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Clearly, we don’t have a choice. “Yes,” I mutter. This is another element of having allies I didn’t anticipate—we are not in alignment about the endgame. I do agree with Cato that the Chariot needs to die. I don’t know how to get him and Vesper to agree that Death does as well—at least without admitting who the last Moon was to me. Frustration is a live thing inside me, snapping and snarling. “We bring down the Fool tonight.”
“We can try,” Cato mutters darkly. He sighs. “Oh, look, the Pentacles are here.”
Sure enough, a pair of Pentacles are crossing the stone bridge to the east, smiling broadly. They wear nearly as much fabric as the Cups do, but it’s thicker, swathing their bodies in green, gold, and brown folds gathered at their hips and into cowls around their necks. They have to be roasting under the hot Sun.
Up until joining the Trials, all my clothing was some variation of gray, the original colors having long since faded away to nothingness. I’m not immune to the idea of fashion, not when Pika loves to talk about it so much, stars in her pretty, dark brown eyes as she explains in great detail the various trends filtering down from the Minor Court. But being aware of it doesn’t mean I fully understand it.
Clothing serves a purpose; it’s meant to protect our vulnerable, fleshy bodies from the wide variety of things that can hurt us. Cold, the Sun, the rough road, or an accidental brush against something sharp. What the Minor Court commits to is so far beyond those considerations; just look at what I’m wearing right now. The fabric is so thin, I’m not sure it will protect me against a harsh wind.
Even with the consideration for fashion, I find it deeply odd how clear it is that every member only seems to wear the colors of their respective courts. Even Vesper, dressed to honor the Wheel of Fortune, is finding a way to do it in Swords colors.
It all seems so unnecessary, but what do I know? I’m from the Dregs. I roll my shoulders, paste a neutral expression on my face, and follow Cato and Vesper to hear what travesty the Pentacles have in store for us this afternoon.
Despite the old gods’ continued absence, some Caelrians insist on begging them for protection. It’s difficult to understand how leaning on superstitions is preferable to the clear proof that the primordial elements protect those who carry their talismans. Even the people of the river settlements know this.
—EXCERPT FROM THE MAJOR ARCANA: A TREATISE ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD GODS
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THIS TIME, WE’RE not walking. The Pentacles lead us to a line of carriages identical to the ones that brought us to the champions’ courtyard—only in Pentacles colors this time, of course. I end up in one with Cato and Vesper, just like that first day, but the entire vibe is different. Vesper stares out the window with a contemplative expression on their face. Cato is quietly furious, switching between glaring at me and glaring out the window.
Well, he can be furious. I’m pretty damned furious myself. I didn’t anticipate that either of my allies might think Death in the Cinque is a good thing. How could I? I wasn’t supposed to have allies and he’s Death. The conversation is on hold for now, but we’ll be right back to arguing tomorrow … assuming we live through the night.
To distract myself, I twist to look out the window. It’s amazing how similar the Minor Court districts look, aside from superficial differences. Pentacles territory has glittering green banners hanging above every doorway instead of teal, navy, and copper, but otherwise they could almost be the same streets as the ones we walked down in the Cups District. There are the same water towers and greenhouses on the rooftops, the same well-maintained streets, the same complete lack of trash, refuse, and beggars. People line the streets, excitement in their happy expressions and open body language. They’re clearly here for us, too, evident from their damned insistence on wearing the sashes with the colors of their favorite champion over their normal Pentacles clothing.
Tonight will only be the third night. It feels like I’ve been embroiled in the Trials for weeks, months. To be able to measure the days on my hand and still have fingers left over boggles my mind. Similar to how it feels to see several people among the small crowd watching us sporting gray and silver sashes with a crescent moon painted on their cheekbones. They don’t know me. They certainly don’t worship the Moon, being Pentacles. They just want to engage in the revelry of our bloodshed and make it fashion.
I shudder. “How would they even know to dress like that, to root for me? There isn’t a single person on the street after nightfall. They’re not getting a show.”
“They are right now,” Vesper murmurs.
Cato laughs. “They don’t need to endanger themselves to see the blood sport. Each morning, the Rubies playact the events of the previous night. Word travels fast, and reputation grows in the telling.”
“How do they even know what happens during the night?”
Vesper shifts. “Each of the districts has people watching the events as they unfold.”
“I haven’t seen anyone.”
They shrug. “You’re not supposed to. Historically, they used to just interview the surviving champions each morning, but the stories edged into fiction and there were conflicting accounts. Three or four Trials ago, the Minor Court came together and decided that each district would put people on watch throughout the night. They give their reports to a designated group of Rubies each morning, who then spread the stories far and wide.”
“But why?” Why do they care about the details of the Trials?
Cato leans forward and taps me lightly between the eyes. “Think, Kestrel. Stories have power, and while we’re primarily entertainment for the Minor Court, it benefits them if the rest of the city enjoys the spectacle, even if they can’t see it personally.” He sits back. “That’s why I say we should play up the Sun and Moon being a pair. It will benefit us in the long run.”
I don’t understand that, but I’ve never lived through a Trials before—not one I was old enough to remember. He and Vesper might be a year or two older than me, but nowhere old enough to remember my mother’s Trials, either. “Why would telling stories about us as a pair benefit us? And what about Vesper?”
He jerks a nod at Vesper. “Ask them. They’ll tell you.”
“He’s right.” Vesper smiles and waves out the window as they continue speaking. “The more the people root for you, the more benefit you’ll see after the Trials are over. The Cinque tend to be more protected than other members of the Concilium because of their celebrity among the normal people in Caelria, but that doesn’t mean they’re entirely free of danger. That’s more than evident in your predecessor. That’s why the socializing at these parties is so important—and why the stories the Rubies tell are, too.”
My predecessor. My mother. But they don’t know our relation—neither of them—and our earlier argument doesn’t make me want to confess the truth now. “But people don’t give a shit about the current Cinque. The moment they won, they put all their energy and power into being petty tyrants of their respective territories.” Even Death, for all that Vesper and Cato think he’s not that bad, hasn’t done a single damn thing to help the greater population. Maybe if he had—like I intend to—his reputation would be better.
“You’re only partially correct.” Vesper keeps smiling and waving. “It’s true the most recent surviving members of the Cinque have chosen not to play as deep into the political games as they could have. The Star, of course, is the exception. She’s quite beloved, even with the factions of Caelria she doesn’t count among her allies. She speaks well and dresses even better. Having her deign to show up at a party is a huge boon to the host.” They glance at me, their dark brown eyes intent. “She’s chosen to focus her efforts on the Minor Court and a few select guilds, rather than the city as a whole. If one of the Cinque did attempt to enact greater change, they would be unsuccessful without the will of the people behind them. Reputation matters, Kestrel. It’s an important part of power, perhaps the most important part.”
I haven’t spoken to Vesper about my ambitions, but clearly they’ve picked up on them all the same. “I don’t see how being beloved by the people makes a difference.” No one up on the hill cares what the Dregs think; that’s for damned sure.
“A happy city is a prosperous city. It doesn’t riot, it doesn’t push against the constraints in place, it doesn’t plague its leaders with demands for change. Caelria has only been unhappy a few times in our long history.” They’re still watching me closely. “The last time was a hundred and fifty years ago. The Wands attempted a coup against the Swords. They murdered the King of Swords, who was as close to universally beloved as a public figure can get. The city rioted. It took several strong measures to calm people down, and even then, the ripples of unrest lasted a generation.”
