Page 9

Focus on strategy, Kestrel. These people aren’t the ones you have to worry about.

I almost smile at the way my inner voice sounds like Mouse. He isn’t here physically, but he’s present all the same. I hope he got back to the apartment okay. He should be safe enough from the Wands in the crowd, but it will thin the farther down the hill he gets. If they decide to hassle him …

There’s nothing I can do about it. Mouse didn’t get to the age he is without having his own skill set. He might be slower than he used to be, but he’s smart enough to avoid trouble. I hope.

The one thing I didn’t expect in the Minor Court districts? There are no alleys. The buildings are pressed cheek to cheek, as if attempting to crowd the others out for the best placement on the street. They’re all bathed in bright colors, clearly recently painted. Painted. Of all the frivolous things to do.

I can feel Vesper’s eyes on me, but I refuse to look at them again. The Swords District is their home. There’s nothing here that’s new or revolutionary to them. I bet they’ve even waltzed down this street, spent unimaginable amounts of money in these very shops.

But it’s not Vesper who speaks. It’s Cato. “You know, we don’t get many Dreg Rats in these competitions. Your kind tend to know their place.”

I grit my teeth against his clear attempt to rile me. I’ve been called worse than a Dreg Rat. Honestly, it’s what I am. I’m not ashamed of that. “You mean I work for a living.” I don’t mean to answer, but his bravado sets my teeth on edge. “That’s nothing to be ashamed of.”

Okay, work might be an overstatement. The older kids and I do what we can to pick up odd jobs here and there, but they’re scarce in the Dregs and highly competitive in the Peridot District. Everyone is hungry. Everyone is desperate. If I don’t bring home food, the kids starve. So I always bring home food, even if I have to steal it.

A bolt of worry goes through me. Pika is a great thief, but she’s terrified of the Wands. Rightfully so, because they’re damned menaces, but it means she’ll bolt instead of committing to the lift if there are Wands in the crowd. She knows the stakes as well as I do. She’ll see the littles fed. And Mouse might be old as dirt, but he’s still got a good brain in his head. He’ll help. So will Mara. A pang of something like grief goes through me. I’ve already sacrificed so much to get to this place, and it’s only the beginning of what will be required of me. The Culling made that clear. Each of the champions is vicious in their own right, and every single one of them intends to survive to become Cinque. I knew I was facing a near-impossible task, but the rewards on the other side are worth any sacrifice I have to make and so much more.

Answers about my mother. A better life for my family, one only I can guarantee, because the other champions are only looking out for themselves and their personal power. Once I’m Cinque, my family won’t have to worry about anything ever again. The littles will grow up with the same health that glistens on Vesper’s skin. Mouse will be able to actually afford the Ruby treatments that help the ache in his joints. Quoll and Pika could go to a guild school—they’re both smart enough—and actually have a steady job where they don’t have to worry about the Wands.

“Cato.” Vesper’s voice is carefully flat, pulling me out of my thoughts. “Your sense of superiority is hardly earned. You were born a few blocks away from the Dregs. It’s sheer luck that your mother was pretty enough to catch the Chariot’s eye the year after he secured a spot in the Cinque. If not for that, you never would have ended up in your current position.”

I perk up. I hadn’t heard that before. I can’t imagine why Vesper would have. The Minor Court tend to keep to themselves, aside from the Tarot Trials. The Wands are the only exception, but Vesper is a Sword. Swords oversee the trials of so-called criminals, and no one is interested in wasting time with a trial for Dreg Rats.

Cato tenses, his fists clenching at his sides. “Watch your mouth.”

“Or what?” Vesper drops their hand to their lap, completely relaxed. They’re not remotely worried about the violence Cato could commit here in the relative privacy of the carriage.

Despite myself, I’m a little impressed by their audacity even as I’m shocked at their naivete. They managed to get under Cato’s skin in a relatively short time, which is impressive. But their trust in the rules of the Trials is misplaced.

Yes, it’s against the rules to attack other contenders during the day—or before the Trials begin—but the offending party being executed won’t matter much if you’re already dead. We don’t even have our magic yet, and Vesper is still totally confident and at ease in their skin. They’re one to watch out for … or they’re going to die the first night. Either way, it’s best to avoid them.

