Chapter Ten

I slip in and out of dreams and memories. I catch Kuran hiding behind our wagon, eating a slice of purple ube cake that she didn’t want to share with me. I hear my mother laughing as we dip our toes in the Eastern Ocean for the first time. And Teloh follows me through every dream, as though my mind cannot help but summon him. I glimpse his shadow in the rain, and he is swallowed up in a storm. I glimpse the back of his head in the market, and he disappears in the crowd.

But I catch him under the light of stained glass, as beautifully rendered as a painting. Around him bubbles a bathing pool, and the door to the baths looks as though it is locked. I dangle my feet into the water and very carefully pull twigs and leaves from his hair. He sighs into my touch as I gently comb out his curls with my fingers.

“You really don’t remember me?” he asks as he stares up into my eyes. His words are soft and pleading instead of angry, and this is how I know I am dreaming. But it feels as real as a memory.

I smell the sulfur of spring-warmed waters behind us. I feel the cold stone floor of the fortress beneath me. I slide my hands through his hair, and he closes his eyes. He turns my palm upward and presses his lips to my tender flesh. I feel aflame, like a glorious comet blazing through the heavens. And I want and want…

I jolt awake hot and flush at the touch. I don’t fall asleep again.

I’m still awake when the morning gong is rung, and I follow groggily behind my new roommates.

Dayen can’t walk fast, but he talks fast. His eyes drink in everything from the vaulted ceilings to the dust gathered upon the windowsills with reverence. His mouth spouts a pure stream of facts about the fortress and Bato-Ko. He talks about everything but what happened in the courtyard.

I wish I could pretend such enthusiasm, but even Virian walks in silent thought. None of us has spoken about the first test, but the memory of it digs like a splinter. Why didn’t the Baylan stop things before anyone got hurt? I thought it was their job to protect us, or at least attempt to, but it didn’t look like it at the time. It feels as though something is terribly wrong, but I don’t have any idea what it could be. In the end, it doesn’t matter. I know what I need to do. The Sundo is simply a distraction I need to get through.

I rewrap my scarf for the third time and check my reflection in the smooth stone of the wall. All my marks remain hidden, but the silk doesn’t sit right. Nothing does. I’m not sure if I’m more nervous about the Sundo or being trapped in a room full of people I cannot escape.

“The Healers wrote an orasyon onto my bones, so I should be free of this crutch in a couple of days.” Dayen swings around to look at Virian, and then at me. “Why are you here?”

His puppy eyes are large and earnest with not a pebble of guile in them, but he wears multiple amulets for luck and protection. If Dayen knew about my marks, I doubt he would speak to me at all.

I say nothing.

“If I told you that, I’d have to murder you.” Virian’s lips tighten, and Dayen’s eyes flicker to her crooked nose. “I need to win this.”

Dayen laughs, utterly missing the change in her mood. “I’m the youngest boy in my family, and the inheritance goes to my five sisters. It was either this or joining the Baylan, and we couldn’t afford a magic tutor, so that was out of the question. Even if I end up without memories, it wouldn’t be so bad to be fed and cared for for the rest of my days, would it? My village would honor my sacrifice.”

Dayen seems far too cheerful about this. Risking your life and having every memory taken away from you doesn’t seem worth the price. I still need to find a way around the memory spell, but it’s more important for me to learn the layout of the fortress and where the dungeons are located. Now that I’ve seen a little of this place, it looks like that task may be harder than I imagined. The halls and passages make little sense, and I need to get my bearings.

“I’m more curious about your blue-eyed friend.” Virian bumps me with her shoulder, and I stiffen.

“You mean Tanu? His mother is from the country of Brel in the North.” I tread carefully.

“That’s not what I meant,” she says.

I pause before settling on an answer. I don’t want to give the truth away, but I don’t want to lie to them, either. “He broke my sister’s heart.”

Virian wrinkles her nose. “What a toad licker!”

Her polite Rythian cursing teases a smile from me.

Dayen’s attention is already elsewhere. His whole body is angled toward the food arranged upon a long central table.

“Well, it looks like they’re not planning to starve us out,” he whispers. There are clay pots of hot soup ready to ladle. Crusty buns wait beside inviting bowls of fresh butter. Spicy sweet sausages and fragrant garlic rice scent the air. My mouth starts to water, and my stomach grumbles uncomfortably loudly.

Dayen grins at me, and I decide he might not be so terrible.

“Villagers,” Virian teases, but there is no bile in it.

I take a breath to ground myself, because the Sundo has hardly begun. I settle down at an empty table in front of a steaming bowl filled with ginger, rice, and chicken boiled in broth until everything falls apart. I spot golden strands of saffron in my spoon, and I am amazed that the cooks do not use turmeric as a cheap substitute to add color, as my mother did.

