The Order of Masks

Chapter Twenty-Four

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Mira

The arena was lit on all sides by flaming torches, intensely bright in the blackness. I felt a distant rush of familiarity: in the evening, surrounded by fire, it reminded me of the circus’s stage. The thought gave me some confidence. If I could pretend this was just another performance, maybe I could come out of it alive.

The other candidates were already present, organised into three lines. I kept my gaze fixed resolutely ahead, resisting the urge to search for Aric. There were close to thirty contenders in total, and every pair of eyes was riveted on me.

While their stares were unnerving, they were nothing compared to the three figures standing in front of them. They turned at my arrival, their faces cast in the eerie reddish glow of the torches. The heads of the Orders, who would decide whether I lived past morning.

I noticed the head of the Order of Warriors first: General Tiran, his shining armour emblazoned with a lion. Behind him was Zandri, her masked face saying enough about which Order she was representing. The final Order head stood apart from the others, his muscular arms crossed. He was tall and dark-skinned, and for a moment shock overpowered my fear. I was looking at the Artisan from the Elusive Isles. Her death will set you free.

My nails bit into my palms as I noticed the three royal patrons watching from their thrones, arranged in the same sequence as the Order heads: Warriors, Masks and Artisans. Roran eyed me with a cruel smile; clearly, he hadn’t forgotten how I’d shown him up in the arena. At his side was Scarlett, her red waves swept off her face by two solid gold scorpion hair pieces. The youngest prince appeared bored, half reclining in his throne. I had a glimpse of a gleaming crown, the flash of a razor-sharp smile. And then I saw his eyes. Those ruthless, dark blue eyes.

No wonder Cassius had been amused when I’d asked who he was. You’ll find out soon enough, he had said. Well, this was sooner than expected.

I clenched my fists and looked away, my eyes darting to the spot where I’d watched my mother die. That section of sand was as smooth and unblemished as the rest, but to me it would always be stained with blood.

‘Tell me, girl,’ Roran demanded, ‘does being royalty make you feel as if you have certain privileges? Does it make you feel somehow powerful ?’

‘No,’ I gritted out. ‘Of course not.’

‘Then why have you kept us waiting?’

I knew nothing I said would be good enough, but I tried anyway. ‘The emperor wanted to see me. He—’

‘So it’s the emperor’s fault, is it?’ The prince’s jade eyes glittered, menacing even in the partial darkness.

‘Let it go, Roran.’ It was Scarlett who spoke, and though her tone was dismissive, I couldn’t understand why the princess would speak on my behalf. ‘She can redeem herself during the demonstration.’

Ignoring his sister, Roran continued, ‘General Tiran told me that you attended the ceremony in the Elusive Isles. According to him, you wanted to join the Order of Warriors.’ He paused significantly. ‘Is that still true?’

Movement drew my attention to the other candidates. As if by instinct, I found Aric’s clear brown eyes. In them, I saw tenderness and concern. And fear.

He shook his head at me, a tiny gesture. A warning.

But Roran was smiling, an infuriatingly smug smile that I wanted to slap off his face. And even though I knew that I shouldn’t, that it couldn’t possibly end well—

‘I’m competing for the Order of Warriors.’

Cassius didn’t bother to hide his surprise as he raised a blond brow, his gaze lingering on Roran.

‘In that case,’ Scarlett said, her face unreadable, ‘General Tiran will pair you with another candidate from the Order of Warriors, so you can demonstrate—’

‘Since the girl wants to be accepted into my Order,’ Roran interrupted, ‘I will be the one to test her.’

‘That isn’t how the Choosing is done,’ his sister protested, but the prince was already moving.

‘Give the girl your sword and shield,’ he instructed General Tiran, who handed them over and retreated to a respectful distance.

The sword was heavier than anything I’d practised with before, and the shield weighed me down even more. Roran clearly knew it too. There was a satisfied gleam in his eyes as he stalked closer, unsheathing his own blade. His polished black armour shone, a chilling reminder of his position. He was no Trial candidate: he was a full-fledged Warrior, with plenty of experience slaughtering soldiers on the battlefield.

A servant ran up to slide a golden shield onto Roran’s arm. As he did, the prince tossed me his dagger. I fumbled, the blade clattering to the ground. I quickly bent to retrieve it, ignoring the laughter of the onlookers.

