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“I don’t like this,” I mutter.

“No one likes this,” Cato snaps. All the ease is gone from his posture, and he’s looking about, as if expecting an attack at any moment.

We should be safe enough. There are hours yet until sunset, and the thousands of Wands present shouldn’t be something I have to worry about. The Wands might be natural predators in the Dregs, but right now I’m a champion. I’m as close to untouchable as a person can get in Caelria—at least without being born into a Minor Court noble family.

The other champions are taking seats around the three tables offered. The Magician is herded to the table with Death and the Tower. The Chariot joins his allies, the High Priestess and the Star. Vesper and Cato move toward the third table, leaving me to take the center seat. And that’s it. That’s all of us. The only ones left. If the fights are aggressive enough tonight, the Trials could be over by morning. It would mean halving our number, but at least four champions have been killed every night since the Trials started. It’s definitely possible. Probable, even.

I might not even get a choice in who ascends. If we hunt the Chariot, and the other champions fight it out … I shudder. I don’t like this.

Cato leans close as I sink into my chair. “The only way we have a chance against the Chariot is to fight him somewhere with close quarters so he won’t have a chance to increase his momentum.”

“That’s going to be a tall ask, especially if the Magician does something foolish like run down the middle of the street.” Vesper drums their fingers on the table. “Though they’ve survived this long, so maybe they’ll realize the same thing we have and play it smart. We could drop a hint to prompt them in that direction.”

“That’s just as likely to prompt the opposite reaction.” I reach for the glass in front of me, only to have Vesper grab my wrist. I glance at them. “What?”

“Don’t trust anything the Wands give you.”

I blink. Obviously I knew to watch out for the other champions—or at least the Star—but even as much as I hate the Wands, part of me believed they wouldn’t cross that line. How naive and foolish. The Cups locked us in a tower to increase the likelihood of bloodshed. I can’t prove the Pentacles actually set fire to their building, but I also can’t prove they didn’t. Of course the Wands would have something nasty in wait for us.

“If we survive the night and the Trials continue, what will the Swords Court have waiting for us?”

“We’ll find out together.” Vesper releases my wrist slowly. “From what I understand, every time the Trials come around, the courts bicker and bargain to host the champions earlier in the timeline. They want a chance to entertain the gods’ champions, even if most won’t survive to become the Cinque. We have our own magic and gods, but we understand the power and value in the Major Arcana.”

“So the Swords lost that argument.” Cato snorts and moves our cups farther away on the table. “Not exactly making a good impression, are they?”

“On the contrary.” Vesper’s gaze goes distant. “My mother volunteered for the least coveted position. She intentionally chose to be the last event the individual Minor Courts host for the champions.”

I worry my bottom lip, trying to understand the strategy there. There was a level of wonder with the Cups party, even if the excess made me sick to my stomach. With each event, that wonder has waned. Our exhaustion has grown. All three of us are nursing injuries that aren’t fully healed, and surely some of the others are as well. We’re not at our best, and we’re hardly able to appreciate yet another ostentatious show. If we survive the night, the last thing I’m going to want to do is pull on yet more too-revealing clothing and parade around the Swords Court.

Cato leans on the table and narrows his eyes. “What is the Queen of Swords playing at?”

“You’ll have to ask her when you see her.” Vesper shrugs, but there’s a new tightness to their shoulders. “She never comes at a problem from the front if she can flank it. The Swords have had a dearth of alliances among the most recent Cinque, and my mother means to change that.”

I am more than passing fond of Vesper, but that doesn’t mean I want the attention of the Queen and King of Swords. “Are we a problem to be solved?”

They both look at me in bewilderment. “Think, Kestrel.” Cato taps my forehead. “The Cinque represent five votes within the Concilium. The different Caelrian factions are rarely unified in what they want, but the lines often come down to the Minor Court standing on one side of an issue and the guilds standing on the other. In that equation, the guilds usually lose since they only have five votes to the Minor Court’s eight. Securing the Cinque members’ votes ensures the Minor Court can continue to do what they want. On the other hand, if they alienate us, they run the risk of us aligning with the guilds to overturn their agendas.”

Vesper raises their eyebrows. “Not just a pretty face.”

“Yeah, you’ve said that before. I pay attention.” He sits back. “I’ve attended enough voting sessions with the Chariot to figure out how things work. He always voted with the guild masters of Diamond and Garnet because they provided a portion of territory on the border between them—and chose to look the other way when the Chariot became a terror to the people there.”

What they’re saying makes sense, but … “Why aren’t we being feasted or whatever by the guild masters then?” They have more at stake than the Minor Court, at least when it comes to votes.

Vesper shrugs. “That will happen if the Trials go on beyond the Swords event tomorrow night, though they won’t get a chance to drag us out to each territory because it would prevent us from returning to the champions’ island by the sixth strike. The parties will rotate again through the Minor Court territories, but this time with all the guilds and courts in attendance.”

It sounds like a nightmare. As bad as being hunted in the dark is, the parties aggravate me the most. No one says what they mean. People who want me dead smile to my face and speak sweetly. It’s so fucking dishonest and unnecessary, but I suppose that’s what life is like up on the hill. When you don’t have to fight for survival every hour of every day, it leaves too much time for bullshit.

A murmur rises in the tiers above us, racing from table to table until it’s almost an uproar. I tense, ready to run, but it’s not an attack—at least in the traditional sense of the word.

Two women walk slowly down the stairway we entered a short time ago. One is easily as tall as the Tower. She looks like she could lift one of the horses that pulled our carriages over her head without the slightest bit of effort. Her warm-toned, light brown skin is smooth but for a few lines bracketing her eyes and mouth. Her bronze belt is so wide it covers her thick middle entirely, and appears to have a scene carved into the front of it, though I can’t make out the details at this distance.

The woman at her side is older, I think—it’s difficult to tell ages when it comes to these Minor Court nobles—and slighter, though her long black hair shows no sign of gray. Even without Vesper saying the king is Nonnie’s aunt, I would have seen the familial resemblance with the Knight of Wands—same beige skin, same petite frame, same inky eyes.

“The tall one is Alma, Queen of Wands,” Vesper supplies quietly. “The short one is Dahlia, King of Wands—and Nonnie’s aunt. Don’t trust either of them.”

“No danger there.” Cato laughs softly. “They’re Wands.”

“It’s still worth repeating. Do not trust them.”