Emilia had tricks for keeping the destruction at bay. Slow, deep breaths focused her. The sensation of rubbing her thumb and forefinger together calmed her. Her shoulders were so tense that her muscles burned. Above all, she must avoid physical contact. Unfortunately, all of this looked odd when you had dinner with a group of people. Fortunately, shock and exhaustion had claimed everyone’s attention. She’d have to do something truly wild to be noticed tonight.

She doubted she’d be that lucky for the rest of the Trial.

But she needed to contain her chaos tonight, of all nights. First impressions were important, and this was an opportunity to study her competition.

These four other faces at the table—some blank with fear, some stoic, some actually smiling—were all she cared about and took her appetite away. A pity, because the meal looked divine. A roasted peacock on a bed of fresh herbs occupied the center of the table. Oysters gleamed over ice, accompanied by glistening lemon wedges. Honey-drizzled sponge bread, creamy goat cheese, spiced yoghurt, curried fish soup, lamb medallions with coarse salt and rosemary, mounds of olives, and, of course, plump clusters of figs and grapes completed the spread.

For five years, she’d eaten roasted root vegetables, brown bread, and salted fish. Bland meals for a bland life. This much color and noise, so many smells, so much that was new…

It overpowered her.

The competitors sat on silk couches along the table, while Petros and Camilla occupied either end. After everyone settled, Camilla stood and raised a jeweled goblet filled with wine.

“Few high priests are fortunate enough to witness two successive Emperor’s Trials.” She gave a sharp smile. “Petros and I were not much older than you when we crowned Emperor Erasmus. We’re both thrilled to lend guidance as you undertake the single most important tradition in Etrusia’s long, glorious history.”

Petros, meanwhile, looked on with the cheer of a cadaver.

The priestess is the true power. It didn’t require a genius to see, but Emilia filed that away snug in her mental cabinet, where it would remain until she needed it. From her time spent studying the Trial, she knew that the high priest and priestess always oversaw matters. Why always a man and a woman? How were such elite priests selected for their positions? Emilia hungered for answers, but now was not the time.

“There are four great challenges in the Trial. Undoubtedly, you’ve all grown up hearing of them.” Camilla smiled. “The Hunt. The Game. The Race. The Truth.”

Emilia thought of her satchel back in her rotunda, its secrets awaiting her perusing eyes.

“I’ll remind you that every single emperor who has ever been crowned has come in first in at least one challenge. Take them very seriously. But you should also remember that the Great Dragon judges smaller details as well. How you behave toward one another, and how you conduct yourself during the Trial, matters.”

“Do people ever die during the Trial?” the blond boy, Ajax, asked while chewing.

“Oh, people die.” Camilla said it easily. “It’s common, but not typical. Thirty percent of the time?” She turned to Petros, who shrugged. “Forty? These are challenges fit for a dragon emperor. Accidents happen. Before I forget, I should remind you that killing one another, while not expressly forbidden, will result in a penalty. I’d recommend against it.”

Vespir made a hurking noise and lowered her head to her knees.

“Now, we’re going to leave you all to get better acquainted.” Camilla gestured for Petros to rise. Excellent. Emilia had been afraid the older people would sit with them all night. “We know that the five families don’t encourage much interaction between their children.” True. Emilia and Lucian shared a quick glance. Their fathers’ friendship was rare. Why be friendly with someone whose child might best your own in the great Trial one day? “But you should all support one another. The next emperor or empress is at this table, after all.”

No one said anything. Apart from Vespir’s labored breathing and the sound of the ocean, it was deadly quiet. Camilla walked toward the door. Petros dabbed at his mouth with a napkin, rose, and moved after her like a silken shadow.

The wooden doors slammed as they exited. Immediately, Hyperia stood and took Camilla’s place at the head of the table.

Ajax cast a glance at the doors. “You’d think they’d be more interested in us.”

“Odds are we’re being watched right now,” Emilia muttered. Everyone looked at her, and she wilted under their combined gaze. “The Trial has already begun.”

Lucian grunted his agreement. The focus eased off her. Peering from behind her hair, Emilia surveyed the competition.

Lucian leaned one elbow against the couch. His thick black hair hung heavy in his eyes. She hadn’t considered how different he appeared without his braid. He took his dagger, speared an apple with a juicy thrust, and began slicing off pieces to eat.

