Vespir stood silent outside the temple, waiting in a line with the others for the priests to appear. The summer air had cooled, and the columns’ shadows stretched long and blue across the courtyard. The four, minus Ajax, were all dressed in outfits they’d found waiting for them upon their return. Vespir had breathed out in relief when she discovered a pair of trousers in forest-green velvet, along with a moss-colored doublet and cloak. At least the acolytes hadn’t tried to fancy her up alongside the other two girls. Vespir had never enjoyed dresses. They got in the way of her work.
The sun settled on the horizon, casting them all in a reddish glow, when the doors boomed open and the priests descended the steps. Everyone straightened. Camilla walked ahead of Petros, carrying something golden in her hands.
“The first challenge is complete.” The priestess’s voice reminded Vespir of an antique bronze gong in the Pentri family’s collection. “The Hunt tests the imperial merits of courage, strength, and physical skill. A true emperor must embody the warlike qualities of a dragon. Hyperia of the Volscia.” The priestess extended her arms, proffering the golden gift. “This sword is yours, to use with pride.”
Hyperia ascended the steps and collected her token. She strapped the gilded sword to her waist. There was no gloating as she surveyed the losers. Hyperia merely bowed to the priests and went right back to stand in line. Vespir watched with some tinge of admiration. Say what you would about Hyperia, but she behaved with dignity.
She was also a murderer, but you couldn’t have everything.
Hyperia stared ahead, lost in her own thoughts. Emilia stood on her toes to whisper something in Lucian’s ear. Vespir looked at her boots, trying not to let resentment get its teeth in her. Those two had clearly formed some kind of alliance. Hyperia needed no one but herself. Despite how stupid it was, Vespir had hoped she and Ajax might be on the path to, well, something. They were the lowborn, after all.
But here she was, trapped with nobles who either didn’t notice her or hated her on principle, with challenges she could never win and Karina’s life in her incompetent hands. Vespir winced. Idiot. Idiot! Why was she still bowing to these people, who took all that politeness as their due? Why did she care about the “right” way to do things anymore?
The world had turned its back on right and on her.
“Now,” Petros said, his voice far less sonorous than Camilla’s. “As for the other four, listed in descending order: Emilia of the Aurun in second place; Lucian of the Sabel in third; Ajax—”
“What?” Lucian and Hyperia both said it at the same time. Vespir’s head whipped up.
“As we told you already,” Petros said, sounding massively irritated, “every action matters in this Trial. How you conduct yourself is important.”
“Were you…watching us?” Emilia’s voice hitched.
“We do not choose. The Dragon does.” So was the Dragon Himself watching them? Even to Vespir, that seemed impossible. Petros gave an exasperated sigh. “We didn’t have to explain in such excruciating detail during the last Trial.”
Last time, all the right people were called, Vespir thought. Her heart pounded as she realized that the priests had named Ajax fourth. If so, that meant she was…
“And Vespir of the Pentri takes fifth place,” Petros concluded, voicing her fears. Vespir swallowed.
“Why is she fifth?” Hyperia sounded confused. “She didn’t get herself poisoned, like that Tiber fool.”
“Because she tried to run,” Camilla replied, her tone icy. “Isn’t that so, Vespir?”
They saw. I don’t know how, but they saw. Vespir shut her eyes, fighting a wave of nausea. She couldn’t do a damn thing right.
With a sniff, the priestess extended her arm, the orange satin of her robe blazing in the sunset. “There is one other thing. The victor takes a trophy, while the loser—in this case, Vespir of the Pentri—must submit to a penalty.” The woman gave a bloodless smile. “Of the high priests’ devising.”
Of course a penalty. Vespir looked up at the priests, and this time she let herself meet their eyes. It was as unnatural as breathing underwater, but she fought the impulse to hide.
Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’m not a Pentri. I served them, but I’m not one of them.”
Camilla did not flinch. “Fine. Then Vespir, servant of the Pentri, prepare yourself for punishment.”
That had always been the way. Vespir played by their rules and was dragged around by the nose because of it. The one time she disobeyed, justice fell hard on her. Meanwhile, people like Hyperia could murder their own sisters and catch a reward.
“I’ve never heard of something like this,” Emilia declared.
“You cannot learn everything from books,” Camilla replied, and walked down the steps. She halted before Vespir—the older woman was a few inches shorter, and Vespir took some small pleasure in making the priestess look up at her. “Now. You tried to run out of cowardice, the most shameless characteristic. To atone, you will face fear headlong.”
“How?” Vespir muttered, trying not to curse at the woman. Even a servant could only be pushed so far.
“Hyperia. Take your new sword and fight Vespir in armed combat. The first blood drawn is the winner.” Camilla stepped aside, just like that.
Vespir considered sprinting away, like a rabbit when it’s caught a fox’s eye. Hyperia had killed her own sister and worn the girl’s blood to dinner. There could be no shred of mercy in such a person.
“What?” Hyperia sounded incredulous. Then, “That’s not sporting.” She turned to Vespir. “Have you ever held a sword?”
It took a minute to find her tongue. “I’ve used slings to keep rats away from our house.”
“It’s dishonorable,” Hyperia said to the priests. She sounded horrified.
“No.” Camilla stood beside Petros on the top step, wearing a wry smile. “Disobedience is dishonorable. Well, Hyperia?”
Of course, there was no arguing with that. Vespir heard muffled arguments from the other two, particularly Lucian, but she simply went through the motions. If she dropped her sword right away, maybe Hyperia would only graze her with the blade. Her legs trembled, her arms were leaden at her side as an acolyte appeared and offered a sword. It was heavier than Vespir had thought, and the grip slipped out of her hand. The blade clattered against the ground. Everyone watched with evident sympathy as Vespir fumbled for it. She stuck her legs at hip width apart and held up her sword. The blade wavered, tipping back and nearly slicing her nose. She trembled, which didn’t help. Hyperia snorted in disgust.
“Pitiful,” she murmured. Her evident sorrow for Vespir—and dismay on her own behalf—nearly sent the servant girl over the edge. Blinking back tears, she looked at the priests. Emilia and Lucian were deep in discussion about something. Probably congratulating themselves on escaping this.
“Ready?” Petros called. Vespir planted herself, and gazed past the edge of her blade at Hyperia. Fine. In a few days, she’d be dead and gone. None of this mattered, anyway.
But Karina…
As the priest lifted his hand to signal the start, Lucian stepped between the two girls. Vespir almost dropped her sword.
“What are you doing?” Camilla asked.
“I have an offer.” Lucian looked Vespir in the eyes. “Let me fight Hyperia instead.”