Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
Mira
Two Years Later
The sound of tolling bells made the crowd thicken, islanders lining the craggy cliffs to watch the three Ravalian ships approach. They were beautiful vessels, large and sleek, with crimson and gold sails that glittered brilliantly in the sunlight.
Children jostled for better positions as they fought to catch a glimpse of the royal representatives. The adults were more restrained, used to the yearly visits. But anticipation was heavy in the briny air, so thick it was nearly tangible.
And this year, that same anticipation raced through my veins. Because this year, the royal representatives were here for me .
Waves lapped against the harbour breakwater, muffling the sound of footsteps, but I heard them anyway. Even if I hadn’t, it would have been impossible to miss the path clearing in front of me.
Nikolas Atwood strode to the front of the crowd, his narrow face hard with disdain. His eyes, chips of grey ice, weren’t fixed on the spectacle in the harbour or the glamorous blonde on his arm – but on me and Lillian.
Not today, I pleaded silently. Don’t cause a scene today.
Even as I thought it, I knew it was useless. Nikolas was the entitled son of Lord Atwood, Governor of Aldara. There was nothing he couldn’t get away with.
And he had a score to settle.
Lillian looked up, noticing my sudden preoccupation. Her eyes darted to the young noble and his fiancée, studying them with something like awe – a reaction that bothered me until I realised she wasn’t admiring them . Only their fine clothing.
‘This is unexpected.’ A contemptuous smile bloomed on Stacia’s perfectly made-up face. ‘Business a bit slow this morning? No one to entertain with your cheap tricks?’
I locked eyes with her. ‘We can’t all be born pampered nobles, waited on hand and foot.’
Stacia exchanged an unpleasant glance with Nikolas, sending her ringlets fluttering in the breeze. ‘You’re a performer ,’ she said, making the word performer synonymous with scum . ‘Show your betters some respect.’
‘Respect should be earned,’ I retorted. ‘And you haven’t earned mine.’
‘What about me?’ Nikolas asked mildly.
There was only one acceptable answer, and we all knew it. With his father’s influence, he could make my life very difficult if he chose. Then again, he often singled me out – talking down about me to his influential friends, interrupting me at work and smiling when his interference cost me patrons.
‘Mira didn’t mean anything by it,’ Lillian cut in. I shot her an irritated look, but she continued: ‘Can we please forget it and enjoy the show?’
Nikolas studied Lillian, taking in her demure lilac dress and halo of buttery curls. Unlike me, she was everything he believed a common girl should be: respectful, mild-mannered, and beautiful in a soft sort of way. The kind of girl who inspired feelings of protectiveness in everyone, even snobs like the Atwoods.
‘Alright,’ he agreed. ‘So long as you remember it’s only a show.’
I knew what he meant – that the Trials weren’t for people like us. I bit my lip to stop myself from saying something unwise, but my expression gave me away.
‘You disagree?’ Nikolas said, as if the mere idea was ludicrous. ‘Someone like you wouldn’t last a minute in the Trials.’
‘I suppose we’ll find out. In the Trials.’
A flicker of anger sparked in Nikolas’s eyes. ‘If you do compete,’ he warned, his hand brushing the sword strapped to his side, ‘you’re going to regret that arrogance. I’ll make sure of it.’
Without waiting for a response, he brushed past, knocking his shoulder into mine. I stumbled back, watching as he and Stacia faded from view. Even as they disappeared, Nikolas’s threat remained. It hung in the salty air, heavy and ominous.
‘What were you thinking?’ Lillian demanded, grabbing my arm. ‘You know better than to antagonise them. And the very idea of entering the Trials . . . it’s . . .’ Her voice trailed off at whatever expression she saw on my face. ‘That wasn’t something you said just to provoke them. You were serious.’
I glanced away from my friend – from the hurt in her clear blue eyes. ‘Not now, Lil.’
