re coming.
Ivy stops beside me and studies the terrain between us and the city with a pensive expression. “If we can’t get everything ready quickly enough…”
I grasp her hand. “Don’t even think that. We’re going to make this work, whatever we have to do.”
It’s either that or let Lothar crush Petra with whatever he had planned during his swiftly approaching version of kingship trials. Perhaps we’ll get lucky and he’ll be off supervising his own preparations someplace far from here.
I don’t actually have the slightest hope that’ll be the case. And in some ways, our plans require him to be here, to play his role in the production we’re creating.
Ivy swipes a strand of windblown hair from her face and squints across the flat plain. “People are coming. I can’t tell if it’s the right ones yet.”
I tense up, but a moment later, a messenger rides up ahead of the crowd of shadowy forms.
“The Black Talons are fulfilling their duty,” he announces with a salute. “We’re bringing the daimon who agreed to help. And you’ve already got some spectators on the way.”
Ivy’s shoulders relax just a smidgeon. “What happened at the gate?”
The man’s grin sharpens. “The guards are temporarily knocked out thanks to one of my friends and her very useful gift. It won’t last more than a few hours, but that’ll buy you a decent head start. When we spread the message on your signal, we included a mention that people should leave the city that way.”
I drag in a breath. “We can’t hope that no one loyal to the Order of the Wild will catch the message. We might not have very long at all before they try to interfere.”
The messenger lets out a dismissive huff. “We’ll be ready to keep them off your backs. It’s about time those pricks got knocked down from their high horse. I’d even take King Konram and the old Crown’s Watch over the wildness worshippers.”
With a shake of his head in consternation, he wheels his horse. “Where can I find Princess Petra? My boss wanted me to speak directly to her.”
Ivy motions to the mass of carts and wagons beyond the growing platform—the vehicles we used to bring us and all the equipment we needed out here. “She’s staying well-guarded for the time being, but someone will let her know you’re here so she can see you.”
The crowd from the city is already drawing closer. I find myself resting my hand on the knife sheathed at my hip, even though I’m not particularly more confident using it than I was after Stavros’s initial lessons weeks ago.
We know the gang is on our side, and presumably the daimon are too. But what can we expect from the first regular citizens who’ve come to witness the start of the trials?
Are they here to support Petra’s attempt to reclaim her throne or to condemn it?
Ivy tugs her hood over her head, low enough to shadow her face. We don’t know how the ordinary people will react if they recognize her from Lothar’s accusatory announcements.
A wooden creak brings my head snapping around, but it’s just Casimir leading the cart we arrived in. He gives us a good-humored wave and yanks the canvas back from the heap of daggers, swords, crossbows, and shields my parents’ assistant supplied us with.
“The first wave of our most important allies is on the way,” he says with perfect assurance. “It’s time for us to show them how very important they are.”
I’m relieved that Ivy studies the assortment of weaponry with a similar wariness to what I’m feeling.
“Do you really think we should bring out the blades right away?” she asks.
Casimir offers her a crooked smile. “Anyone who’s coming to hurt us will have brought their own weaponry. As far as I can imagine, we’ll only be arming those who are willing to take Petra’s side but haven’t had the means.”
I restrain a grimace. “Let’s at least hear what the Black Talons who’ve been walking with them have to say about their conduct first.”
The courtesan dips his head in easy acceptance. I don’t know how he can seem so calm about the momentous and precarious gambit we’re trying to pull off in the coming day.
It doesn’t take long for the new arrivals to reach us. Several figures with an air of criminal confidence push to the fore of the crowd, prodding a few dozen men and women who look rather dazed along with them.
Rheave leaps forward to welcome his fellow daimon. His urgent instructions reach my ears. “We need to keep watch all around this platform. We can use our magic if we have to. No one should be allowed to hurt the people conducting or participating in the trials, especially Princess Petra.”
As some of the captured spirit creatures speak up in a clash of voices, Ivy strides over to an older man with patterns carved in his shaved head. “Glad to see you, Garom. How has our audience been behaving so far?”
