“We could always murder one and trade them between Virdei and Petruvia every few months. If we keep their faces covered, who would even notice the difference?” Sef muses.
I whack her on the arm, laughing. “You’re horrible.”
“You laughed.”
“Then we’re both horrible.”
We stop talking as the benches break out into cheers. Luc and Kaidren enter the arena together. Excited watchers stomp their feet, rattling the wooden stands and filling the air with shrill whistles.
Well, everyone except the Petruvians directly over us. They seem determined to appear as miserable as possible as the candidates for this year’s Tournament take their places on the stage at the edge of the field.
Footsteps pound from outside the metal gates that serve as entrance to the arena. The gate bursts open and Flynn strides in, followed by ten rows of soldiers marching in neat lines.
Acclaim surrounds Flynn like dense fog. The entire Republic went giddy when he revealed that the source of his magic is snow, one of the most readily available resources in Virdei. He quickly rose to prominence in the decurio, and now he is known for his quick wit and skills with magic—a winning combination.
Snow swirls around Flynn as he glides toward the center of the arena. Flurries dance in thick spirals, first circling his head, then over the crowd, drawing incredulous gasps.
A plume of snow congeals, shaping into a large white butterfly. It flaps its massive wings and flies above the stands.
Heads crane to watch. Even the Petruvians can’t help but look awed by the display.
This level of control over one’s magic is practically unheard of—especially with a source like snow.
Flynn stops in the dead center of the field. He crouches, touching snow piled on the ground with bare hands.
When he rises, he extends his arms. Snow explodes into the air, forming more winged creatures that flutter over the shocked audience.
The soldiers marching behind him stop as one. In a practiced move, they each drop something dark to the ground. Tshira, leveled into flat boards.
The soldiers step onto the planes of tshira and draw up their arms in unison. Slowly, the tshira begins to rise, carrying the decurio with it.
The soldiers aren’t exactly floating—their movements are too jerky for that—but they rise to join the butterflies of snow in the air. They’reflying.
I’ve never seen anything like it. The crowd’s screeches of excitement reach a fever pitch.
Magic is almost always used for its utility. To see it create something beautiful is enough to make spectators lose their heads, myself included.
When it’s finished, Flynn takes a bow with a wide smile.
After magic, tshira is the most valuable resource in Virdei. The Tournament of Thrones is about more than selecting the next Praeceptor; it’s about reminding our enemies how powerful we are and how foolish they would be to cross us. Our Petruvian guests still aren’t smiling, but they look sufficiently impressed.
Flynn Sixmen takes his place on the stage. “Thank you all for that warm reception, and thank you to this great Republic.”
More cheers and whistles. Flynn waits patiently for the uproar to die down before he continues. “I have been graced with the honor of introducing our candidates for this year’s Tournament of Thrones. Please join me in welcoming Honorate Kaidren Vale and reigning Praeceptor Lucien Kyler.”
Kaidren gives his speech first, followed by Luc. My brother recites the words I wrote for him calmly. His delivery is a bit wooden (I make a mental note to coach him on this later), but all things considered, it’s a good performance.
Flynn claps with everyone else as Luc finishes speaking. “Let the Tournament of Thrones begin! We will commence with an opening challenge. The winning candidate will have an advantage in the first trial next week.”
Luc and Kaidren go rigid with shock. Gasps erupt throughout the stands. Sef and I look at each other, eyes wide.
I didn’t know this was coming. If the surprised excitement that fills the arena is any indication,no onedid.
Sef looks stunned. “This can’t be right. The Tournament committee didn’t plan it.”
I’m annoyed, but not with her. I thought we were prepared. We got her a spot on the Tournament planning committee. She learned all about how the Tournament works—or so we thought. Clearly, there are still a few surprises awaiting us. I donotlike surprises.
Flynn keeps going. “The opening challenge is quick. Each candidate will select one member of the decurio to represent them. Their soldiers will fight—to the death.”
