Page 20

A Pentacle will poison you, a Wand will beat you, a Sword will sentence you, but a Cup? A Cup will smile in your face when they slip a knife between your ribs.

The Cup is short, nearly my height, but he’s got an easy bearing despite being in the presence of murderers. He spreads his arms wide, his smile shining from his dark brown eyes. “Champions, welcome. I’m Ace, from the Cups Court, and I would like the opportunity to extend the hospitality of the Cups to you.” He motions grandly and sets off down the road at a pace that requires us to hurry to match.

I make no effort to try. Instead, I drift toward the back of the pack, watching the others. About half of them have overt weapons in their hands or strapped to their backs, which should look absurd with all the fancy clothing but somehow feels seamless. The champions without weapons worry me. I know what the Star is capable of with only her ever-present lace gloves, but Temperance and the Hierophant? Both their previous champions died quickly in the last Trials. I don’t know what they’re capable of.

That lack of knowledge didn’t bother me before. Mouse had me mostly focused on the Cinque because they would be the greatest threats—unlike the rest of us, they’ve had two decades to perfect their magic—but it’s quickly becoming clear what an oversight that was.

We trace a curving path away from the courtyard and higher up the hill. My calves ache after only a few minutes, but I ignore it the same way I’ve been ignoring pain my entire life. I’m too busy looking around, weighing exit routes for when night falls. It’s difficult to anticipate what the other champions will do, so I have to be ready for anything.

There are people in the streets, the same way there were yesterday, but today they seem to be here for us. They cheer and call out the titles, and I’m horrified to see that no few people seem to be wearing the colors of the champions—specifically black. How can they be rooting for Death? As I watch, one young woman pricks her thumb and presses it to a flower, and then tosses the flower into his path.

I grit my teeth and keep moving, following the Cup farther up the hill. The road branches off again and again, but we never diverge from the main trek. The Cups District is beautiful, but I expected no less. Every building is pristine, some of them appearing to be more glass than stone. Impractical in the extreme, but that’s the Minor Court at its heart.

Fountains occupy space in nearly every intersection, some large and some small. Each has the sign of primordial water carved into its base, marking it as a place of worship. In the Dregs and the Peridot District, the water worshippers use seawater for their temples, but this smells like fresh water. As we walk past, I peer into the fountain and blink. Gemstones litter the bottom. Waste on two fronts. My fingers tingle with the instinct to grab a handful of the holy offerings, but I manage to muscle down the reflex. The punishment for a first offense of stealing holy offerings is death, but I’ve never seen holy offerings like this. The riches in this single fountain would feed my family and neighbors for months, and they’re just sitting there, helping no one.

With a muttered curse, I hurry to catch up with the group. Overhead, banners of copper, navy, and teal are strung between the buildings over the street. They look ridiculous, but the moment we step under them, the heat of the Sun overhead dims slightly. I frown and rub the back of my neck, patting at the sweat already gathering there. It’s so much hotter up on the hill than it is in the Dregs. Priestess shouldn’t have bothered with my hair; no doubt it’s a frizzy mess by now.

We take another turn and another, leaving the main road for one of its narrower offshoots. Our destination is a tall building I have to crane my neck to see the top of. It’s built almost like an upside-down cup, its walls lined with windows of every shade of blue I could possibly imagine. Beautiful, and yet it casts such a long shadow that it reminds me of the wall. I can’t stop myself from shivering as I step into it.

“You keep shaking in your boots and no one is going to take you seriously.”

I hadn’t realized anyone was paying attention to me. I turn to find the Sun watching me with an amused expression on his handsome face. “I don’t care if anyone takes me seriously, least of all one of the Chariot’s lackeys.”

“You should if you want to survive.” He tilts his head back, staring at the building the same way I just did. “They love their tall shit up on the hill. Constantly competing with the gods.”

“They have their own gods up here.” I don’t know why I say it, why I linger in this conversation for even a moment longer than necessary. “They’d make them our gods if we let them. They’re doing a damned good job of it, converting failing temples.”

“It’s basic battle tactics to remove the enemy’s support.”

“Are the old gods the enemy of the Minor Court?”

When the Sun’s gaze lands on me again, there’s new interest there. “That’s the question, isn’t it? What do you think?”

“I think if the old gods wanted their worship to remain popular, they’d toss in a miracle here and there for the desperate. The only time they show up, if you can call it that, is for the Trials. They have no use for me, and I have no use for them.”

“And yet here you stand, a hypocrite, the champion for the Moon.”

Storming off would just give him the false sense of walking away from this encounter victorious. “I didn’t know you were so devoted to the Sun. What does the Chariot think of that?” Movement around the doorway draws my attention. It takes a few seconds to understand what I’m seeing—water. It emerges from a cleverly hidden spigot above the door and splits, trailing in a continuous stream down either side. “Another fountain?”

“Protection.” The Sun leans forward and presses his fingers to the carved doorframe, rubbing them together when they come away wet. “Interesting that they’re afraid of the wilds this far from the walls.”

I snort. Living in the shadow of the walls means it’s impossible to forget what they represent—what they protect us from. When I was much younger, I was certain that if I could just see what everyone was so scared of on the other side of the walls, maybe I could prove to myself that it was worth the risk of leaving the protection of the city. Surely it would be better than the life I was leading; dirty, tired, and my stomach constantly mewling in hunger. Even after my misadventure with the sailor, I’m not sure my younger self was wrong.

I’ve never seen the monsters that hunt in the wilds, the ones the walls protect us from. I don’t know if anyone has, for all that rumors fly from time to time about river settlements going missing between one shipment and the next. It’s just as likely that some human predator decided to take advantage of the small towns with no walls to protect them.

Regardless, there’s no reason for the Cups to engage in this kind of protection ritual. There’s a whole city between them and the wilds, fodder for whatever danger might come should the walls ever fall. “It’s all dramatics,” I mutter.

“Without a doubt, but that’s the Cups for you.” The Sun shrugs, still watching me far too closely. “I underestimated you, Moon.”

I study him for a beat. This was an almost civil conversation. If my strategy for the Trials has to change, then maybe I should consider who would be most beneficial to ally with. The last Sun had intense offensive power, similar to my mother’s moonbeams. They didn’t have anything else, though, which was why they were passed over in favor of the Moon when it came time to create alliances. Based on that alone, it might not be a bad idea … if this weren’t Cato, enforcer for the Chariot. I have no desire to be in an alliance with one of the Cinque, and I can’t see how to have one with the Sun without also forging one with the Chariot. I start to turn away. “No, you didn’t. With me, what you see is what you get.”

“Sure it is.” His laughter follows me through the doorway and into the building.

Cool air kisses my skin, freezing the sweat gathering at the base of my spine. I study the display rolled out before me. The giant spiral staircase ascending into darkness can’t possibly go forever, but it seems to, which is enough to set me ill at ease. Everything about this place is illusion.

Competing with the gods.

I shiver. It’s hard to argue with the Sun’s point when the entire main floor is laid out with dozens of round tables, and larger tables piled high with more food than I’ve ever seen in my life, more food than even all the gathered people here could eat. Numbness spreads through my body as I move to the nearest display of wealth so ostentatious it takes my breath away.