“Someone’s moody,” she remarked. “How are things going with that girl? Theolder woman.” Beth shimmied her shoulders at Beau.
I winced as the color drained from his face.
“What?” Beth glanced between the two of us. “What happened?”
“I’ll tell you later,” I muttered, clearing space and reaching for the second bag of supplies.
“We’re over,” Beau said gloomily. “Madeline’s getting married.”
Beth’s dark eyebrows shot straight into her forehead. “What? Girl moves on fast. Fates, I’m sorry, Beau,” she said, frowning. “Want us to go cut off her hair or something?”
I snorted. “And this is why we’re friends.”
“Yeah, Rose already poisoned her,” Beau added, a small smile breaking through the storm clouds.
And I’d do it again. I’d do anything for the few people in this world I cared about.
“That’s our Rose,” Beth said with a chuckle. “What about your father, Beau? How’s he doing with the tournament?”
The playfulness in the room immediately dissipated, leaving behind a strain that made me cringe. I silently cursed at the way Beau’s face tightened, his shoulders caving in.
The Decemvirate, a tournament that occurred every ten years among the six provinces of the Veridian Empire, was set to take place in two weeks at the capital of Veridia City. Legend has it that long before the empire became what it was today, the small island—now our capital—had been bestowed with untapped magic by the Fates, the three ancient beings believed to guide our way and dole out futures as they saw fit. They took the components that made up their essence, their purpose, and split the magic into six potent forms: light and dark, power over mind and power over nature, ability to change and move forward.
Nobody knewwhythe Fates chose this land to inhabit their magic so long ago, only that it was powerful.
And anything that powerful breeds conflict.
Over three hundred years ago, after the War of Beginnings when our Veridian Empire conquered the Kingdom of Mysthelm to the south in order to lay claim to this power, the Decemvirate was created as a way to divide the six types of magic among the provinces. Each of the six provinces selected a single challenger to compete, and all of them traveled to the island city for an exhibition of their skills through various tasks. Based on their performance, the challengers were allowed to select which strand of magic their people received: the ability to create and bend light, to wield shadows, to cast illusions, to practice spellcrafting, to shift into an animal form, or to transport from one place to another.
But it didn’t stop there.
People began to realize the magic slowly lost its strength. After several years, their power took more effort to perform and wasn’t nearly as effective as it once was. The reigning emperor sought toensure he and his people didn’t lose their magic entirely. According to history records, the three Fates appeared to him and told him of a ritual that could be performed to increase its power—but only every ten years.
He decided to structure this power ritual after the original Decemvirate. A tournament to replenish magic among the provinces in the same way it had been given in the beginning. The province with the challenger that performed the best in a series of magical tests received the highest tier of magic, and so on, until the sixth and final challenger—whose province received barely a fraction of the others. The magic would then dwindle for ten years until the next Decemvirate rolled around, and it started all over again.
This time, the challenger from our province of Feywood was Ragnar Gregor. Beau’s father and my uncle.
He was, undoubtedly, the most prestigious and skilled Alchemist in all of Feywood. It was no wonder he was selected to compete, even though he was nearing fifty years of life and past what most would consider his prime. It was anhonor, of course. Aprivilegeto represent your province and have the chance to bring home the strongest of magic to your people.
I ground my teeth together.
It made me sick.
The Decemvirate was a hoax. Instead of making magic equally available toallprovinces, it had been turned into nothing more than pageantry. A political scheme that had since been egged on by decades and decades of emperors who used it as a way to leash the people into doing their bidding. To turn the provinces against one another in the name ofcompetitionwhile keeping them in line. Whowouldn’tobey every command when the future of their magic was at stake?
Since my uncle was a challenger this year, we would soon be leaving for the capital, and it had become harder and harder to deny the reality of what we were about to face. It wasn’t uncommon for challengers to die in the Decemvirate, to facehorrifying torment and danger. No matter how much he tried to hide it, I could tell Beau wasterrifiedfor his father. I was, as well, although I was used to locking my fears far beneath the surface.
Lockinganythingfar beneath the surface.
Before I could attempt to inject some levity into the conversation, Beau responded with a heated, “We’re not supposed to talk about our challenger with you. You’re aStrider.” Then he grabbed the store’s money pouch and sulked off to the back room.
Beth blinked at me. “What did I say?”
“He’s just…” I sighed, shaking my head. “He’s got a lot going on. Don’t take it personally—he didn’t mean it like that.”
Beau wasn’t wrong; talk amongst provinces about their respective challengerswasfrowned upon. Some provinces, like Drakorum to the far east and Iluze to our north, weren’t above sending spies to the others to scope out the competition. There was a rumor that in the last Decemvirate ten years ago, one of the Shifters from Drakorum had snuck into a neighboring province and poisoned their challenger before he could compete.
These people were cutthroat and cunning, unafraid to do what it took to win. Even if I despised the tournament, part of me understood. When the leader of our empire pitted the provinces against each other, what else could be expected? We adapted, or we lost.
