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There’s no space to question her because the page is still talking, his voice booming but not overwhelming. “The Major Arcana are not our gods, but we honor them all the same.” He makes a sweeping motion and a person steps forward, petite enough to appear frail, their back bent with the kind of age I can barely comprehend. They must be ancient. Their warm, light brown skin is a mass of wrinkles on their face, their long locs pure white. Their deep red-pink robes mark them as a Ruby, but I’ve never seen a Ruby that old before. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone that old before.
They brace both hands on a strange-looking cane. Despite appearing as if a strong breeze would crumple them to dust, their voice is rich and pleasing, easily reaching every corner of the room. “Please enjoy the following performance to honor the gods.”
The Star practically shimmies with glee. “Contracting with the Ruby Guild is so scandalous. Something I would expect from the Cups, not the stodgy Pentacles,” she murmurs. “I’d wager Fox is here somewhere. What a surprising turn of events.”
I glance at her. “You know Guild Master Fox?”
“I’ve been a member of the Cinque for twenty-two years, darling.” The Star smiles sweetly. “Of course I know all the others in the Concilium. Why? Did you have aspirations to join the Ruby Guild before you made the poor choice to step up as the Moon’s champion?”
I blink. I think she just tried to insult me. Again. I don’t know how the people up on the hill view the Ruby Guild, but they’re deeply respected in the guild districts and the Dregs. I’m still trying to form a reply when the High Priestess murmurs, “You’re always telling jokes, Star. The Rubies may have fallen out of favor in recent years, but they still have standards.”
No wonder these two are in an alliance together. They clearly have similar—and narrow—views of Caelria. The style of the High Priestess’s clothing is reminiscent of the Cups Court, if not their colors. I can’t remember if it was the same during the Culling. If she was always from the Cups District, it makes sense the Star would seek her out. They already have interests in alignment.
As I brood, half a dozen people stream forth around the elder, trailing gauzy fabric, each more beautiful than the next.
“Here we go.” The Star goes to bump my shoulder with hers, but I have the presence of mind to dodge her touch. Her brows wing up, but she smiles as if I’m an animal who’s performed a clever trick.
I cross my arms over my chest and slump down in my chair, doing my best to ignore the grumbling in my stomach. It’s strange how a sensation that was a constant companion is suddenly nearly unbearable now that I have easier access to food.
I hope the littles are doing okay. It’s summer, so we don’t have to worry about anyone freezing to death. But Mouse is getting old and he’s not as quick on his feet as he used to be. And Pika is capable but so damned young—at least as young as anyone who grew up in the Dregs can be. Mara promised to look out for them. She’ll keep her word—I know she will—but there are so many other things that can go wrong. An injury. A sickness. The Wands.
I miss my family. So much. It’s only been a couple of days, but my life in the Dregs feels further and further away with each strike that passes. Will I even recognize them when I see them again? Will they recognize me?
In the continued effort to minimize the strength of the old superstitions, one must not overlook the guilds. The Ruby Guild, in particular, were once huge proponents of the Lovers, the High Priestess, and the Hierophant.
—EXCERPT FROM THE MAJOR ARCANA: A TREATISE ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD GODS
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
THE RUBIES PUT on a mesmerizing show. The dancers weave around each other, trailing fabric that somehow never gets tangled or trampled. They bend their bodies into shapes that defy logic. Every move is intentional and gorgeous beyond measure. New dancers join the mix, these ones in fantastical costumes that manage to be both terrifying and beautiful. It takes me a few beats to understand what they’re portraying, and when I do, I forget about being hungry. They’re depicting the founding of Caelria.
The monsters chase the dancers, scattering them, giving the impression of ripping into them. Suddenly, the red-pink of their costumes conveys blood and violence; their fluttering sleeves trail to the ground in graceful rivers as, one by one, they fall. A slaughter, if a beautiful one.