I lean back a little as Cato clenches his fists, his dark eyes furious. “What would you know about it, Sword? You’ve lived your entire life within the Minor Court; food in your mouth before your stomach has a chance to rumble, medicine available for every little ache and cough, enough money to buy everything your heart desires.”

I hate that I agree with this man on anything, but he has a point. Even growing up within the confines of the Chariot’s influence isn’t the same thing as growing up in the Minor Court. I’ve seen what Judgment’s so-called territory looked like—a walled compound bristling with his war dogs. It encompassed a city block, which is mindbogglingly massive to someone who’s shared a tiny one-bedroom apartment their entire life, but it’s still nowhere near the scale of what Vesper must have been born into. According to Mouse, all the Cinque have similar amounts of land granted to them to do with what they please, little islands in the midst of the guild districts.

“Not everything.” Vesper’s lips thin. “Besides, I’ve trained.”

“Cute. I’ve killed.” He glances at me, and as much as I instinctively hate him, there’s a thread of recognition between us. We’ve both fought in battles where the stakes are life and death. I’ve never killed, but only because I had other options at the time. He nods. “I bet the Moon has some blood on her hands, too. So do most of the other champions. You’re outclassed, Sword.”

Before the tension in the carriage has the opportunity to explode we rumble over a bridge and roll to a stop. I’m the first out the door, not interested in lingering to see if Vesper is impulsive enough to attack Cato. He turned the tables on them quite neatly, and as satisfying as it was to witness, the fact remains that it doesn’t matter. Not until the Trials start.

I move off to the side and take my time looking around the circular courtyard. I’ve heard about this place. Everyone has heard about this place, the only location in the entire city with temples to worship all twenty-two of the Major Arcana. It’s rather strange they’re all located in this single island in the middle of the Cups District, rather than in a part of the city more accessible to the rest of the population. Most Caelrians won’t—or can’t—make the trek up the hill to visit them, and the Cups worship the primordial elements, so they have no use for these buildings dedicated to old gods.

Truth be told, if the primordial elements weren’t so heavily linked to the Minor Court, I might even understand the appeal. The elements are something people can see and touch. Without air to breathe, we die. Without fire to keep us from freezing on a cold winter’s night, we die. Without water to quench our thirst, we die. Without the bounties the earth offers by way of plants and animals, we die. It’s beautiful in its simplicity … but the primordial elements aren’t our gods.

I turn a slow circle. We’re on a small island in the middle of the Saevus River. I can’t see the water, but I can hear it far below our current position, a fearsome rushing sound that makes my skin crawl. I’ve spent time staring out at the bay, even gone beyond the wall once in an ill-advised attempt to escape the city, but there’s something about the constant movement of the river that feels strange and downright unnatural to someone who’s spent their life confined by the earth below their feet and the stone stretching high into the sky at their back.

To distract myself, I focus on the twenty-two buildings around the courtyard. They’re extravagant in an otherworldly kind of way—even if they aren’t particularly large. My gaze skips over the intimate scenes carved into the Lovers’ temple, past the stylized tree branch grasping from the Hanged Man’s temple, beyond the decadence that is the Devil’s temple, to land on the Moon’s.

It shouldn’t surprise me that they’re clean and seem in stable condition; these are rumored to be the first temples built to honor the gods, stretching back to the founding of Caelria. They’re supposedly as old as the wall itself, though they were clearly created by human hands instead of an eruption of nature. The sheer impression of age takes up residence in my bones as I move past the people milling about and head for the Moon’s temple.

My temple. My mother’s former temple.

Like the others, it’s made of white stone. Unlike the others, there are no gilded flourishes or colors added. It’s stark in a pleasing way, though the lack of extravagance creates an eerie image with the carvings in the arched doorway. I stare at them for a long moment before understanding washes over me. Not tree trunks. It’s depicting a raging river. Overhead, the Moon cycle is shown in all its glory, new to crescent to waxing to full and back again. Just like the coin Mara gave me.

I take a step toward the shadowed doorway before a voice stops me short.

“Welcome, champions!”