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The carriage rocks slightly as another champion enters and closes the door behind him. I clench my jaw when I recognize the Sun, a single stone ring on his right thumb. He’s going to be a problem. He cut down everyone in his path to the dais easily, which indicates he’s got more than enough experience to be dangerous, even without the added magic the Sun will grant him tonight. And the way he laughed. It reminds me a little of how the Chariot laughed when he killed all those prospective champions.
The Sun eyes me with interest. “No one wanted to risk being a champion for Them. Everyone knows the Moon drove Their last champion mad. That woman barely made it through the Trials and then turned around and committed treason when she had the whole of the city at her feet.” He tilts his head to the side. “None of the champions want an ally they can’t trust at their back, and the Moon’s whole thing is deception. I hope you enjoyed how easy it was to reach the dais, because every other champion is going to be targeting you from the start.”
I keep my mouth shut. I know the Concilium accused my mother of treason, but Mouse always said it was a lie made up to kill a dangerous political opponent they couldn’t contend with. Mouse knew her. The Sun didn’t. The entire fucking city didn’t know her, for all that they pretend her death is the sum of all her parts. Telling any of the other champions that I’m her daughter will only work against me.
“Please, Sun, you’re going to have to work on your charm if you want one of these alliances you’re so keen on.” The Wheel of Fortune holds out their hand to me. “I’m Vesper.”
“I can be charming.” He smiles suddenly and even though I’m pretty sure I hate this man, I can’t deny the effect is disarming. He’s a handsome fucker, and clearly he knows it. The Sun leans close to the Wheel, towering over them even while sitting, but he somehow makes it an enticement instead of a threat. At least until he continues speaking. “You, on the other hand, have a hard road ahead of you, Vesper. A Sword with a bad leg. That’s two strikes against anyone wanting you as an ally.”
He has a point, but I don’t like the way he’s dismissing them. Or maybe I just don’t like him. “There are many different strategies to win the Trials.”
“If you say so.” The Sun leans back and stretches out his legs to prop on the seat next to me. Too close. Too threatening for all that he appears to be relaxed.
“I already know what your strategy is, Cato.” Vesper waves a hand distractedly at his face. “Ally with the Chariot and ride your way to attempted victory.” Ignoring the shocked look on his face, they turn to me and lower their voice with a wink. “He’s one of the Chariot’s many enforcers, you see. Padding the champions with allies ahead of time is a risky move because there’s a better-than-average chance that you wouldn’t make it to the dais, but it looks like it will pay off this time.” They smile at me. “Ignore him. The only reason he’s riding with us is because there’s no space in the other carriage. He’s not actually looking for an alliance.”
Cato.
I turn my attention to him with new interest. I’ve heard that name before. Like Judgment, the Chariot claimed a small slice of territory after winning the last Trials. Unlike Judgment, he did so on the other side of Caelria, where I’ve never had reason to go. Mouse managed to keep moderately up to date on the key people beneath the Cinque. Cato is one of them. He’s only a few years older than me and already has a reputation for being merciless and all too ready to make examples of people. If the Culling is any indication, that reputation is more than earned. “I’m not looking for an alliance, either,” I finally say.
“Are you sure?” Vesper sits back with a satisfied sigh, smoothly covering up the fact that I never took their offered hand. “Help me solve the mystery of you. Who are you? Where are you from?”
“I—”
“If you know so much, you should be able to recognize the signs.” Cato swings his feet out again, nearly kicking me in the process. “Too skinny, too pale, and wearing rags. The Moon is from the Dregs.”
I have no intention of hiding my origins, but it’s still unnerving to be labeled so quickly and efficiently. Especially when Vesper turns back to me with a new light in their eyes. “The Dregs. Interesting.”
“Who are you?” Cato continues. “I don’t recognize you.”
“You wouldn’t, would you? Enforcers don’t get to come to court.” Vesper shrugs. “I’m the Page of Swords. Or I was. At the end of this, I’ll be Cinque.”
