Page 44

Caelria rioted over a Sword? That stretches the realm of belief, but I hardly know the history of the city. Vesper has no reason to lie in this moment. “I’m starting to see your point.”

“It’s part of why the Trials are so vital—beyond the obvious reason of determining a new Cinque.” They nod slowly. “Even before the Cinque emerge victorious, entertainment on this scale benefits the city as a whole.”

That, at least, I understand. “You mean it makes the citizens complacent.”

They shrug. “Multiple things can be true at the same time. As Cato said, people enjoy a spectacle, and it’s a clever tool in the right hands. The Minor Court and the guilds have had a long time to learn to use it.”

I have more questions, but I glance out the window and get distracted by the sheer amount of greenery on display. Every windowsill hosts a bright array of flowers. Flowers, for fuck’s sake. They’re pretty and useless and a perfect representation of the Minor Court as a whole. I understand the buildings we drive past don’t house the actual Pentacles Court, but they might as well for how far from the Dregs I suddenly feel. “This is so wasteful.” Not that they would see it that way. They’re well-fed all year round.

“They’re Pentacles.” Vesper snorts. “A drop of blood and they can keep a plant alive for … well, for a season at least. Not all of them have that particular affinity, but those who do make good money keeping up appearances.”

I’ve heard about this facet of Pentacles magic, but never witnessed it myself. Imagine if they brought some of that magic into the rest of the city? But then, we can’t pay, so why would they bother?

We turn a corner and find our destination is halfway down the block, a domed building squatting next to the street, taking up twice the space of the businesses on either side of it. It’s got to be made of the same stone as everything else, but ivy climbs the walls, coating everything in green until it almost seems like the building is alive.

The same pair of Pentacles who greeted us now stand on either side of a shimmering door. The woman is short and stout, with light brown skin, dark brown hair, and a wide smile. On her right is a tall man with vivid red hair and the kind of skin that blisters when exposed to the Sun. His smile is bright enough that I have to fight not to take a step back. He must be part of the Pentacles Court itself based on the gold gilding the edge of the folded fabric dangling from his sleeves.

“Page of Pentacles,” Vesper murmurs under their breath, confirming my suspicion. “He’s charming and kind enough, but he can’t be trusted.”’

I roll my eyes. “None of the Minor Court can be trusted.”

They smile. “Now you’re beginning to understand.”

The page gestures broadly. “The Pentacles are honored to host your event this afternoon. We’ve brought in a selection of the best of the abundance our court has to offer.” His smile is so warm. It even reaches his amber eyes. “Tonight, all that we have is yours.”

He’s laying it on a bit thick, but the Cups held a similar amount of unearned gravitas. Even with Vesper’s soft words and my own observations, the effort the Minor Courts put into these events doesn’t entirely make sense to me. Yes, the Cinque have five voting seats in the Concilium, but there are thirteen champions left. It seems a waste of resources to devote this much time, effort, and money into courting all of us.

The page throws his arms wide again, his movements so broad he might as well be a player from the Ruby Guild. “Please go through the doorway one by one, allowing our metal to bestow you with protection for the night to come.”

I study the doorway in question, finally registering why it seems to shimmer. Hundreds of small coins dangle over the doorway in a curtain of sorts. They twinkle and chime pleasingly against each other in the faint breeze. This is the running water in the Cups neighborhood all over again, though I haven’t noted any of the other doorways we’ve passed with this level of protection. As the High Priestess moves through the curtain of coins, I turn to look at the doors of the nearby buildings.

They don’t have the full curtain, no, but they do have a coin nailed to the four corners of their doors … and windows. I move to the one directly across the street from the building we’re meant to enter and frown at the coins. They don’t look particularly special, for all that they’re twice the size of a copper mark and a strange color that isn’t copper, silver, or gold.

As protection goes, it seems lackluster at best. No bars on the windows. The glass itself is thin and clear. I can see the dim shapes of furniture on the other side, arranged in an approximation of a normal home. They must sell pieces.

A thief might have a difficult time hauling out a wardrobe, but all the buildings this far up on the hill lack the basic protection measures applied in other parts of Caelria. What in the gods’ names will a coin do? Or four, for that matter?

I turn to ask Vesper and Cato if they know what the purpose is, but they’re already moving toward the curtain, following the trickle of champions through. I bite back a sigh. I suppose I have bigger things to worry about than whatever superstition the Pentacles follow for protection. It’s not that different from carrying around the coins Mara gave me, hoping they’ll bring me luck. Mine might have even started out as the same strange color, but lost it as the years wore them down. I brush my fingers over the spot they occupy in the harness and head for the door.

The page catches my eye as I approach and his smile brightens—something I would have said is impossible. “The Moon. It’s lovely to finally meet you.” He continues before I can figure out if I’m supposed to return the sentiment. “You lost me quite a bit of money.”

I blink. “Excuse me?”

He laughs and waves my shock away. “I thought for sure the Concilium would have to pick someone out of the crowd and force them to become champion for that old god. If you hadn’t come along, I suspect I would have made a lot of money.”

Am I supposed to apologize? Nothing about his tone or expression indicates anger, but haven’t I learned not to trust the Minor Court to be honest by any definition of the word? “If betting on the Trials is that common, I imagine a lot of people have lost money since they began.” I can’t match his smile. “Sorry to disappoint.”

“It’s common enough.” He shrugs easily, still smiling. “Just don’t kill the Chariot and we’ll call it even. He’s made such a good accounting of himself during these Trials—even better than the last one. He’ll claim a position among the Cinque again for sure.”

Not if we have anything to say about it.

I bite down the words just like I’ve bitten down everything since coming to this place that should be soft and pathetic but is somehow just as dangerous as the Dregs. Maybe even more dangerous, because I haven’t spent my entire life learning the edges of safety. At least in the Dregs, we’re honest about the violence and desperation. Here, it sure as fuck seems to be a game to the powerful.

I barely wait for the coins to stop swinging after Vesper moves through them to enter the building. I start to lift my hands to keep them away from my face, but the page makes a sound. I glance at him. “What?”

“Pushing them away pushes away the protection.”

I don’t even believe in the supposed protection a bunch of pieces of metal offer, but I don’t need Vesper in my ear telling me to keep quiet. A page is not a voting member of the Concilium, but if I truly mean to become one of the Cinque, I’ll have to deal with these people at some point. Saving a fight for another day is likely smart—no matter how much it irks.