Roran didn’t give me the chance to regain my composure. He moved first, and for someone so large he was unnaturally fast, unleashing a series of brutal overhead blows that dented my shield and threatened to make it buckle. I deflected as best I could, my teeth gritted with the effort. If any of those blows landed, they would cleave my skull apart.

Step after step, he forced me back towards the arena wall. My ears ached at the noise. My arm muscles were screaming.

And then he broke through my shield.

I hurled the useless thing at him. Roran laughed and sidestepped, his breathing slow and even.

Our swords met in a shower of sparks, and I felt an icy stab of fear. His strikes and parries were so fluid that I could barely see his blade. Whether it was a result of his own talent or magical intervention, it was obvious that I was hopelessly outmatched.

Roran smiled lazily as he flourished his sword in an elegant movement, forcing me to counter with my own blade. When I did, he smashed his shield into my right shoulder – spinning me around and slamming me face first into the arena wall.

A sickening crack sounded as my forehead collided with stone. The pain was dizzying. Disorientating.

My sword slipped from my fingers. I heard its heavy clatter as Roran kicked it aside.

‘Pathetic,’ he spat, his voice hot in my ear. ‘You don’t deserve a place in the Order of Warriors. You don’t deserve to survive.’

The dagger was my only chance. Left-handed, I slashed at his side, aiming for a thin gap in his armour—

Roran wrenched the blade from my hand. I stumbled back from him, blood pouring from my forehead and into my eyes. Through a red, blurry haze, I fell to the ground and frantically felt for my discarded sword. My hand enclosed around the leather hilt just as Roran’s footsteps crunched across the sand.

Desperately rubbing the blood from my eyes, I twisted to see a flash of silver descending towards me. Roran’s sword, preparing to sever my head from my shoulders—

A dark blur slammed into the prince from the side.

I looked on in disbelief as Aric and Roran went tumbling in the sand, a jumble of bodies and fists. When the prince tried to stand, Aric dragged him back down and punched him square in the face. It was almost comical: one of the best swordsmen in the empire, and Aric had reduced him to fighting like a street thug.

Warriors swarmed into the arena, a mass of black. Roran barked at them to stay back as he hurled Aric to the arena floor and struck him repeatedly across the face.

‘Restrain him,’ Roran ordered, spitting blood onto the sand.

Two Warriors pinned Aric’s arms and pushed him to his knees. An easy target for the prince.

‘No!’ I shouted, my grip tightening on the sword as I rushed forward.

I was less than five metres away when the Warriors restrained me. So close that I could almost brush Aric’s fingertips with mine—

Aric looked up at me, his expression resigned. There was fear in his eyes, but I knew that fear wasn’t for himself. It was for me .

Roran stepped forward, obscuring my view of Aric’s face. Kain’s murderer, and Aric would die not knowing it, unable to avenge his brother—

‘No,’ I said again, brokenly this time.

I could barely breathe as I watched the prince raise his sword. Not Aric. Not him too.

‘Wait,’ a smooth, confident voice rang out.

The prince hesitated, the sword pausing in mid-air.

I twisted to look back at the heads of the Orders, to where a shadowy figure had stepped forward. She crossed the arena with authority, her onyx mask glittering in the firelight. And then she said the words I would never have expected.

‘I will take them.’

I found myself staring into a pair of dark eyes. Into the impassive face of the woman who had, inexplicably, saved both our lives.

Zandri.

‘What’s going to happen to Aric?’ I asked as I followed Zandri below the arena.

Zandri didn’t look at me. She hadn’t since she’d made her announcement, and I wondered if she regretted her decision to intervene. I wondered why she would make such a decision at all.

‘You should be more concerned with yourself,’ Zandri replied evenly, the sharp angles of her face even more pronounced up close. ‘The boy will be fine. Roran overstepped his bounds; the heads of the Orders decide what happens in the Choosing, not the royal patrons. I will have a word with General Tiran on your friend’s behalf. If he makes it through the Trials, he can become a member of my daughter’s personal guard.’

It was the best outcome I could have hoped for: a safe position for Aric, and some distance from Roran. But I wondered what the price would be. Here, no one did anything without getting something in return – and I didn’t like the idea of being indebted to Zandri.

