“Where are we going?” she asked to break the silence.
“The tents,” said Alucard, as if that explained everything. “First match is in an hour.”
Lila summoned the bracket in her mind, but it proved unnecessary, since every scrying board they passed seemed to be showing the grid. Every pairing had a symbol beside it marking the arena—a dragon for the east, a lion for the west, a bird for the one in the center—as well as an order. According to the grid, Kisimyr was set to face off against her own protégé, Losen, Alucard against a Veskan named Otto, Jinnar against a Faroan with a string of syllables. And Lila? She read the name across from Stasion’s. Sar Tanak. A crow to the left of the name indicated that Sar was Veskan.
“Any idea which one is Sar?” asked Lila, nodding to the towering blond men and women walking ahead.
“Ah,” said Alucard, gesturing to a figure on the other side of the procession. “That would be Sar.”
Lila’s eyes widened as the shape stepped forward. “That?” The Veskan stood six feet tall and was built like a rock slab. She was a woman, as far as Lila could tell, her features stony behind her hawkish mask, straw hair scraped into short braids that stuck out like feathers. She looked like the kind of creature to carry an ax.
What had Alucard said about Veskans worshipping mountains?
Sar was a mountain.
“I thought magic had nothing to do with physical size.”
“The body is a vessel,” explained Alucard. “The Veskans believe that the larger the vessel, the more power it can hold.”
“Great,” Lila muttered to herself.
“Cheer up,” said Alucard as they neared another scrying board. He nodded to their names, positioned on opposite sides of the grid. “At least our paths probably won’t cross.”
Lila’s steps slowed. “You mean I have to beat all these people, just for the chance to take you on?”
He tipped his head. “You could have begged that privilege any night aboard the Spire, Bard. If you wanted a swift and humiliating death.”
“Oh, is that so?”
They crossed in front of the palace as they chatted, and Lila discovered that, on the far side, in place of the gardens that usually ran from palace wall to copper bridge, stood three tents, great circular things sporting empire colors. Lila was secretly glad the tents weren’t floating, too. She’d found her sea legs, of course, but had enough to worry about in the Essen Tasch without the prospect of drowning.
“And be glad you don’t have Kisimyr in your bracket,” continued Alucard as a guard held open the curtained flap that served as the main entrance of their tent. “Or Brost. You got off light.”
“No need to sound so relieved….” said Lila, trailing off as she took in the splendor of the Arnesian tent’s interior. They were standing in a kind of common area at the center, the rest of the tent segmented into twelve pie-like wedges. Fabric billowed down from the peaked ceiling—just the way it did in the royal palace rooms—and everything was soft and plush and trimmed with gold. For the first time in her life, Lila’s awe wasn’t matched by the desire to pocket anything—she was either growing too accustomed to wealth or, more likely, had enough charges on her plate without adding theft.
“Believe it or not,” Alucard whispered, “one of us would like to see you live.”
“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”
“You always do.” He looked around, spotting his banner on one of the twelve curtained rooms. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to prepare for.”
Lila waved. “I’ll be sure to pick up your pennant. It’s the one with a fish on it, right?”
“Har har.”
“Good luck.”
* * *
Lila unfastened her helmet as she passed into the private tent marked by a black flag with crossed knives.
“Bloody hell,” she muttered as she tugged off the mask, the devil’s jaw tangling in her hair. And then she looked up. And stopped. The room was many things—simple, elegant, softened by couches and tables and billowing fabric—but it was not empty.
A woman stood in the middle of the space, dressed in white and gold, holding a tray of tea. Lila jumped, fighting the urge to draw a weapon.
“Kers la?” she snapped, her helmet still resting on her head.
The woman frowned slightly. “An tas arensor.”
“I don’t need an attendant,” answered Lila, still in Arnesian, and still fighting with the helmet.
The woman set down the tray, came forward, and, in one effortless motion, disentangled the knot, freeing Lila from the devil’s jaws. She lifted the helmet from Lila’s head and set it on the table.
Lila had decided not to thank her for the unwarranted help, but the words still slipped out.
“You’re welcome,” answered the woman.
“I don’t need you,” repeated Lila.
But the woman held her ground. “All competitors are assigned an attendant.”
“Well then,” said Lila brusquely, “I dismiss you.”
“I don’t think you can.”
Lila rubbed her neck. “Do you speak High Royal?”
The woman slid effortlessly into English. “It suits my station.”
“As a servant?”
A smile nicked the corner of the woman’s mouth. “As a priest.” Of course, thought Lila. Master Tieren chose the competitors. It made sense that he would supply the attendants, too. “The prince insists that all competitors be provided an attendant, to see to their various needs.”
Lila raised a brow. “Like what?”
The woman shrugged and gestured to a chair.
Lila tensed. There was a body in it. It had no head.
The woman crossed to the form, and Lila realized it wasn’t a headless corpse after all, but a set of armor, not polished like the kind worn by the royal guards, but simple and white. Lila found herself reaching for the nearest piece. When she lifted it, she marveled at its lightness. It didn’t seem like it would do much to protect her. She tossed it back onto the chair, but the attendant caught it before it fell.
“Careful,” she said, setting the piece down gently. “The plates are fragile.”
“What good is fragile armor?” asked Lila. The woman looked at her as though she had asked a very stupid question. Lila hated that kind of look.
“This is your first Essen Tasch,” she said. It wasn’t an inquiry. Without waiting for confirmation, the woman bent to a chest beside the chair and drew out a spare piece of armor. She held it up for Lila to see, and then threw it against the ground. When it met the floor, the plate cracked, and as it did, there was a flash of light. Lila winced at the sudden brightness; in the flare’s wake, the armor plate was no longer white, but dark grey.
“This is how they keep score,” explained the attendant, retrieving the spent armor. “A full set of armor is twenty-eight pieces. The first magician to break ten wins the match.”
Lila reached down and took up the ruined plate. “Anything else I should know?” she asked, turning it over in her hands.
“Well,” said the priest, “you cannot strike blows with your body, only your elements, but I’m sure you already knew that.”
Lila hadn’t. A trumpet sounded. The first matches were about to begin.
“Do you have a name?” she asked, handing the plate back.
“Ister.”
“Well, Ister …” Lila backed away toward the curtain. “Do you just … stand here until I need you?”
The woman smiled and dug a volume from a pocket. “I have a book.”
“Let me guess, a religious text?”
“Actually,” said Ister, perching on the low couch, “it’s about pirates.”
Lila smiled. The priestess was growing on her.
“Well,” said Lila, “I won’t tell the Aven Essen.”