He bowed to me before striding off after the others, leaving me to collect my thoughts and my jaw, which had hinged itself open. He was the Tenebra challengeragain? The same person competing twice…it was unheard of. Completely unprecedented.
I quickly ran through our conversation, wondering if I’d given any information he could use against me, cursing myself for getting caught up in his talk of my parents. Fates, I couldn’t trustanyonehere.
It didn’t matter how kind they may seem, how harmless, how endearing. Every single one was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Myself included.
Brushing off my shock and growing nerves, I passed the tables of food and stood behind the gathering crowd, taking in my surroundings. There were thirty or so people in the great hall, a handful of whom wore decorative cloaks and fine jewelry—various court members, I assumed. Several men and women sat directly infront of a raised podium, pencil and parchment in hand. More than likely reporters preparing to record the debriefing to disseminate to the public later on. My eyes glazed over other attendees, wishing I knew who the challengers were.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement, and turned to meet the gaze of a tall, tan man with broad shoulders and dark blonde, wavy hair that swept a little past his ears. He peered back at me from across the hall, his expression unreadable, his hands folded behind his back. I held his stare with equal impassiveness until the corner of his lips twitched and he looked away.
“I’m grateful to you all for being here today as we begin the thirty-second Decemvirate of the Veridian Empire.” The familiar voice of Lark Everest drew my attention to the front of the hall, where she stood on a raised podium, her black hair now in a bun at the top of her head. “My name is Larken Everest, and I’m this year’s head architect.” She paused for a smattering of applause.
“As you all know, the Decemvirate is a highly anticipated tournament among the six provinces, designed to test skill and power to determine how the limited magic of the empire will be divided. This year’s Decemvirate will consist of three separate trials. The first two will begin seven days apart from one another, and then we will hold the traditional tournament masquerade ball two weeks later, followed by the third and final trial.”
The scribes wrote furiously, jotting down every word she said.
“The first starts tomorrow morning. This trial will test your intellect; the second, your mettle; and the third, your courage. You will be given relevant information before the start of all three. You are free to go anywhere in the capital you desire—as long as you are back at the palace by the eve of the trials to receive instructions, and are in attendance at the debriefings after the conclusion of each. Failure to comply will result in your province's immediate disqualification.
“Rankings will be updated following the individual trials and will be determined based on how quickly andproficiently you pass each.” Her voice turned sharp as she continued. “We do not allow any misconduct toward your fellow challengers in the interim between trials. Guards will be stationed around the palace day and night to prevent brutality and violence.”
Ahead of me, a young man with black hair shaved close to his dark scalp called out, “What aboutduringthe trials?”
Lark leveled him with a stare. “There are no laws regarding your interactions with one another or the components of the trials while you are inside of them. Your goal is to get through them as swiftly and skillfully as possible.”
In other words, anything was fair game.
The man who’d asked the question twisted his head to smirk at someone to his side. He was another challenger, I figured. And one who seemed particularly pleased by the idea of no restraints in the trials themselves.
Clearing her throat, Lark added, “That being said, if you are found to be behaving in a way that puts innocent civilians of this capital in any danger, whether it be threatening, harassing, or harming of any kind, you will be disqualified and punished to the fullest extent of Veridian law.”
“What about cheating?” a woman asked from the side of the chamber, leaning on the wall with a knee bent, foot propped against the marble. I raised an eyebrow and held back a snort.
Lark gave the woman a sly smile. “You’re welcome to try. I think you’ll find my trials a bit harder to cheat your way through, Arowyn.”
The woman shrugged and crossed her arms, a disinterested look on her features.
Arowyn. Another challenger? I took a moment to brand her into my memory, tucking away my observations. Long, light hair—almost white, hanging straight down to her mid-back. Heavy black kohl lined her eyes, and it was difficult to tell her age beneath the makeup. Perhaps a few years older than myself. I wondered what province she was from. There was nothing to give her identity away, no telltale colors, no crest, no weapons. She wore tight blackpants that hugged her voluptuous curves, with brown boots and a loose, white tunic tucked into the front. Emberfell, maybe? The boots could fit in the swampy Lightbender province to the north. Or Celestria. I often saw Bethaly wearing similar loose blouses.
“Well, then,” Lark finished, clapping her hands together. “That’s everything you need to know for now. Remember to trust your instincts, and that the end goal may not always be what you think.” Her eyes strayed to me at those words, lingering longer than necessary. I shuffled my feet and anxiously fingered the satchel of herbs at my waist.
“Before we part, I’d like to introduce His Majesty, Emperor Theodore Gayl.”
At Lark’s words, a large door opened to the side of the podium, revealing a cloaked man emerging from the shadows.
My eyes trained on his long, silver-flecked black hair extending to his shoulders in waves, his billowing dark green cloak, his powerful strides. When he roamed his gaze over the crowd, a shiver went down my spine at his piercing eyes: one a deep blue, and one so light it appeared white.
Theodore Gayl was the most powerful Alchemist this world had seen in recent history. Maybeever. As much as I hated laws like the strict border mandates he’d put into place, and as furious as I was about his inaction toward the growing violence and separation, I’d also always had a twisted fascination with the man. Or more so, his magic.
I didn’t know much about his life before he became the emperor twenty-four years ago, except that he’d lived in the capital and served the former Emperor Branock Aris in some advisory capacity. His bid for the throne came at a shock, considering his closeness with the Aris family. Now that Lark said he was behind the curse that ultimately led to Emperor Aris’ downfall, it made sense.
It seemed that everything he did was to gain more power and control over the empire. Ragnar used to tell me how when he was younger, the citizens of each province were free to roam theempire, visiting neighboring lands without worrying about repercussions. Without ridiculous laws and vicious border guards. Exploration and travel and learning about each culture was onceencouraged.
But Gayl had planted seeds of unease within his citizens across all provinces with his ideas that our power, our strength, was the only thing that mattered. Was what defined our worth. Not unity, not freedom.Magic. And above all, we needed to focus on cultivating our individual powers. The Decemvirate had always been a competition, of course, but he had turned it into so much more than that.
Once upon a time, our magic had been a gift—a tool and resource to help in times of need, to aid us and make life easier where it could. Now, it was viewed as ourright. Our value and status in the empire was measured by the magic that ran through our veins. The more powerful provinces like Iluze and Tenebra were raised on a platform, receiving wealth and resources from the capital because of their prestige. Their elevation led to enmity and a bolstered sense of entitlement—Beth had told me how there was even talk of these stronger provinces threatening to invade the weaker, to claim more land and magic as their own.
And if they truly wanted to, they could. There was nothing but an icy lake and a handful of border guards stopping Iluze from declaring war on either Feywood or Celestria, whose weakened magic and little support from the capital left us defenseless. If our territory was conquered, would our magic go to our captor? Would Alchemy cease to exist? Would we lose our power altogether? These were questions nobody had tested over the centuries, but now seemed to be more and more enticing.