“Do you want a fork?” Emilia asked. He shook his head without looking at her.

“You don’t get much use out of them on campaign.” He shrugged. His tone was bitter, an indication something darker and angrier was being left unuttered.

Ajax regarded Lucian from the corner of his eye. “Impressive knife skills,” the Tiber boy said. So fast she almost couldn’t catch it, he snatched a dagger from his belt and sent it flying with a flick of his wrist. It landed in a leg of peacock, the handle quivering. A perfect throw. Ajax collected his dagger and the leg. Chewing, he waggled his eyebrows. “More impressive,” he said with a grin.

Lucian gave a heavy sigh. “You and my sister would get along.”

He wants Lucian to notice him. Emilia tucked all these little details away. It worried her, somewhere deep inside, that she looked at these other people as if they were test subjects to be studied. Shouldn’t she…feel…more than she did?

This is no time for feeling. She narrowed her eyes. They’re all your enemies.

The world is your enemy. Five years of brutal isolation had burned that lesson like a brand upon her soul.

“Hey, don’t you want some meat?” Ajax studied Lucian’s apple. “There might be one or two muscles you haven’t developed.”

“I don’t eat meat,” Lucian muttered.

“Because the Sacred Brothers don’t?” Emilia wondered if that sounded as casual as she wanted it to. She was so bad at making conversation.

Lucian frowned. “No. I can’t stand the smell of cooked flesh.”

“You know,” Ajax said between bites, “you all look like someone pissed in your wine.”

“There’s a thirty to forty percent chance we could die during this contest, and an eighty-three percent chance of death at the end,” Emilia said flatly. To her right, Vespir shifted on the sofa and held her stomach.

“I—I think the soup is bad,” she muttered. Her eyes were glassy, and sweat beaded on her forehead. She’d never hold up under the pressure.

Lucian filled a glass with water and gave it to the girl. “Drink,” he said, his tone softening.

“Thank you, my lord.” Vespir took the cup but barely touched it to her lips.

She didn’t really want it. She took it like receiving an order, Emilia realized. A weakness. Easily exploitable.

She shook her head. Emilia did not like those thoughts.

But if she wanted to survive…

Was it wrong to strive to live? Wrong to be just a little bit selfish?

Wasn’t that behavior necessary in an empress?

“You don’t have to call me ‘my lord.’ Really,” Lucian said.

“Yes, my— Okay.” Vespir drank.

Lucian tossed the apple’s core onto a plate, licking juice from his thumb. “Well. What in the black depths are we all doing here?”

“I think the better question is, what are you all doing here?” Hyperia said. Swallowing, Emilia turned her eyes to the head of the table. The Volscia girl surveyed all of them, hands folded in her lap, the disturbing smear of blood as livid on her face as a claimed kiss.

Now, there was no ignoring her. She was the sun, and they, nervous planets in her orbit.

For a moment, even the chaos in Emilia’s soul stilled. There was something so magnificently orderly about Hyperia of the Volscia.

“Actually, we were all the first choice.” Lucian held the Volscia girl’s gaze, his copper eyes gleaming with challenge. “I guess there’s a reason Julia isn’t sitting with us now.” He gestured at Hyperia. “The truth’s written all over your gown.”

Hyperia didn’t flinch. “Her calling was a mistake that I corrected.”

White light pulsed behind Emilia’s eyeballs. She squeezed her eyes shut and fisted her skirt. Fearlessness. Utter certainty.

What would it be like, to be so awful and calm?

“Like a real empress.” Lucian clenched his jaw.

“As far as I’m concerned, the calling was the first challenge,” Hyperia answered. “The Dragon wanted to know which of us would fight for their rightful place.” She arched a perfect eyebrow. “I was the only one who passed.”

“You’re welcome to pass all the other challenges as well.” Lucian leaned back against the couch. “I don’t want anything to do with this.”

“Come on.” Ajax loaded up his plate with a second helping of peacock. “You’ve got to try to make it interesting for me.”

“You?” Emilia said it at the same time as Hyperia and Lucian. Vespir continued to stare at the floor. Ajax ripped into the bird’s leg, sneering.