One day she would cook a pot of rice, and the next day it would turn into soup, and the next day, that soup would be topped with whatever was cheapest in the market. My mother was always remaking our leftovers into something new. My sister and I often made bets about what strange concoction we would have for supper the next day. My mother grew up with cooks and maids. She never learned any recipes, but she tried her best. I slurp at the soup prepared in the fortress kitchens. It’s delicious, but it also is missing something I can’t name. Maybe it’s just that there’s so much food laid out for us that this bowl doesn’t feel precious. Maybe I just miss my mother.

I banish the sudden pang of loneliness and attempt to fill the empty space with soup and assess our competition.

The carefree expressions worn in the fortress courtyard don’t look as convincing in the morning light. The other candidates laugh too loud, eat with too much gusto, and lean back too lazily. But I catch everyone eyeing everyone, the whispers to friends, and the handshakes. Dayen points out groups among the candidates: first families, minor families, alliances. It’s dizzying. It seems like most of those who remain come from the first families. They flaunt their wealth and influence like peacocks. The Jals are a first family, but what use is a first family if you have none of its connections?

“Some families hire private tutors for the Sundo, but those tutors cost more than my life.” Even though his belly is full, Dayen still looks hungry.

It’s the first I’ve heard of such a practice, but Virian simply shrugs. “No one knows what will happen during the competition except the Seven. We’ve got as good a chance as anyone else. We can get further if we work together?” She looks at us both and opens a pouch at her waist. Inside are scraps of paper, drawing charcoal, and chalk for writing spells. “I know a little magic.”

Maybe Reshar was right to try to keep me out, but he also misjudged me. I do not give up so easily, and like Virian, I need this.

I nod a little too slowly, but Dayen slaps her hands as if they’ve been friends forever. I need them, and I want to trust them, but I’m not sure I can.

The bowls and plates are carried away by brown-skirted Baylan initiates, and the Seven Datus return to address us. Kalena speaks first, her smiling face framed by dark waves of hair. Today she wears trousers and a tunic, but just like yesterday, her clothes are spotlessly white, and a sun disk gleams at her throat.

“Congratulations, candidates. You have passed the first test. On behalf of the Interpreters sect, I welcome you. The Interpreters’ test is meant to weed out the greedy and weak willed. Our ruler must show strength of character, and you have shown it.

“As Interpreters, we speak to the Diwata themselves and make the laws that keep you safe. We follow the Heavens’ guidance to create peace and prosperity in Tigang. The seven sects govern alongside the ruler. All of us are servants of Tigang, doing our best to keep you safe and fed, and your souls free.”

I don’t trust the warmth in this woman’s smile. She speaks too much like a cultist, and if the test was of her design, there is no way I can afford to believe the honey in her voice. But I watch the others lap it up.

“Every morning at dawn, we will gather here. There is no need to prepare or to study, because we have created new tests specifically for this cycle. Each test will challenge your mind, your body, and your soul. Some of you will not survive. Some of you will be hurt. We will try to keep you safe, but magic can be as unpredictable as the Diwata.”

That means as unpredictable as a summer storm or as devastating as a plague. I shiver and share a glance with Virian. She nervously scratches at her nose.

“The Datus will grant points based on your character and conduct. We will not tell you your score or where you stand amongst your peers. Failing a test does not mean automatic expulsion, because your overall score is what matters, but it will result in a deduction. Any candidates that fall below a certain score will be removed from the Sundo, but the candidate with the highest score will be crowned the next ruler of Tigang.”

Virian clears her throat and raises a hand. “What happens if two candidates have an equal score?”

“Then our beloved Astar will provide us guidance,” she replies with a fond smile.

I shudder at the thought of who Arisa might choose.

Kalena spreads out her hands, palms up, like a vision of Omu herself. “You may use any free time as you wish. All unlocked doors in the fortress are yours to open, but please do not wander at night. The fortress is confusing, and I do not want you to go missing.” She continues to smile, but I spy cracks in her expression now, as if the flesh of her face is a soft mask that hides porcelain beneath.

But this is good news at last. I will be able to roam the fortress freely. Once I find the dungeons, I’ll need to figure out how to get in and out. No doubt they must be guarded.

“Each Datu shall conduct one test, and on the eighth day we shall select the new ruler of Tigang. You shall all be fetched for the second test this afternoon.”

Kalena bows politely and leaves, but Guardians block each of the hall’s exits. Reshar walks to the head of the room, his shoulders hunched like a vulture. Unlike Kalena, he hasn’t changed his clothes at all. He wears the same loosely tied robe he wore yesterday, with his tattoos on display.

“There’s one among you that should not be here.” He inclines his head, and the Guardians fan out.