Lillian dropped my hand. ‘I can’t believe this,’ she said. ‘I can’t believe you . The Trials are dangerous, Mira.’
‘I know,’ I replied, but I wasn’t looking at Lillian. I was looking at the royal representatives in the distance.
What Lillian didn’t understand was that some things were more important than safety. Some things were worth the risk.
Because Nikolas and the others had underestimated me. They had underestimated the strength of my resolve.
The Trials didn’t scare me. They didn’t scare me. And one day soon, I was going to prove that to everyone.
One day soon, I was going to make Nikolas regret his arrogance.
The field where the circus pitched its tents was quiet and still, the performers getting ready for the evening or enjoying the markets in the town square. Soon, this entire place would transform: filling with the clamour of patrons, the deep pounding of drums, and dramatic bursts of fire.
Thankfully, I wouldn’t have to worry about dancing or telling fortunes tonight. Only the most impressive acts were reserved for the arrival of the royal representatives: acts like Verex’s knife-throwing and Celeste’s fire-dancing. I might have stayed to watch, if I didn’t have somewhere else I needed to be.
When I stepped into the faded tent I shared with my mother, my eyes went straight to the dress. It was draped over the chair, a gown of deepest, darkest blue. Even in the dim light, it glittered like a thousand stars.
‘I thought you’d like it.’ My mother was standing across the tent, a smile on her full lips. ‘You should try it on.’
‘It’s incredible,’ I breathed, lifting it into my arms. It was so soft it felt like gossamer against my skin. ‘But how did you . . . ?’
‘Think of it as an apology,’ Celeste said, her cobalt skirt swishing elegantly as she moved closer. She put a hand on my shoulder and squeezed. ‘I know you’re settled here, Mira, but it was only supposed to be temporary. It’s best we move on soon.’
I set the dress back down. First Nikolas and Lillian, and now this. Can’t one thing go right today?
‘This is the longest we’ve stayed in the same place—’
‘Exactly,’ Celeste replied, twisting to examine her outfit in the tarnished mirror. ‘We’ve lingered too long here already. This shouldn’t come as a surprise.’
It didn’t. I’d seen the signs for weeks now, but I’d ignored them. Since joining the island circus, Aldara had become home – the first and final stop on the circus’s annual tour around the Elusive Isles, where the performers returned to repair equipment and spend time with their families.
And now my mother was asking me to give that up. To leave everything behind yet again.
Well, not this time.
‘It’s been two years since we left the Western Lands,’ I reminded her. ‘ Two years since the Artisan’s warning, and nothing’s happened. Maybe we’re safe here. Did you ever consider that?’
Celeste shook her head. ‘It’s not that easy, Mira.’
‘Maybe it is,’ I countered. ‘Maybe it should be.’
Silence fell between us. I’d never been this assertive with her before, and I knew she noticed the difference.
If we’d been a normal mother and daughter, with normal mother-daughter problems, we might have talked it out. Tried to compromise. But she had already decided. In the same way she decided everything.
I paced across the tent – past the tiny, shabby dining table, the handful of pillows that made up our living room, and the pallets that acted as our beds. It wasn’t much, but I didn’t want to give it up.
I would have to, of course, if I announced my candidacy for the Trials. But at least it would be my choice to make.
‘I knew we should have left sooner.’ Celeste sighed as she sank into a wicker chair. ‘I just wanted you to have a taste of normalcy – for a little while, anyway.’
She hadn’t put on her stage makeup yet, and even in the candlelight, I could see the faint lines that were usually concealed – worried creases between her arched brows and in the corners of her eyes.
My frustration softened into tenderness. No matter how much Celeste tried to pretend otherwise, our lives weren’t a game – and she had spent far too long trying to protect me. Now it was my turn to protect her .
For a moment, I debated telling her everything. It was possible she would understand – that she would even be proud of me. I knew my mother loved me. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was overcoming decades of entrenched fear.