“I’m a numbers guy, too. You.” He pointed at Emilia. “You got one brother, right? So you had a fifty percent chance of getting called. Not that impressive. Same goes for you, Luce?” Ajax winked at Hyperia. “And you.” To Vespir he said, “Wasn’t Antonia the only Pentri kid? Man, some people really can screw up a sure thing. Whereas me?” He thumped his chest. “I had a one in twenty-nine chance of being called—that’s only three percent—and look.” He flourished his hands.

Hyperia made a noise of disgust. “I can’t believe a bastard was admitted to the Trial.”

“Could be worse.” He blew a kiss. “I could be a murderer.”

Hyperia sat rigid as a statue. Emilia chewed the inside of her cheek. This Tiber boy was either brave or an idiot. Probably the latter. Idiocy was definitely exploitable.

“You’re not the only murderer here,” Lucian said.

Emilia flinched. Unbidden, memories flooded her of Huigh, the cook’s assistant, a handsome boy with dimples and russet hair. She’d stood on her toes to kiss him at thirteen, a daring moment stolen behind the aerie. The sweet touch of their lips and then the hot, salty rush of blood as it flooded her mouth, as it leaked from the corners of Huigh’s eyes and dribbled from his nose when his lungs and heart exploded.

An accident, yes. But still murder.

She stared at Lucian, chaos crawling like ants under her skin. But he wasn’t looking at her; he had eyes only for Hyperia.

“I’ve been on campaign,” he continued. “You’re not the only child killer.”

Hyperia’s lips thinned. Her already fair skin paled further.

“If you regret their deaths, then you regret your actions. In that case, you regret the empire’s actions. The only thing worse than killing is killing without a sense of honor. You disrespect the dead.”

“I’d rather my victims be alive. If that means I have no honor, so be it.”

“This is our great hero of the northern expansion?” Hyperia looked as if she smelled something foul. “There is no true nobility left, it seems.”

Emilia had not imagined that creatures like Hyperia existed outside of epic poetry. A sea goddess determined to wreck the ships of a thousand men and string their hearts upon wire to wear about her neck or a flinty-eyed king who sent legions of soldiers to their deaths in the glory of conquest—those were Hyperia’s true equals, not the people at this table.

Emilia loosened the guard on her chaos…and the table gave a faint tremor, just enough to rattle the plates. She held her breath as everyone started, paused, and then let it go. Earth tremors happened, after all. But she wouldn’t be that lucky again.

“Next question.” Ajax pointed at Vespir. “How did you get here?”

“Believe me, I’ve wondered that myself. My lord.” The girl added the lord bit as an afterthought. A vein throbbed in the servant’s neck. She looked like she was either going to be ill or start screaming.

“Maybe you’re a secret bastard.” Ajax twirled his dagger. “Maybe Lord Pentri holed up with your mother for a few—”

For the first time, Vespir looked up with confidence. “I. Am. Not. A Pentri,” she said.

“You never know.” Lucian shrugged, sounding sympathetic. “If you were secretly noble, that would explain how you got called.”

“No. I’m not related to them.” Vespir’s voice cracked. Emilia bit her lip; this wasn’t normal agitation. Something else lay under the surface here. Something too painful for Vespir to consider…

Oh. Oh.

“Let’s talk about something else,” she said quickly.

But Ajax was determined to be an absolute shit. “What’s the problem? It’s not like you’ve been—” Ajax clapped a hand over his mouth. “Oh, damn. Were you bedding one of them on the sly? Old man Pentri? Oh, that’s gross.” He shuddered, relishing the mayhem.

“I said stop it.” Emilia crossed her toes to stave off exploding one of the goblets. Hyperia put her head in her hand and looked weary. Meanwhile, Vespir scowled.

“No, not him,” the handler snapped. Emilia closed her eyes. Damn. Ajax’s stupid theory was now practically confirmed. Vespir realized it as well. “I—I mean,” she muttered.

“Well, if not him, then…” Ajax clapped and bounced in his seat. “The daughter! Who’s got coin on the daughter? First off, who’s got coin?”

Vespir rested her elbows on her knees and cradled her head in her hands. Emilia glared at Ajax, the best she could do with magic shouting inside her skull.

