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CHAPTER FOUR

IF WALKING TO the dais to take my place as the Moon’s champion was harrowing, standing this close to the slaughter is worse in so many ways. The Queen of Cups announces the Sun. It takes a few beats longer for the prospective champions to jump forward this time; their numbers have been thinned dramatically. I identify the likely winner quickly, a man about my age with warm, medium-brown skin, a shaved head, and a wild grin on his face. He wields daggers as if he were born with them, slicing through his competition with ease. A woman nearly makes it to the dais, sprinting as if her life depends on it. He flicks a dagger at her almost casually, taking her in the back when she’s only a few steps away. I actually feel the air displaced as she falls. Looking away would signal weakness, but it’s awful to watch the blood pool around her fallen body.

It’s even worse when the man walks up, swipes the blade from her back, and jumps onto the dais next to me. He smirks. “If you’re going to puke, don’t get it on my shoes.”

Just like that, I’m not feeling sick at all. It’s so much easier to be angry than to deal with the confusing mix of emotions inside me. “Go fuck yourself.”

“Some spine,” he murmurs as Guild Master Fox moves forward to announce the next champion. “Maybe you’ll live past the first night after all.”

If I keep talking to this arrogant ass, I might do something reckless, so I turn my attention to the guild master. They glance at me in the same moment, their keen amber eyes filled with a look I can almost identify, and then turn to the crowd. “Judgment.”

With only two gods left, there’s another surge of a dozen people trying to reach the dais. They barely make it three steps before Judgment raises his hand. At first, I think he’s just being a showman, but then a pale blue mist pours out from him. It’s pretty, which is terrible in its own way. Part of me always believed Mouse exaggerated the danger Judgment represented. I was wrong. So incredibly wrong.

The magic cascades across the sand, faster and faster. I tense as it catches the first person, hooking their ankle and then climbing their body. In the space of a heartbeat, they’re encompassed entirely. I half expect it to cause them physical damage, but they crash to their knees and let out a keening wail I can hear even over the crowd’s approval.

One by one, the prospective champions fall. Some weep. Some curl into balls, as if by making themselves smaller they can avoid whatever torment Judgment has unleashed upon them. As for Judgment himself, he walks easily through his victims and stops in front of Fox.

Fox holds up a hand, their expression going flat. “I am not one of the prospective champions, Judgment. If you try that shit on me, I’ll cut your throat.”

Instead of being deterred, he just smiles slowly. “I can taste your guilt, Fox. It’s decadent.” Judgment steps onto the dais on the other side of the Sun before the guild master can answer.

That’s not creepy. Not at all.

The World is over quickly. I feel like I blink and the gong is sounding. I lean forward and look to the end of the dais, where a slight person with light brown skin and shoulder-length black curls stands. They can’t be more than eighteen, if that. Their clothing is too nice for them to have come from the Dregs, though they don’t wear any particular color marking them as a member of one of the guilds or Minor Courts. What are you doing here? You have your whole life ahead of you.

Fox is the one who steps forward and holds up their hands, rings shining on each finger, some even stacked. In Caelria, most adults wear rings on their thumbs denoting their self-determined gender. I’d heard that the people up on the hill wear even more, their rings translating into a code of preferences and desires, but I hadn’t seen evidence of it until now. Curiosity spikes through me, but they’re speaking and I need to focus.

“Congratulations to our champions for the fiftieth Tarot Trials!” The crowd goes wild. Fox smiles, perfectly at ease with the attention of thousands on them. “Please stay in your seats for a little longer and allow us to provide you with a little more entertainment. As with past Trials, my Rubies will pass the delicious stories of each night’s fights through the whole of the city. Be sure to tip them, lovelies. They’re going to be working hard to keep you informed.” The crowd gives a good-natured laugh and then gets right back to cheering, so loud I can feel it in the base of my skull.

“For our champions, please follow the Concilium. We have carriages waiting.”