She nods to the cluster of some fifty spectators who’ve stopped farther back from the construction area. They’re mostly wearing plain or even shabby clothes, their hair unartfully cut and their stances nervous.
I suppose that makes sense. The outer-warders would have been closest to the gates once the message went out.
The Black Talons’ boss grunts. “There’ve been a lot of questions, mostly about whether the queen will really be here and what the Order might do about it. But they seem more stunned that they’re actually going to see the trials in action than anything else.”
“Perfect.” Casimir grabs one of the dim lanterns.
As he clambers onto the edge of the platform, I scan the land between us and the city again. More figures on foot are trickling from the gate that faces this direction and heading our way. None of them are moving in a way that strikes me as threatening, but I’m hardly an expert on identifying potential combatants.
Ivy bumps her elbow against mine. “Stavros and our sort-of troops are keeping a careful eye on the spectators. They won’t ignore anyone who looks like a real threat.”
On his perch with the lantern at his feet to light him, Casimir claps his hands for attention. He pitches his voice to carry over the gathered gang members and daimon.
“People of Florian, thank you for joining us for the trials that will prove who deserves to rule our country. Our rightful queen, Princess Petra, needs your support now more than ever. It’s only a matter of time before the Order of the Wild tries to murder her as they did her parents and so many others.”
To my surprise, the princess herself approaches from the far side of the platform. She’s flanked by two soldiers, and I catch a faint shimmer of magic around her that suggests there’s some sort of barrier protecting her from an immediate attack.
She stops a few paces back from Casimir and holds up her own lantern. A new, simple crown one of our allies crafted for her gleams gold on her dark hair. “I intend to test myself today to show in every way possible that I will lead this kingdom fairly and well. Will you help give me that chance? Will you stand with me against those who would try to force the gods’ hands?”
Casimir motions to a couple of workers who’ve come to lead the cart even farther forward, past the Black Talons members and daimon. “We’ve brought weapons for all those who are willing to stand with us against the traitors who want to tear Silana apart. We know you’ll only use them to protect our country.”
Petra offers a soft smile. “I don’t have a country without all of you in it, living the lives you’re meant to enjoy. Together, we can put an end to the horror of the scourge sorcery that’s swept across our realm.”
As uncertain as I was about Casimir’s idea, the civilians appear to respond well. A few and then several more approach the cart to pick out a weapon and in a few cases a shield.
I can’t help noticing that as soon as each is holding a blade or a bow, their stances draw up a little straighter with a newfound sense of purpose.
Well, the courtesan does understand human emotions in a way I’m not sure I ever will.
As more onlookers arrive, Casimir and Petra repeat their message—and I catch voices from amid the crowd enthusing about the special duty the princess has given them. A hint of a smile touches my lips despite my continued apprehension.
A lot of things might have been ruined during the scourge sorcerers’ brief reign, but they haven’t stopped Silana’s people from recognizing a truly righteous cause.
Most of the spectators, realizing the trials aren’t anywhere near ready to begin, turn to face the city with weapons at the ready. They greet their fellow citizens as they arrive.
But one voice hollers over the heads of the daimon toward the platform. “When are we going to see the proof?”
Tinom appears next to Petra, lending the answer an air of divine authority in his cleric-like robe. “All the tools for our tests are being assembled before your eyes. And of course we will wait for any competitors who wish to stake their own claim to arrive. We believe in a fair opportunity for all. We expect to be able to commence shortly after sunrise.”
A gruff sound of warning reverberates from the far side of the platform, where I realize Stavros has been standing in the darkness. At his signal, a significant portion of our combat-trained allies hurry forward to join the gathered gang members.
Ivy tugs me farther behind our defensive line and glances over to where Sulla is standing on the other side of the platform. The older woman shakes her head as if to say she hasn’t sensed any trouble.
