He went a step further, too: the platform below, where the translators of not only Ames but also Faro and Vesk were supposed to stand, was empty. The foreigners frowned, wondering if the absence was some kind of slight. But their expressions became buoyant when Rhy continued.
“Glad-ach!” he said, addressing the Veskans. “Anagh cael tach.” And then, just as seamlessly, he slid into the serpentine tongue of Faro. “Sasors noran amurs.”
He let the words trail off, savoring the crowd’s reaction. Rhy had always had a way with languages. About time he put some of them to use.
“My father, King Maxim, has given me the honor of overseeing this year’s tournament.”
This time as he spoke, his words echoed from other corners of the stadium, his voice twisting into the other two neighboring tongues. An illusion, one Kell had helped him design, using a variety of voice and projection spells. His father insisted that strength was the image of strength. Perhaps the same was true for magic.
“For more than fifty years, the Element Games have brought us together through good sport and festival, given us cause to toast our Veskan brothers and sisters and embrace our Faroan friends. And though only one magician—one nation—can claim this year’s title, we hope that the Games will continue to celebrate the bond between our great empires!” Rhy tipped his head and flashed a devilish smile. “But I doubt you’re all here for the politics. I imagine you’re here to see some magic.”
A cheer of support went through the masses.
“Well then, I present to you your magicians.”
A column of glossy black fabric unfurled from the base of the royal platform, the end weighted so it stretched taut. A matching banner unspooled from the opposite side of the arena.
“From Faro, our venerable neighbor to the south, I present the twins of wind and fire, Tas-on-Mir and Tos-an-Mir; the wave whisperer Ol-ran-Es; the unparalleled Ost-ra-Gal….”
As Rhy read each name, it appeared in white script against the dark silk banner beneath him.
“From Vesk, our noble neighbors to the north, I present the mountainous Otto, the unmovable Vox, the ferocious Rul …”
And as each name was called, the magician strode forward across the arena floor, and took their place on the podium.
“And finally, from our great empire of Arnes, I present your champion, the fire cat, Kisimyr”—a thunderous cheer went through the crowd—“the sea king, Alucard; the windborne Jinnar …”
And as each magician took their place, their chosen banner unfurled above their head.
“And Kamerov, the silver knight.”
It was a dance, elaborate and elegant and choreographed to perfection.
The crowd rumbled with applause as the last of the Arnesian pennants snapped in the cool morning air, a set of twin blades above Stasion Elsor.
“Over the next five days and nights,” continued Rhy, “these thirty-six magicians will compete for the title and the crown.” He touched his head. “You can’t have this one,” he added with a wink, “it’s mine.” A ripple of laughter went through the stands. “No, the tournament crown is something far more spectacular. Incomparable riches; unmatchable renown; glory to one’s name, one’s house, and one’s kingdom.”
All traces of writing vanished from the curtains of black fabric, and the lines of the tournament grid appeared in white.
“For the first round, our magicians have been paired off.” As he said it, names wrote themselves into the outer edges of the bracket. Murmurs went through the crowd and the magicians themselves stirred as they saw their opponents’ names for the first time.
“The eighteen victors,” continued Rhy, “will be paired off again, and the nine that advance will be placed into groups of three, where they will face off one-on-one. From each group, only the one with the highest standing will emerge to battle in the final match. Three magicians will enter, and only one will leave victorious. So tell me,” finished Rhy, twirling the golden ring between his fingers, “are you ready to see some magic?”
The noise in the stadium rose to a deafening pitch, and the prince smiled. He might not have been able to summon fire, or draw rain, or make trees grow, but he still knew how to make an impact. He could feel the audience’s excitement, as if it were beating inside him. And then he realized it wasn’t only their excitement he was feeling.
It was also Kell’s.
All right, brother, he thought, balancing the gold ring on his thumb like a coin.
“The time has come to marvel, and cheer, and choose your champions. And so, without further delay …” Rhy flicked the gold circle up into the air, and as he did, fireworks exploded overhead. Each explosion of light had been paired with its own midnight blue burst of smoke, an illusion of night that reached only as far as the firework and set it off against the winter grey sky.
He caught the ring and held it up again, his voice booming over the fireworks and the crowd’s cheers.
“Let the Games begin!”
III
Lila had lost her mind. That was the only explanation. She was standing on a platform, surrounded by men and women who practically shook with power, the explosion of fireworks above and the roar of the crowd to every side, wearing a stranger’s stolen clothes and about to compete in a tournament in the name of an empire she didn’t serve in a world she wasn’t even from.
And she was grinning like a fool.
Alucard jostled her shoulder, and she realized the other magicians were descending the platform, filing back toward the corridor from which they’d entered.
She followed the procession out of the arena and across the bridge-tunnel framework—she honestly couldn’t tell what was holding the stadium up, but whatever it was, she seemed to be walking on it—and back to the solid ground of the city’s southern banks.
Once on land, the gaps between the magicians began to stretch as they walked at their own pace toward the tents, and Lila and Alucard found themselves with room to move and speak.
“You still look like a fish,” whispered Lila.
“And you still look like a girl playing dress-up,” snapped Alucard. A few silent strides later he added, “You’ll be happy to know I had a small sum sent back to our friend’s home, claiming it was a competitor’s bonus.”
“How generous,” said Lila. “I’ll pay you back with my winnings.”
Alucard lowered his voice. “Jinnar will hold his peace, but there’s nothing I can do about Master Tieren. You’d best avoid him, since he certainly knows what Stasion Elsor looks like.”
Lila waved her hand. “Don’t worry about that.”
“You can’t kill the Aven Essen.”
“I wasn’t planning on it,” she shot back. “Besides, Tieren already knows.”
“What?” His storm-dark eyes narrowed behind his scaled mask. “And since when do you call the London Aven Essen by his first name? I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of blasphemy.”
Lila’s mouth quirked. “Master Tieren and I have a way of crossing paths.”
“All part of your mysterious past, I’m sure. No, it’s fine, don’t bother telling me anything useful, I’m only your captain and the man who helped you send an innocent man off into saints know what so you could compete in a tournament you’re in no way qualified to be in.”
“Fine,” she said. “I won’t. And I thought you weren’t associating with Stasion Elsor.”
Alucard frowned, his mouth perfectly exposed beneath the mask. He appeared to be sulking.