I turn alongside the others and walk off the dais. I don’t know how to feel. I’m doing it, the thing I’ve spent my life preparing for, and yet it’s so incredibly surreal. In the moments when I allowed myself to picture victory, to consider what it might look like after the Culling, I never imagined this. Blood dries on my boots as the other champions move next to me, some laughing and clearly riding the high of the slaughter, and some staring ahead with blank looks in their eyes. The cost of the Trials is already so high, and we’re only getting started.

We’re led out of the oval through a side door I didn’t notice until now. It takes us through a dizzying path of hallways I should probably try to memorize, but my mind is buzzing too hard to do anything but put one foot in front of the other. Exiting the arena is another slap of reality.

There are half a dozen carriages waiting for us. Carriages. They gleam in the light of the Sun overhead—truly, the Minor Court districts are drowning in sunlight each day—and are each drawn by a matched set of red-brown horses. I force myself to take a deep breath and observe. Mouse spent too many years training me to watch me fail in the first few minutes of being the Moon’s champion.

The carriages are a mix from the four Minor Courts. From what I understand, the courts rarely agree on anything or work together. The Trials are the sole exception. I don’t know much about horses other than they’re hideously expensive, and these seem even more so. Their coats are glossy and their bodies are filled out and muscular with health. Even the animals up on the hill are treated better than the people in the Dregs.

Not for long. Not when I’m part of the Cinque.

I made it. That’s all that matters. The part of the plan with the most variables was the Culling. Mouse, the old bastard, was correct in his belief that no one would challenge me for the position of the Moon’s champion, but he was wildly wrong about why. The entire city thinks the position is cursed, which likely means they think I’m cursed as well. How could Mouse have missed that in all his research?

I shake my head sharply. It doesn’t matter. He was correct that I wouldn’t have to fight. I have to believe the rest of his information is good. He worked closely with my mother during the month after she became part of the Cinque to create meticulous records about her Trials. With that information, surely I’ll be able to navigate these ones successfully.

I look around at the other champions. Even in the space of a few minutes, I can see the beginnings of alliances forming. Whether they’ll hold once the Sun sets and the Moon rises is still up for debate, but I make a note of them all the same.

The Star chats easily with the High Priestess, the Hermit, and the Chariot. Even as I watch, they all climb into the same carriage, a Cups one. I would have expected Death and Judgment to reunite with the Star and the Chariot for these Trials since their alliance went so well the last time, but Judgment is motioning the Empress and the Lovers into a carriage, closing the door firmly behind them. For his part, Death moves to an empty Swords carriage and climbs up without looking back. Interestingly, the Tower trails behind him, an intent look on his face. The World and the Devil quickly move to follow. Death may not be interested in creating an alliance this early, but clearly the others understand what a valuable ally he could be.

If only they knew …

While there’s plenty of chatter among the champions, no one makes the slightest effort to approach me. Time may change things, but as of right now, even if I wanted to partake in dancing around the idea of an alliance, apparently I don’t have that option. It’s fine. Mouse warned me away from them, and so my strategy is centered around me and me alone.

I walk to the last carriage in the line—another Swords one—and give the horses a long look. They seem rather calm considering the roar I can still hear from the arena. All the other champions entered the carriages without the horses panicking and fleeing; there’s no reason to believe I’ll be any different. I take a deep breath and climb in.

I didn’t expect to ride alone, but I’m still surprised when another champion joins me only a few seconds later. The Wheel of Fortune. They sink easily onto the bench seat across from me and smile. “That was a bold move, taking the Moon. I thought they were going to have to force someone into that title.”

Out of habit, I check their hands, noting the rings on both their thumbs. They’re fancier than the woven one around my left thumb, each an intricate silver swordlike pattern that shines against their dark brown skin. They also have different colored rings on every single one of their fingers, some of them stacked double and triple. I don’t know what those mean, and I’m not about to display my ignorance by asking. “If you say so.”