Cato whistles under his breath. “A Minor Court noble, huh? Don’t see many of you lot in the Trials.”
He’s right. There’s no reason for any member of the nobles to risk themselves. They have all the power. They squat at the top of their hill, gobbling up all the resources while the rest of us fight for our lives. “Pages aren’t members of the Concilium. They don’t get to vote,” I say slowly. But if Vesper becomes one of the Cinque, that will give the Swords an extra vote they wouldn’t have had otherwise.
“Exactly.” Vesper examines their nails, which I belatedly notice are painted in a silver-and-white pattern with sharp crimson ends. Their house colors. “My parents will live for decades yet, and by the time they pass, there will be a whole passel of young, ambitious cousins ready to kill their way into one of the court titles. I’m not interested in holding the page title for decades—and I would like to avoid murdering my family members if at all possible. This way is better. And more efficient.”
More efficient. They’re out of their damn mind. I have no doubt Vesper is better versed in Caelria politics than the rest of the champions combined, excepting the members of the Cinque, but the Trials are primarily a physical challenge. Even the champions with magic that isn’t overtly physical—like Judgment—need to be able to fight and kill in order to win. But if Vesper is too foolish to realize that, too foolish to understand they shouldn’t be telling us this because knowledge is just as much a weapon as a blade, it’s not my business. My plan for the Trials is to melt into the darkness each night and avoid the other champions while they kill each other, at least until I have no other option.
During the days, when violence is forbidden under pain of death? I fully intend to find the truth of what happened to my mother, why her allies turned on her, and who gave the order to Death that ended her life.
A god whose sole purpose is passing judgment may sound appealing in theory, but without evidence of Judgment actually passing down, well, judgments, there is far too much room for human folly. It was well done for that role to be claimed by the Swords, who cannot let a lie pass their lips.
—EXCERPT FROM THE MAJOR ARCANA: A TREATISE ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD GODS
CHAPTER FIVE
VESPER AND CATO continue exchanging barbs as the carriage lurches into motion, but I’m more interested in what’s going on outside. I stare out the window, not to peer at the riches sitting out in the open where anyone could pry them off the walls, but to note places to run and hide—and attack. My best bet once the Sun sets is to get away from this part of the city with its gilded doorways and shiny glass windows that don’t have a bar in sight.
They don’t even have beggars on the corners; the Wands ensure there are no unsavory folks about to ruin their residents’ shopping trips for a hundredth hat and thousandth scarf. Or whatever the fuck rich people spend their money on.
The cleanliness of the streets sets my teeth on edge. No sewage in the gutters. No trash drifting along the dirt roads gone muddy. It’s now late in the day and the buttery summer Sun still reaches this place. In the Dregs, it would damn near be full dark at this point. The Peridot District is a world away from the Dregs, but apparently the Minor Courts take that even further. I noticed it when Mouse and I crossed into the Wands District, of course, but most of my focus was on the pending Culling.
We head north, crossing a bridge over the Verso River and into the Swords District. I glance at Vesper, wondering how it must have been to grow up in this place of sunshine and riches. I can see evidence of it written all over their face, glowing with health. A bad leg in the Dregs means begging in the closest guild district—good luck, when the Wands like to run off anyone “loitering”—or depending on family to feed you. When we’re able to get jobs, they tend to be physical in the extreme, and when we can’t find jobs, stealing often requires sprinting over rooftops and scaling walls.
I turn my attention back to the passing city. The Swords District looks much like the Wands one, except for the colors adorning the buildings and the clothing people wear. I don’t know if it’s required to sport their court colors and nothing else, but the only exceptions I note are people who clearly belong to other courts and have come to the Swords for one reason or another. The pedestrians stop and stare as we pass, and why not? Some of them are likely old enough to remember the last Trials, but this kind of theater only happens once every twenty-two years. Every one of them has skin that glistens with cleanliness and health. Every one of them wears clothing and jewelry that would feed me and mine for months.
I hate them.