Of course, it was too late for that.

The stairwell we were following came to a dead end, but instead of stopping, Zandri strode through what appeared to be a solid wall. The enchantment reminded me uncomfortably of entering the resistance’s headquarters.

Though I couldn’t see Zandri – or whatever was waiting for me on the other side – I could still hear her.

‘Keep up,’ she called.

I passed through the barrier, emerging into a roughly hewn tunnel lit with wall sconces. Zandri was little more than a distant shadow, moving with an ease that suggested she was retracing a familiar path.

I hurried after her, straining to hear the sound of her booted footsteps. The last thing I wanted was to follow Zandri anywhere – let alone further underground. But the alternative was losing my way in a maze of dank tunnels.

I caught up with her just as the tunnel opened into an obsidian hall encircled by full-length mirrors. The reddish glow of fire braziers were reflected in the metal gleam of weapons and the central staircase, which curved up to the ceiling like a snaking flame.

‘We’re deep under the palace grounds,’ Zandri said, her voice lethally soft. ‘No one but myself and my Masks frequent these tunnels.’

At her words, I backed up a few steps – positioning myself in front of a cache of daggers mounted to the wall. But Zandri wouldn’t have saved my life to kill me now.

It was almost a pity. I would have liked an excuse to bury a blade in her heart.

‘Why did you help me?’ I asked tightly, my voice echoing around the cavernous expanse.

‘You’re raw, girl, but you have talent. It just isn’t the kind of talent that the Order of Warriors look for.’ Zandri paused. ‘What do you know about the Order of Masks?’

As if from a lifetime ago, I remembered Elian. I remembered Jadis’s words: He doesn’t speak. Not since the Masks got to him.

‘I’ve only heard it mentioned in passing,’ I said cautiously.

‘That’s to be expected, I suppose. It’s not often discussed.’ Zandri’s figure was nothing more than a column of shadow as she crossed the hall. ‘As you know, your mother was a member. Perhaps that gives you a hint as to what the Order involves.’

I thought of what little I knew about my parents and how they’d met. My mother had been sent on a mission to kill the Kalurian king—

My mouth went dry. ‘Assassination.’

‘Not quite. They’re individuals with unique abilities – ones allowing them to infiltrate rival courts, rival kingdoms, and exploit those positions to the empire’s advantage.’

‘So they’re spies?’

Zandri shrugged. ‘Every mission is different. Your mother was sent to seduce the Kalurian king and use his affection to advance our interests. But yes, she was eventually tasked with killing him. A task that she failed.’

The hard edge in her voice made it clear that Zandri hadn’t forgiven my mother’s failure – so why was I here? Why save me from execution? None of it made any sense.

‘What’s your role in all of this, exactly?’

‘I oversee all the Orders, but I’m the head of the Order of Masks.’ A thin smile. ‘Fortunately for you, I don’t like to watch talent go to waste.’

Yes, I thought bitterly. How fortunate I am that you saved me. What a pity you didn’t extend that same mercy to my mother.

‘If you expect me to be grateful, you’ll be waiting a long time,’ I said, when the silence lingered. ‘If it wasn’t for you, my mother would still be alive.’

‘If it hadn’t been me, it would have been someone else.’ Zandri’s tone was dismissive. ‘The moment you announced your candidacy for the Trials, you were both living on borrowed time. I merely sped up the inevitable.’

Before I even realised what I was doing, I reached behind me. My fingers enclosed around something cold and sharp.

‘Careful,’ Zandri warned.

I didn’t ask how she’d known. Nor did I try to hide the dagger. As I brought it in front of me, I saw there were runes running down both sides of the blade – the same runes I had seen on the twin blades my mother had buried near our tent. I wondered if she’d been given them when she was initiated as a Mask.

‘I know what it is,’ Zandri said, ‘to desire vengeance, and to mete it out. But revenge is a dangerous game. Your instincts will tell you to act quickly, in a flash of hot-blooded passion. Those instincts will get you killed. Some games are only meant to be played slowly. Carefully.’

‘Is that your way of asking me to put the blade back?’

