I keep my head high as I pick a new spot, this one close to a set of stairs that leads out from the arena.
It’s better. It’ll make it easier to sneak out without detection or having to come up with an excuse when the time comes. No matter how many times I remind myself of this fact, I can’t settle my roiling fury.
I’m fuming up until the start of the demonstration.
The arena gate flings open, and Flynn enters to thunderous applause. It’s to be expected for an aikkari whose source is snow. Most aikkari with physical sources either carry around bits of it for easy access or keep tshira stored with magic somewhere on their person. For Flynn, it isn’t necessary. He’s never far from his source, making him a formidable opponent. It’s no secret that he’s being groomed to take over as General of the decurio when General Fain retires.
Flynn raises his arms, waving at the adoring crowd. Ten contenders trail after him. Only five are decurio soldiers, but they’re all dressed the part.
From my new seat, I have a perfect view of Luc and his entourage—they’re the only ones in the arena not cheering. Luc smiles and claps when appropriate, but his parents are stone-faced, and the Petruvians—especially Lorwen Night—look actively bored.
The ten contenders get into place as Flynn finishes explaining the rules. They each stand behind a burlap sack. For theaikkari, the bags before them contain their sources, ready for the demonstrations. For the civilians, the bags contain a large rock for show. No one in the stands knows which—or how many—of the contenders are aikkari, and which are not.
Well, no one except for me.
The air buzzes as Flynn cues Kaidren’s entrance.
Kaidren emerges from one of the rooms at the base of the stands. He struts confidently into the center of the arena, head high in his black and gold robes, shoulders back. There isn’t a trace of nerves, not a hint of indecision.
He walks as though he’s already won. I can’t tell how much of his confidence is a screen and how much of it is real. My guess is it’s mostly fake. Kaidren strikes me as the kind of person who’s always acting. Always putting on a show.
Flynn motions to the first contender. “Gavin Tassim. Tell us, Honorate Vale, is this man aikkari?”
Kaidren places a hand on Gavin’s forehead. His head bows, eyes slip closed. After a pause, he opens them. “He’s aikkari. His source is cerulean blue.”
The entire arena seems to lean forward, eager to see if he’s correct.
“Step aside, Honorate Vale.” Flynn guides Kaidren out of the way before pulling a cord. It runs across the arena, under the stands. There, hidden from the audience, is a massive crossbow. And Flynn just pulled the trigger.
A spear of tshira launches through the air, hurtling right toward Gavin.
The audience catches their breath.
Gavin doesn’t hesitate. He reaches into his bag and pulls out a cerulean blue tile.
He throws a hand up, palm out.
The tshira spear is only a few breaths away from piercinghis stomach, but its trajectory suddenly shifts, as though met with a great burst of wind. It sails to the side, where it embeds itself harmlessly in the ground.
The audience erupts into raucous cheers. But the demonstration isn’t over yet.
Three members of the decurio rush into the field from a room at the base, each carrying bows loaded with a tshira arrow. As one, they release their bowstrings.
Gavin springs into action. His dropped tile shatters against the ground, but he ignores it and raises his arms. All three arrows move together, away from him, away from danger, and land in the snow.
Even I’m impressed. I don’t have nearly so much control of my magic.
The crowd screams even louder, and Kaidren’s smile is wider than I’ve ever seen. He’s correctly identified the first contender and their source.
My eyes follow the trail of the cord Flynn pulled to launch the tshira. I make a mental note of where it ends, beneath the stands on the other side of the arena.
Flynn announces the name of the next contender. “Reyna Halifore.”
Kaidren lays a hand on her forehead. This time, he doesn’t bother with any of his previous theatrics. He shakes his head. “She’s not aikkari.” He doesn’t wait for a prompt from Flynn before moving aside.
Again, Flynn pulls the cord, and again, a tshira spear launches at the girl. She shrieks, hands flying to cover her face, as though expecting the spear to hit her.
Flynn swiftly holds out his arms, sending the bolt gliding off to the side.
