The High Prince gestures for silence. “In particular, I’d like to welcome our honoured guests, who have journeyed from far and wide to partake in the most coveted tournament in the history of the Triumstellar Accord.”
More tapping rings out.
High Prince Seraphius waits a few seconds before continuing. “As you know, this grand tournament was born from a time of great darkness for our principalities. Three centuries ago, the tyrant, Valerius Halo, happened upon a fallen star with tremendous power. With it, he transgressed the sacred laws set forth by the Soulreaper’s Decree. He twisted the souls of the poor and the desperate to fuel his ascent and shackle our society to his will.
“It was the brave Astrals, now the immortal stewards of this very tournament, who rose against him. They stood for balance over dominion, and it was their unity that unmade the tyrant. The Reckoning stands as a symbol of this shared purpose, as the wish of victory must be unanimously decided between teammates.”
The High Prince goes on to acknowledge the recordnumber of entries in this year’s ballot and how it’s a testament to the strength and vitality of our principalities. He then takes some time to reminisce about his younger days, witnessing his late father host this banquet.
“This year, as we celebrate three hundred fortuitous Stellar Years since the inaugural tournament, the Games Master has promised exciting shifts in tradition. For the first time, we have not twelve teams gathered here, but twenty-four, all chosen by the stars as worthy competitors,” he says. “The path ahead will demand sacrifices from all of you. It’s a journey of three trials, a number steeped in our kingdom’s history and magic, reflecting the strength of our three principalities and guiding light of our three moons.”
The banquet hall is silent, but the air feels like static against my skin, prickling with the nervous energy radiating from the competitors.
“Some of you will not return from Aurora Isle – I’m sure you’re aware of that. And those of you whodoreturn might not be the strong, worthy competitors you are now. The road to victory is steep, but I have no doubt the rightful victor will prevail.”
The High Prince raises his glass in a toast before reclaiming his seat and, a moment later, the lively music of string instruments begins to weave through the hall.
Performers spill from doors on either side of the ballroom, barefoot and adorned with beads, their hair towering high. I’m glued to their dance, hypnotized by the way the music wraps around them, pulling the strings ofevery move. Spinning and flinging themselves about, the dancers usher in a line of servers carrying silver platters. Dinner is served.
My stomach growls with the arrival of food at our table. Hearty stews and fluffy milk buns contrast with the more refined arrangements of crystal lily salads and roasted pheasant glazed with a sticky sauce. Most of the steaming dishes I’ve only ever heard about. Fish with numerous eyes and oddly contorted vegetables. Gelatinous pâté. Prickly crustaceans. Delicacies hailing from across the three principalities.
The servers perch the platters along the runner in the centre, and I hesitate. All around me, competitors are digging in, reaching greedily across the table for their favourite dishes.
I don’t know where to start. Meat of any kind is a luxury to me, a treat on special occasions or on those rare days when we had money to spare after rent was due.
I’ve never eaten seafood that hadn’t been chopped into a stew and, staring down at the fish in front of me, its iridescent scales catching the light in shades of blue and purple, I’m not sure it’s coming across as all that appetizing.
In the end, I opt for a simple plate of beef stew, two milk buns, and a sliver of turkey with teardrop berry sauce.
“Eat up, folks,” Gigi says as they spoon a dollop of glistening teardrop berry sauce on to their turkey. “It might be your last…”
“A bit unnecessary, don’t you think?” Savannah asks.
“You heard what the High Prince said. Not all of us will return from Aurora Isle,” they respond, matter-of-factly. “I’m just being realistic. If it bothers you that much, you might as well drop out now.”
“It’s not potential death that bothers me,” says Savannah coldly. “It’syou.”
“Save the hostility for the island, will you?” Gunther swirls his goblet, and a slosh of red spills over the rim on to the tablecloth. I’d know the sweet, tangy smell of Solaran wine anywhere after just two shifts at the Lucky Fish.
“Andyousave the drink for the ship tomorrow, halfwit,” Gigi claps back at their brother. “Remember what Fritz and Harry told us earlier? The voyage to Aurora Isle is the party of the year.”
“Think we’ll be skipping that one,” Kara says. “Can’t say I’m dying to nurse a headache while hacking my way through the jungle. But if that’s your idea of fun, knock yourselves out.”
“Literally,” Savannah mutters behind her hand.
Taron smothers a snort, and I shoot him a look. He’s clearly enjoying things more now the gloves are coming off, but the last thing I want is the two of us getting involved in an argument. I’m glad when I see a distraction.
“Who are they?” I ask loudly as two young men and a woman with honeyed hair, draped in the finest Solaran robes, enter the banquet hall.
“Cyrus’s older siblings,” Kara whispers behind a forkful of food. “To be honest, I didn’t think they’d come.”
The trio struts up to the assembly of royals, tossing out a couple of polite greetings before planting themselves in front of their father and the other rulers.
They bow respectfully, one after another, and the eldest-looking brother – Cullen, I think his name is – steps forward to address High Prince Hevio.
“Father, apologies for being late,” his voice echoes, head still lowered. “We encountered a rough tide on the Three Point Sea.”
The middle brother loops his arm around Cyrus’s neck, vigorously scrubbing at his hair. “There he is, our little brother,” he teases.