‘Not at all.’ Zandri stalked closer, twirling a silver dagger that seemed to have appeared out of mid-air. The trick reminded me of Verex’s circus act, and for a second, I could see his blood in my mind’s eye: dripping steadily onto the grass.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked warily.

‘Giving us both what we want,’ came the smooth, unruffled reply. ‘The Choosing Ceremony involves demonstrations of skill. Your fight with Prince Roran was a test for the Order of Warriors; now, I’m interested in testing you myself.’

She was so fast that she was little more than a blur. I watched her closely, trying to anticipate where she was going to strike, but it was impossible. Zandri moved with inhuman speed, like the feathers on her shoulders really were wings.

When she materialised in front of me, she had blades in both hands. I barely stumbled back in time, her dagger missing my skin by inches. But I rallied, raising my own blade and stabbing at her sternum—

Only to meet empty air.

‘You can do better than that,’ Zandri said as she circled, reflected in the ring of mirrors.

I kept pace with her, ready to take advantage of any opportunity. But even as my blood pounded a fierce drumbeat in my chest, I knew that the likelihood of cutting Zandri – let alone beating her – was slim.

‘Stop thinking,’ Zandri said, her booted foot kicking my legs out from underneath me. I fell heavily, my shoulder aching at the impact. ‘Fighting should be instinctual. It’s a dance – a deadly, beautiful dance.’

Her words reminded me of Aric. He looked like he was dancing when he fought, moving seamlessly from one move to the next. I’d felt that kind of ease maybe twice in my life, and both times had been when I was fighting with him.

I tried again, feinting and slicing at her exposed side. But Zandri whirled away, her dagger slashing my right arm. It wasn’t a painful cut, but it unsettled me that she was able to wound me so easily. This was a test, and I was suddenly very afraid what the price of failure might be.

‘Too slow,’ Zandri pronounced, not even bothering to block my attack. ‘Perhaps this was a waste of time.’

Zandri turned on her heel, and it felt like a defining moment. If she walked out of the hall, that was it. This was my last chance to prove myself a worthy contender for the Trials.

Closing my eyes, I weighed the knife in my palm. My focus tunnelled until all I was aware of was the blade, the silver cool against my skin. All I could hear was the sound of Zandri’s distant footsteps.

And I felt it again. The pull.

I drew my wrist back—

The knife careened through the air in a circular motion, blade over hilt, blade over hilt. My eyes snapped open just as Zandri twisted, raising her palms. The knife stopped, inches from her face, caught between her hands. Over the silver of the blade, she regarded me in silence for a moment.

‘Better,’ she said, tossing the blade back at me.

I closed my eyes again, and when I reopened them, I had caught the blade hilt first.

‘I can do this,’ I told her, low and fierce. ‘If you give me another chance, I’ll prove it to you.’ My voice was raw with a mixture of desperation and conviction. ‘I can survive the Trials. I will survive the Trials.’

We stared at each other, and it was impossible to tell what Zandri was thinking. Her eyes were calculating as she regarded me, like she was assessing my worth. It was the same look the Artisan had worn when he’d predicted my future: as if she were staring past my face and into me – seeing everything that made me who I was, all my strengths and weaknesses, even those things I didn’t want seen.

Finally Zandri nodded. ‘Follow me.’

I kept pace with her as she crossed the hall, climbing the central staircase that pierced the stone ceiling. A shaft of light drew me upwards, into an imposing atrium filled with fire. Though I had never been inside, I recognised the distinctive pillars from earlier this afternoon.

The Order of Masks residence.

‘Kasmira.’

I glanced at Zandri, startled by her use of my name. My real name.

‘We both know I’m not really the person you want to kill. At the very least, I’m not at the top of your list.’ Her lips upturned in a strange half-smile. ‘But if you use a weapon against me again, outside of a training exercise, you had better finish what you started. Or I will.’

Zandri said nothing else as she stepped into the crisp night. But then her gaze went back to the fire braziers, which flared hotter and brighter as I passed. A strange expression crossed her face, there and gone before I could interpret it.

I wondered whether Zandri was remembering our altercation on Aldara. Did she know about the blood ruby? And if she did, why hadn’t she mentioned it?

‘Get some sleep,’ Zandri said suddenly, turning her back on me. ‘The first Trial begins tomorrow.’