My lips parted to confess everything – but I hesitated. If I told her my plans, she might convince me to run again.
And if we did, when would we ever stop?
‘I can’t live like this.’ The words settled between us, tense and charged. ‘It was one thing, when I was younger. But now . . . I want my own life.’
Celeste closed her eyes. ‘You won’t have a life, Mira, if these criminals catch us.’
I thought back to the only time we’d been discovered. I didn’t remember much more than a shadowy figure standing over me and then the spray of blood as a circus performer slit their throat. But that experience had made the threat against our lives far more real – and terrifying.
It was the reason I’d decided to compete for a place in the Order of Warriors. I wanted to fight for a better life for myself and my mother, but also for the chance to defend the empire. To keep the peace and protect people who couldn’t protect themselves.
I slid into the chair opposite my mother, watching as she applied her makeup with practised hands. ‘If you want me to understand,’ I said, softly but firmly, ‘if you want me to trust you, then you need to start sharing things with me. I’m not a child anymore.’
‘No,’ Celeste said. ‘You’re not.’
It wasn’t exactly an agreement, but I decided to take it as one.
‘Let’s start with something simple,’ I said, my gaze intent on hers. ‘What was my father like? Where did you meet him?’
She didn’t answer. Her silence wasn’t a surprise, but it still hurt. It cut, like the sharp edge of a blade.
I had my suspicions, of course. There were certain things even my mother couldn’t hide. She held herself with the bearing of a noble, and was striking in the most vivid sort of way, with light, pearlescent skin, and auburn hair that burned like a flame in the sun.
Though she’d never spoken about my father, I used to fantasise that he was a fierce warrior from the Red Dunes, or a visiting diplomat from beyond the empire. When I was younger, I would gaze intently into mirrors, imagining the man who had given me my darker skin and midnight hair.
But that was a long time ago. Now, every time I looked into a mirror, the sight of my reflection stung – a constant reminder of how little I knew. Of the secrets my mother was determined to keep.
‘Just tell me something .’ I’d intended my words to sound forceful, but they came out more like a plea. ‘I don’t care about bloodlines. You know I don’t. It doesn’t matter to me where he came from.’
‘I never thought it would,’ Celeste replied. She considered me for a long moment, as if she was debating whether to answer. ‘Your father,’ she said finally, ‘was someone I greatly admired. You resemble him in more than just appearance. You have his strength of character, too.’
It wasn’t much, but it was more than she’d ever said. I gazed across the tent, letting her words settle over me.
‘I’d never met anyone like him, Mira. He made me feel . . .’ Celeste paused, and I wondered if it was too painful for her to continue. Then she said, ‘I gave up everything to be with him. If circumstances had been different, I never would have left his side.’
‘You must have loved him very much,’ I murmured.
Celeste smiled, but it was bittersweet. ‘That kind of love . . . I hope you experience it one day, Mira. But perhaps it’s better if you don’t. It can be a curse.’
A shiver of foreboding went down my spine. Even after all these years, I caught glimpses of the pain my mother tried to hide. She had given up a piece of her heart, and now that piece was lost forever.
‘What happened to him?’ I pressed.
Sadness glinted in my mother’s hazel eyes. ‘He died,’ she said, standing abruptly. ‘No more questions, Mira.’
I watched her leave, swallowing a lump in my throat. In three days’ time, she would lose me too.
The dress glittered accusingly at me from the chair.
Ignoring it, I grabbed my well-worn brown leather boots and did up the laces. I braided back my hair, then reached under the bed for the wooden practice sword I kept hidden there.
Its weight should have felt steadying in my hand, but instead it reminded me of previous Choosing Ceremonies. I found myself thinking of the candidates who announced their decision right before the boats left, the ones who hadn’t told their parents. It was awful to watch. It was even harder to listen to: sometimes the mothers would cry or beg them to reconsider.
But once the choice was made, it couldn’t be unmade.