Soon enough, the thunder of racing hoofbeats and the glimpses of red tunics beneath the moonlight reveal the reason for Stavros’s concern. Our first Order representatives are charging over to confront us.
The Black Talons’ bosses, thank the gods, have enough sense not to leave the regular civilians as our first line of defense. With a few brisk gestures, they send half of their force ahead of the growing crowd of spectators. The others and the daimon remain between the onlookers and the rest of us.
Petra holds her position in the middle of the platform, but her stance has gone slightly rigid. Stavros shifts position to stand closer to her, and Rheave moves so he’s directly in front of her on the ground, ready to intercept a magical attack as best he can.
Ivy’s hands have balled at her sides. She’s prepared to use her own magic if there’s no other choice.
The image of her fiercely determined expression yesterday in the cart lingers in my memory, along with the firmness of her voice.
There’s a good chance I’ll have to use a lot of magic making sure we see these trials through. I don’t know how it’ll affect me... If I start to lose control, you need to act immediately—whoever’s closest, whoever can do what needs to be done.
My stomach starts to churn. It’s not likely the final act would come down to me. And even if it did… letting her become the monster she’s feared so much would be a worse betrayal than killing her.
But, Great God help me, let us avoid that fate.
“I’d better vanish,” she murmurs to me now, and pulls out the charm that’s the one kindness Tinom left her with.
“Stay safe,” I tell her, my voice gone hoarse, and then she blinks out of sight before my eyes.
The several riders in red rein in their steeds a few paces shy of the first line of armed men. One scowls before bellowing at all of us. “Do you really think you’ll get away with this treachery?”
Tinom replies in a tone thick with derision. “Treachery? The rightful queen is simply commencing the kingship trials your leader demanded. She wasn’t willing to wait for his perverted version of them. Who could be more qualified to run the trials than those of us who’ve faithfully served the only royal family Silana has known since the Darium empire was overthrown?”
“The false royals who lead us all astray. Look at you, deluding these people over again.” He aims his glower at the crowd. “Are you really going to fight those of us who’ve given so much to win our freedom? They’re trying to chain you up again.”
“What are you calling freedom?” Stavros retorts, stepping into the light. “The freedom to be murdered for daring to criticize you? I don’t recall King Konram treating his people so brutally.”
The riders ignore him, the one who appears to be their leader focusing all his attention on our audience. “They’re hypnotizing you with riven magic. Turning you into criminals. This is your chance to stop them and carry out the justice they deserve!”
The crowd stirs uneasily. Is one of the Order members using a gift to rattle their conviction? Or sway it in Lothar’s favor?
Petra lifts her voice, clear and steady. “These trials will provide justice and show who is worthy of the people’s faith.”
An anxious voice rises from the midst of the onlookers. “Where is the riven sorcerer you’ve let help you? Are you going to arrest her?”
Another civilian echoes the first’s nervous tone. “How can we trust anything when you let one of those monsters walk free and work her magic on us?”
I wince inwardly, knowing Ivy is hearing these questions. She shouldn’t have to.
She’s fought so hard for these people, and still they want to heap so much blame on her.
Petra holds up her hands in a quelling gesture. “Lothar Riosemek has lied to you and encouraged your fears to stop you from taking him to task for his own misdeeds. He and his followers are the only ones who’ve been inflicting dangerous magic on you.”
“He’s not riven,” another voice calls out. “He sacrificed his whole arm to the gods. That’s an honest gift.”
“Honest gifts can still be corrupted by?—”
A woman cuts in. “You’re trying to confuse us. We know the riven are fiends. Why would you have anything to do with that kind of magic? The gods would never support that!”
The lead rider from the Order nods. “Very true. This woman has no right to participate in the kingship trials, let alone determine how they should be run. What does she know about worthiness?”
What do the scourge sorcerers know? If they were following their history, they’d never have gone down their dark path of sacrificing the livelihoods of others in the first place.
The rider points toward the platform. “Lothar will conduct the real trials, the way they should be done. All of this ought to be torn apart.”