Even Lucian appeared to have had enough. “Leave her alone.”

Ajax patted Lucian’s cheek, an open invitation for the larger boy to strike.

He wants to see how far he can push Lucian, Emilia thought. She realized that Ajax’s game might be similar to hers: assess your opponents and find their weakness.

Ajax’s eyebrows shot up. “Damn. Your stubble’s thick. Bet you can grow a beard in, what, five days? Probably started shaving when you were ten.”

Lucian looked less than amused.

“Please stop fighting,” Vespir muttered. She began to make more hurking noises.

“I cannot believe this.” Hyperia spoke slowly, as if choosing her words with care. “I made the ultimate sacrifice to end up with the four of you.” Hyperia fixed each one of them with a glare. “Well, I thank the Great Dragon for my strength. If I weren’t here, one of you would be crowned.”

“Don’t go decorating your throne room just yet.” Ajax smirked. “We’ve still got a few days to enjoy each other’s company.”

“A bastard,” Hyperia said. Her eyes flicked to Vespir. “A servant who ruts above her station.” Her mouth thinned in an expression of distaste. Her gaze landed on Emilia. “A mouse of a girl.”

Irrationally, Emilia felt hurt. For the sake of the blue above, it was better that Hyperia not notice her. Better that she write Emilia off. Pride, arrogance were Hyperia’s faults, but…

Emilia craved approval in some lonely space within her.

Hyperia now focused on Lucian. She gave a beleaguered sigh.

“And the hero of the Vartl fjord, who turns out to be nothing more than a sniveling coward. The empire would crumble beneath any of you.” She shut her eyes. “But I know this calling isn’t your fault.”

“Thank you for your benevolence,” Emilia muttered. Hyperia’s gaze fixed on her. An itch developed between Emilia’s shoulder blades, but she’d had enough. “I just think that anyone who can kill her own sister might not be my first choice to rule.” Emilia managed to raise her head. For a minute, the air between Hyperia and her was electric. The girl, golden and bloody, gave a slight nod. She seemed almost pleased.

“The Volscia have a story about our greatest general, Aufidius. The first dragon rider.” She dipped her chin in a signal of respect at the name. “Fifteen hundred years ago, when magic and dragons were still young in the world, the forces of a forgotten civilization wanted to take the Volscia lands for their own. Aufidius was a great warrior, but the enemy had a general who matched him in strength and ferocity. Caius Martius.

“Until Martius was cast out by his own people, by scheming politicians who hated his strength. So Martius offered himself to Aufidius, promising to help the Volscia destroy their enemy, the people Martius had once called his own. Aufidius agreed and came to love his new ally like a brother.

“But Martius betrayed Aufidius. When it came time to conquer his former people, his will was too weak to kill his old friends and family. He had too much chaos in him.” At the word chaos, Emilia’s heart plunged to her stomach. “And Aufidius,” Hyperia said, “the greatest of our people, who never knew an instant’s doubt or weakness, took a sword and carved out Martius’s heart. Aufidius loved his friend, but he could not love weakness. He cleansed Martius of it, like purging a cancer.” The girl’s blue eyes glittered in the candlelight. “Aufidius summoned his dragon and burned the enemy to the ground. He showed no fear. He showed no mercy. That is why the Volscia have a right to be proud. We are the reason this great dragon empire stands today. And we have only one rule: when faced with weakness, cut out its heart.”

She picked up Camilla’s goblet, the first food or drink she’d touched that night. After a sip of wine, she smiled. “So if I am faced with weakness now, what do I do?”

Lucian regarded Hyperia with horror; Ajax’s mouth hung open, displaying the chewed remains of a fig; and Vespir slumped off the couch, onto her knees, and threw up all over the tiled floor.

While Emilia wet a cloth to bathe the servant’s wrists and forehead, she realized that this Volscia girl—this goddess, this future empress—despised chaos to the foundation of her soul.

Emilia had dreamed of many things in those lonely years locked away in her family’s tower. She had dreamed of friendship. Of love. And when the hope for those withered, she had prayed for something else.

An opponent.

And hadn’t her wish been granted?

She looked up at Hyperia of the Volscia, the most beautiful and terrible creature imaginable. The girl who hated Emilia without even realizing it.

Emilia hid a smile.