Oberon turned toward my rabbit competitor. “And Barnaby Warren, known as the Osterhase, current Herald of Spring, seeking to maintain his position.”
Barnaby straightened under the attention. He still had tiny flecks of chocolate on his whiskers. I suppressed the urge to glare at him because it wouldn’t be very joyful.
Oberon’s ancient power resonated through his next words. “Now for the terms. Competitors will race with reindeer provided by our esteemed colleague.” He nodded toward Santa, who stood at the platform’s edge in his red suit. “Simultaneously, they will be creating content for the supernatural social network CrystalGram. The combination will test both your physical capabilities and your understanding of modern joy-spreading techniques.”
CrystalGram. The social media platform set up by the kobolds. I’d been using it for years, building followers, understanding what resonated with supernatural audiences. The rabbit probably barely knew how it worked.
Advantage: mine.
Oberon’s presence seemed to grow heavier, more final. “The competitor who completes the race with the best combination of speed and viral engagementwill demonstrate mastery of both traditional and contemporary Herald skills. The Title itself will judge worthiness and declare the winner.”
Simple. Elegant. Fair on paper, but heavily weighted toward someone who actually understood modern communication.
I was going to win this.
Oberon turned his ancient gaze toward Santa. “And now, my esteemed colleague has an announcement.”
Santa moved to the center of the platform. Something in his expression made my confidence waver slightly. “Thank you, King Oberon. I’m honored to assist in this Trial of Spring. However, I must inform everyone that we have received one additional competitor registration this morning.”
Additional? My mind raced. Who would enter at the last minute? What competitor would dare—
Santa’s expression brightened with something that looked almost like pride. “Our third competitor is Brok of the Iron Steppe, entering on behalf of joy itself.”
The words didn’t make sense.
Third competitor. Brok. The orc who’d been training Barnaby? Hazel’s Brok? What in Spring’s name was going on?
I pivoted on my heel, searching the entire meadow. And then I saw him, his massive green form already parting the crowd. He was walking toward theplatform with steady confidence, wearing simple, practical clothes. Beside me, Isengrim went completely rigid. “What is he doing?”
That was exactly what I wanted to know.
Barnaby wasn’t doing much better. He was staring at his trainer with his mouth hanging open. It didn’t reassure me as much as it should have.
The entire meadow had gone silent with confusion. An orc couldn’t be Herald of Spring. He had no magic, no history with the season, no right to this Title whatsoever.
What was he thinking? What was his strategy? What had I missed?
For the first time in centuries, someone had caught me completely off guard. I had absolutely no idea what he was planning. Whatever it was, I had a feeling I wouldn’t like it.
17
The Herald’s Challenge
Brok
If there was anything I hated about this plan, it was the knowledge of how betrayed Barnaby would feel. I’d known it would happen. I’d been prepared for it. Hazel had even warned me about it. “Are you sure this is the right thing to do?” she’d asked when I’d floated the idea. “Barnaby won’t take it well.”
“He’ll understand, eventually,” I’d told her, “once I win.”
No one but Hazel and me seemed to believe I could accomplish that. Santa appeared on the fence, though he hadn’t laughed when I’d asked him to put up the entry on my behalf. But everyone else would probably think I’d make a laughingstock of myself.
Nobody knew what I had done. That I was more prepared than Barnaby and Hazel could ever be.
To give him credit, King Oberon took my entry in stride. After the surprising announcement, he just moved forward with the competition as if nothing outof the ordinary had happened. “Our pacesetters,” he announced.
On his cue, three reindeer trotted forward from the tree line. The first was cream and gold, with soft brown eyes and a patient gait that practically radiated therapeutic energy. It stopped in front of Barnaby and lowered its head in greeting. The tension in Barnaby’s small frame dissolved, and I couldn’t help appreciating the pairing. Gentle pacer for a gentle soul. Whoever had designed these assignments understood the work.
The second was rust-colored and lean, built entirely for speed. It trotted up to Vixen with a self-aware elegance that would’ve impressed even Hazel’s grandmother. Vixen’s tail swished once in acknowledgment, one professional recognizing another. I half expected them to exchange business cards.