I lower my head and shrink into the bench. I finish my breakfast as a Guardian goes right past our table and grabs a youngish-looking boy nearby. My heart thuds quietly.

Virian and I look at each other, heads askance, and the candidates murmur, unsure if we have been dismissed. Reshar stares at us, unmoving.

“This boy’s parents did not give him permission to be here. We will return him home to face their punishment.” He licks his dry lips absently as the Guardians drag the boy out of the room. Today, it was him. Tomorrow, it might be me.

I swallow and check for extra exits. I note three other doors and a pierced screen that initiates disappear behind with their cleaning supplies in tow.

If this is not a test, I need to go. I need to get word to Kuran, even if she will hate me for it. I need to explain so that she doesn’t come for me. But how?

“How young you all are.” The din of conversation drops away at the sound of Reshar’s voice. “I remember being young once.”

“Really? He looks like he was born just as he is, tattoos and all,” Virian whispers so loudly that a few of the candidates near us snicker.

I nudge Virian with my elbow. “What sect does he head, and how can I avoid it?”

“He’s a Seeker. You can’t avoid them. They find you if they want to.” She leans close and brushes her fringe out of her eyes. “My cousin told me that he’s the best inquisitor they have in Bato-Ko. He can make anyone confess to anything.”

I freeze. The Seekers sect is the smallest in numbers but also the most feared. Their ways are secret: torture, spying, manipulation. It’s said a powerful Seeker’s magic can find anything, including the truth.

I suspect Reshar’s methods are not gentle, but nothing about the Baylan is.

He drones on about the Sundo and the honor of ruling our country, but the lines feel memorized. His sunken eyes scan us all, one by one, so I shift myself out of his line of sight.

“This is a fine time to get to know one another, because you may need help for the tests that come.” His teeth flash white like a warning. “And you should know who among you is weak, too. But remember: Physical harm against your fellow candidates will not be tolerated if caught.”

If caught.

A few candidates smirk to themselves. We need to be careful.

When Reshar departs the hall, conversations rush to fill the space like water from a dam unblocked.

“Oh, Dayen.” Virian tugs at my sleeve.

It’s hard to miss him. He leans close to a solid young man with filigreed gold hoops in his ears and a long gold chain on his neck. Dayen swallows every word that falls out of the boy’s mouth. Ingo. He’s from one of the first families, comfortably rich and here for the glory of his house. I curl my lip. Dayen’s eyes are open so wide that I worry that Ingo will step right through them and pinch out the lights.

“Maybe we should rescue him,” I suggest, testing out our fledgling alliance.

Virian agrees with an exaggerated bob of her head. We make our way over to Ingo’s small circle, but I walk a little off to Virian’s side and hope this will be over quickly.

Two other boys and a serious-looking girl stand arguing in a circle around Ingo. The girl’s gaze reminds me of a hawk, as if she is looking straight into the heart of everyone around her instead of at them. The patterned magenta tapis she wears is fixed in place with a wide, brass-buckled belt, and the weave tells me that she is from a province of Tigang to the north.

“And why would you make a good Raja?” Dayen asks Ingo.

“It is what my family raised me for. I know all the laws, and I know more orasyons than some of the Baylan here.” From his lips, the words do not sound like bragging, just statement of fact.

“It is not just law or magic that are important.” The girl’s accent confirms my guess.

“This debate again, Galaya?” Ingo asks, but the girl, Galaya, looks down at my bandaged palm. I curse that Virian is too short to hide behind. Ingo may not be a braggart, but I’ve dealt with enough rich sons to know what to expect from him. If you are not equally rich, you are invisible. He startles when he notices us standing so close.

“To open the Sundo is auspicious.” Galaya inclines her head in my direction.

I’m not sure if it is auspicious or an ill omen, but I don’t correct her. Galaya returns to addressing the circle. “For all our Tigangi pageantry, this country is little more than a speck on a crumbling rock. We do not even grow our own rice. Lucky for now, our gold mines are still rich, but when they run dry? What then?” When she moves, I spy a smaller version of Kalena’s sun disk hanging at her neck and take a step away from her. She’s a cultist. “We are soft and spoiled. We’ve forgotten how to worship the sun. We no longer walk the path of Omu’s bright vision. We do not look forward, only back. I would steer you true.” With a wave of her hand, she stalks away.

“I bet Galaya and her cult still triple bolt their doors at nightfall.” Someone snickers.

“They do this out of respect, not fear.” Ingo silences their teasing, and they close their mouths, but one boy in the circle, with a mouth so narrow his face looks pinched from perpetual sneering, signals us. I do not grin back.

“Guess what I found?” he asks, drawing us close and checking over his shoulder.

Dayen raises an expectant brow and leans forward on his crutch.

“A locked door.”