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“Why?”
“Get some rest.” He turns and walks through the doorway to his temple, leaving me staring after him.
“Everyone in these damned Trials has gone mad.” I drag myself to my temple. Inside, the shadows are a welcome relief after even a few moments in the Sun. Strange how a place that was so foreign to me upon arrival has become familiar and welcome.
Priestess waits for me near the door leading down to my room, pride shining from her face. “You did well.”
“I got lucky.” Literally in some cases, thanks to Vesper. I stagger forward. “I need sleep.” I’ll be able to think more clearly once I rest.
“Of course.” She’s there in an instant, cupping my elbow in a remarkably strong grip as she guides me down the stairs and to my room.
Once I’m alone, I barely pause long enough to peel off this silly dress before I crash face down. I learned how to command sleep a long time ago. There were times in my life when I only had fifteen minutes here and there. Being able to close your eyes and sleep within seconds is a life-and-death skill. Mouse taught me, just like he taught me everything else of value.
But in this moment of pure exhaustion, I can admit how poorly prepared I am for the Trials and the potential for what comes after if I manage to win. The entirety of my focus for the last twenty-two years has been on surviving the Trials and finding out what happened to my mother. I learned everything Mouse could teach me about the past champions with the sole intention of cutting down the current ones. It was understood that four other champions would win by nature of the Trials, but I gave precious little thought to what gods they might represent or how that might impact the next twenty-two years in Caelria.
What would Vesper, with their savvy mind and willingness to take a chance on me, prioritize if they get access to a voting position in the Concilium? Or Cato, with his brash, arrogant attitude, who sometimes seems to see right into the very heart of me? He was mistreated by the Chariot. Will he perpetuate that harm or take strides to ensure no one else suffers the same fate? And there’s the Tower, an ally to my enemy who enjoyed dancing with me enough that he wants to do it again. I’m not even certain he’s from Caelria, let alone what he might do should he become one of the Cinque.
I scrub my hand across my face. “No, not the Tower. He’s allied with Death. You can’t forget that.” The words do little to dispel the rush of my spiraling thoughts. Nine champions have died. Eight more have to be cut down before the Trials can end. I should be focusing on keeping myself alive, should be ready and willing to drop my allies the moment they no longer serve me. Except that’s not how I operate. Technically, I only gave my word to be Vesper’s ally for the night, but we worked well together in saving Cato. With Cato rounding out a three-person alliance, our odds for making it to the end increase dramatically. I’d be a fool to turn my back on that without a damned good reason.
It’s time to admit the truth to myself: I don’t particularly want either of them to die. I also don’t really want the Tower to die. And that, I never could have planned for.
While the gifts from the old gods are simple to contain, it’s been theorized there are additional, unseen, methods of magic at work. Their existence is impossible to prove, however, as the remaining priests of the old gods are combative when interviewed.
—EXCERPT FROM THE MAJOR ARCANA: A TREATISE ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD GODS
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
EVEN THROUGH THE thick fog of sleep, I dread waking up. I abused my body too thoroughly last night, pushed too far past my limits. It’s going to hurt to get out of bed. But when I open my eyes, it’s to find energy simmering beneath my skin. I stretch cautiously, waiting for the twinge of an overused muscle, ache of bruises, or the remnants of the headache I thought would split my skull in two. Nothing. I pad out of my room and into the bathing room. As I scrub my body, I don’t know what to think about my lack of pain and exhaustion. I’m feeling better than I have in years.
Priestess waits for me in the main room, looking as serene as ever. More important, she has a tray with a simple breakfast—hard cheese, boiled eggs, and an arrangement of fruit that makes my mouth water. Fresh fruit. Of all the abundances up on the hill, this is the one thing I don’t think I’ll ever get used to.
I poke at a strawberry. “They have a lot of fresh produce up here.” In the Dregs, sometimes people try to start gardens, community or otherwise. Most of the time, they’re ruined before the first turn of the season. When they’re not, the things they can grow that don’t need more than a flicker of sunlight a day … well, they’re limited, to say the least.
“Yes.” Priestess nudges the tray a little closer. “The Minor Court worships their elements, but the Sun is the source of so many of their riches.”
I’ve had the same thought, but there’s an unfamiliar level of rancor to her tone. “I take it you’re not a fan.”
Her expression flickers, something akin to a sneer peeking out. “They’ve destroyed so much with their subtle rot. When I was a child, the temples of the gods were plentiful. I was born during a year of the Moon and was dedicated into Their service at an early age. But the other priests and priestesses, those I considered my family, are no more. I am the last.”
It’s clearly a sensitive subject, and no wonder. The Wheel of Fortune’s temple that Mara patronized isn’t the only one to shut down in recent years. People aren’t dedicating their children to the old gods the way they used to, which has created a dearth of priests. Without people to run the temples, they are forced to close and are almost immediately scooped up by the Minor Court to be converted to honor one of the primordial elements.
In an effort to lighten her mood, I say, “I guess it’s a good thing children aren’t dedicated to the god whose year they’re born into anymore or I would be serving the Chariot, not the Moon.” Not that I’m serving the Moon, exactly. I have my own plans, and They’re hardly transparent in whatever Their goals may be.
I suppose I could ask Priestess about what I saw while I was unconscious, but it feels too strange. Maybe it wasn’t a trick and it wasn’t a literal god in my head. Maybe it was a dream, prompted by using too much magic and passing out. That explanation makes as much sense as anything.
“Being born under the Chariot’s year is auspicious,” Priestess says neutrally. “I’ve seen the evidence myself of how driven you are. It will serve you well as the Trials continue.”
“Driven, that’s me.” I consider her. “Did your parents dedicate you into the Moon’s service?”
She shakes her head sadly. “They died when I was very young. I had no other family, and so I was brought to the nearest Moon temple, where they took me in and began my training.”
I blink. I’ve never heard of such a thing. “Was that common?”
“It used to be. The temples were always willing to take in children, orphans or otherwise. Sometimes families came under severe strain and couldn’t feed all their children, so they would dedicate one or two to their respective gods at local temples. It was a system that benefited everyone; the temples continued to be staffed and the children of Caelria were fed and cared for, regardless of the circumstances they were born into.”
That seems a little too good to be true. No matter how many temples populated the city in their heyday, there’s no way they numbered high enough to house all the children in need. It still had to have been a better system than the one we have now—mainly, none at all. Oh, the guilds will care for a family if one of their workers is injured or killed in a work-related accident. The Minor Court has enough resources that no one up on the hill goes without. But when it comes to the Dregs, we’re left to drown. “When did that change?”
“Over many years, many tiny shifts. There has been a slow deterioration of the worship of the old gods over the last generation.” She looks away. “And there was a scandal at one of the Devil’s temples many years ago. It was a horrible thing and many children were harmed, but it was an isolated monstrosity. The rest of the city didn’t see it that way. Families stopped sending their children to be trained. The Concilium passed a law prohibiting the temples from acting as orphanages. Without a steady stream of priests in training, eventually the older ones passed, leaving their respective temples untended. The Minor Court has taken advantage of this shift.”