More dancers enter. These are clearly the old gods, though they only have thirteen present instead of the full twenty-two. Surely it’s no coincidence they’re the same number as the surviving champions … and wearing clothing remarkably similar to ours, right down to the bodysuit the Moon displays. I raise my brows. She pulls back an imaginary bow, releasing the string, and a monster falls. The Star brushes her fingers against another monster, and it joins the first. Death cuts down another. There are so many bodies on the ground now, I don’t understand how the dancers aren’t tripping with every step.
When only one monster remains, the Sun raises his hands and the lights flare so bright I have to shield my eyes. By the time I can see again, the “bodies” are gone and the thirteen champions stand with their arms interlocking. The creation of the wall.
Legend says it went up in a single day, but legend has a way of cleaving to the dramatic over the realistic. It’s impossible to argue it’s anything but gods-made, though. The stone looks almost like it erupted from the ground. From the tales the sailors whisper, the monsters in the wild are more fearsome than any other creature in the world as we know it. They can run faster than a human, leap higher, climb with barely anything to hold them. There’s no reason they shouldn’t have breached the lower sections of the wall at least a few times during our history. But it’s never happened.
Next to me, the High Priestess stretches idly. “What a lovely meal. Moon, are you not hungry?” She asks it so innocently, I glance down at my full plate.
Only to freeze. Gone are the gorgeous fruits and vegetables. Instead, it looks like the plate has been sitting out for weeks. Even as I watch, one of the peaches erupts in a surge of maggots. I gag and shove my chair back. What’s going on? Did my plate switch out? Except that doesn’t make any sense. I would have noticed—I’m sure of it.
The High Priestess laughs. “Is something wrong?”
I blink and my plate is exactly the way it looked before the show. What was that? It has to be her magic, but I don’t understand exactly how she did it. Hallucination? Or is she affecting actual reality, causing time to surge forward and then dialing it back? Even as I consider the latter, I realize it’s impossible. None of the champions have powers on that level. Toying with luck is one thing. Doing it with time? Mouse would have heard about a champion who could do that, even if they were eliminated earlier in the Trials like the last High Priestess. I clear my throat. I’ll be damned before giving her the reaction she’s clearly waiting for. “No, nothing’s wrong. I’m not hungry.” The music is swelling again, this time in a distinctive rhythm I recognize from the Cups party. Apparently there will be dancing tonight.
Save a dance for me.
I shove the Tower’s voice from my head. Again. I don’t know why I’m still thinking about him. It doesn’t matter if there’s a flicker of attraction between us. He’s allied with Death—and he’s another champion. There’s no guarantee he’ll make it through the Trials, and allowing my stomach to flip at the thought of him is just setting me up for heartbreak. There is no future there, and there can be no distraction, no matter how brief. I’m not falling into bed with anyone during the Trials—or after. If the need for sex and touch becomes too distracting, I can visit a Ruby house. At least I know they won’t use my needs against me.
I leave the Star and the High Priestess behind, where they immediately start conversing again, their heads bowed close together. The other champions are moving about now, too. The Hermit slides into my abandoned seat. The Chariot is the first on the dance floor, dragging a reluctant-looking Pentacle behind him. Death pushes slowly to his feet, once again clearly intending to skip the dancing. I nearly pivot to follow him as he slips through the nearest doorway, but the grumbling in my stomach is a reminder that I need to eat to keep my strength up. I can miss quite a few meals without prolonged negative consequences, but when every night brings a fight for my life, I have to choose between getting information from Death now and ensuring my strength stays up by eating.
Later, I vow, even as concern worms through me. He clearly knows answers to many of the questions that have plagued me since childhood, but I won’t survive to get those answers if I’m the weak link in my trio. He damn well better survive the night so I can get to him tomorrow. I grit my teeth and veer toward Vesper, now bracketed by empty chairs.
They nudge their plate toward me as soon as I sit down. “What did the High Priestess do to put that look on your face?”
“She has some kind of illusionary magic.” Thinking about the image she put in my head makes my stomach turn. The food in front of me looks fine right now, but what if she created the illusion the other way around? Could she fabricate taste and smell as well? “Do you know anything about that?”