He isn’t outright telling our audience to do that for him, but several figures surge forward regardless. When the Black Talons move to block them, blades clang together.
More of the onlookers push in as if roused by the apparent aggression, even though their companions were the ones who provoked it.
My stomach sinks. Our soldiers and guards shift on their feet, poised but uncertain.
Casimir was right about one thing: Petra does need the support of the common people. We can’t prove her worthiness for the throne in front of grass stained with the blood of Florian’s citizens.
No one knows how the kingship trials are meant to be, I want to shout. Barely any record of them exists. And the one sure thing is that the gods judged them, not any kind of man or woman.
What good would it do to say that, though? Why would any of these people take my word for it?
They don’t know me. It isn’t as if we can ask the godlen to come down and weigh in?—
As my gaze sweeps over the increasingly tumultuous crowd, it snags on the row of daimon standing near the platform. Their faces are taut with confusion—they know they’re meant to fend off scourge sorcerers, but they wouldn’t have been prepared for this kind of “attack” from ordinary civilians.
An unnatural glow shimmers in their eyes with the inhuman magic they’re prepared to send out.
We don’t have godlen right here among us, but we do have the creatures that are closest to them.
The pieces of a plan crash together in my head so swiftly the breath spills from my lungs.
I don’t have time to study every detail of it, to pick it apart for flaws. Someone has to act now, before the weapons my parents forged for us become our undoing.
I sprint over to where Rheave stands and grasp his arm. “I need your help with the other daimon. When I ask for it, I want you all to show off the unearthly energy you have. If you can bring even more daimon here, ones that aren’t captured, to show their support, that would be even better.”
He gives the briefest sound of acknowledgment, and I heft myself onto the platform. I yank my spine up straight there at the edge next to Casimir.
The courtesan steps back from his lantern as if giving me the stage. The crowd quiets for a moment, peering at me past the figures standing in their way. Waiting to see what’s about to happen.
My face prickles all across my scarred skin, knowing they’ll make note of it before anything else. I shove that thought aside and square my shoulders as if I don’t care.
“I’ve studied the history of Silana all the way back to the times before the Darium empire invaded,” I declare in as forceful a voice as I can summon. “There aren’t many records about the kingship trials, but it’s clear they were put before the godlen to judge who was worthy, not any mortal. It’s time to seek out divine opinions. And we have the representatives of the gods right here with us, the creatures who are far closer to the godlen than any of us humans.”
As I brandish my arm toward the gathered daimon, Rheave takes his cue. He says something to his fellow captured creatures.
In an instant, a glow jitters over their skin. It quivers over their heads and down their arms like lightning in slow motion.
They must have been able to summon other wandering spirits too. A few sparks flit through the air and beam into brighter spots of light above the daimon in human form. More streak across the fields and swarm to join them.
The supernatural glow spreads out in front of the platform, shining over us all. I can feel its warmth glancing off the ridges on my face, and suddenly I don’t care anymore.
These scars show I’m not just some pampered college student. I’ve fucked up. I’ve worked to rectify my mistakes and deserve the life I’ve built.
I’ve been through trials of my own and come out the other side, and I know my chosen godlen smiles down on me.
I lift my voice again with renewed confidence. “Lothar and his scourge sorcerers can’t deny what you’re seeing with your own eyes. The trials we’re assembling have the support of the spirit world. The divine energies we mortals can barely grasp will decide who is most likely to bring the All-Giver back to these realms.”
The next chorus of murmurs that passes through our audience sounds awed, not hostile. A few keep staring, dazed, but most swing back to face the riders from the Order.
The lead rider sets his mouth in a tight line, but he doesn’t seem to know how to argue against this very vivid demonstration.
Petra speaks into his silence. “The Order can have a place in these trials too. You were already preparing for your own, and we’ve been sending out word that ours are approaching for days. I’m sure you’ve picked your champions. Send them forth at dawn, and we’ll see who the gods bless with their favor.”