“I do have to say, that’s the best color I’ve ever created,” Suvinna said the next morning, marveling at Cyrene’s bright red dress.

“You are brilliant, Suvinna. Truly.”

“Dyeing fabrics is just like paints, as far as I’m concerned.” She had a giddy smile on her face. “And that red.” She nearly swooned.

“It’s my signature.” Cyrene adjusted the straps that had fallen off her shoulders and swished the long red skirts. Even though these weren’t anything like her Byern style at home, she felt more like herself than she had in months. Biencan silks were lovely, but nothing beat a gorgeous red gown.

Mikel appeared then, holding his arms out for Cyrene to appraise.

“Perfect,” she cried.

His long-sleeved tunic was the same color red as Cyrene’s. And he wore it with fitted black trousers and his leather boots.

She’d convinced Suvinna to dye nearly all of their clothing this color. All of the other tribes matched in style. She had been able to tell them apart simply by what they were wearing when congregated. If she was going to try to register for this tournament, then she needed to play the part.

“I’m fit to be at your side?” he asked with a sly smile.

“Of course.” He held his arm out, and she placed her hand on his. “I do wish that the others had returned though.”

“Matilde and Vera will be fine, and Ahlvie said we shouldn’t wait for him.”

“He’s prone to trouble though.”

Mikel laughed. “So are you.”

“Well, yes.”

“And Orden agreed to watch Avoca.”

“I know,” she repeated.

“Then, let’s focus on the task at hand.”

Cyrene nodded. She couldn’t afford to have her mind off in a million other directions.

Mikel gestured for her to go first. They paraded out of the inn and onto the streets, which were even busier than yesterday. She didn’t even know how the city could hold so many. It surely had to be near capacity.

They reached the arena with the first crush of the crowd. Mikel had tied his dark hair back off his face, showing his slightly pointed ears. Avoca’s were hardly noticeable. Sometimes, Cyrene even forgot that it was a typical Fae distinction…until she saw the tribes lining up for registration. Every one that she passed had sharply pointed ears, declaring their ancestry. Cyrene was glad to see that their matching outfits allowed them to blend more easily with the tribes.

Getting through the barrier was the first test. She assumed that it repulsed anyone who didn’t enter through the main opening. But it could hold back anyone without magic. Not a problem for Cyrene, but another option could be that it held back humans entirely, which would be a much larger complication.

She swallowed as they neared the entrance. Her senses were buzzing as nerves took over. Though she tilted her chin up and kept her face purposefully blank. She couldn’t showcase her fear here.

Just as she was about to break through the barrier, a hand brushed her shoulder. “There you are!”

Cyrene froze where she was standing and then slowly turned to face Fallon. She had completely forgotten that they’d agreed to meet here the day before. It felt so long ago.

“Fallon,” she muttered.

“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said jovially. “I didn’t recognize you in the new clothing.”

“Have you already put your name down?”

He shook his head and frowned. “I was waiting for you.”

“Stalling?”

“Maybe a bit.” He surveyed his surroundings, likely checking to see if there was anyone from the Galanthea tribe nearby who might recognize him.

She had seen them yesterday, posturing in black-and-gold fighting leathers.

“I haven’t seen any,” she said quietly.

Fallon tilted his head at her, as if seeing her for the first time that day. “What are you doing in line?”

The line itself had shifted forward a person, which meant it was her turn to stride forward, break that barrier, and see if the Society would allow her to proceed.

“It’s complicated.”

He lowered his voice. “You’re registering?”

“I…”

But he must have read the answer on her face.

“You know they’ll never let you. They only allow Fae from the twelve tribes. Didn’t you listen to what Marcotte said on the way in?” His voice dropped to barely a whisper. “You are neither Fae nor are you part of a tribe. Plus, you don’t even have magic.”

“Most of that is true,” she conceded.

His eyes darted forward but only as if he was seeing the barrier in front of her. “You can’t even walk through, Cyrene.”

Then, Cyrene smiled sweetly at him and took that first step over the line. Her body hummed with the ripple of energy. The power reverberated off of her, and then she was through.

Fallon’s jaw went slack. He and Mikel followed Cyrene inside.

“Only tribe members should be able to enter,” Fallon hissed. He nervously glanced around, as if, at any moment, someone was going to know. “I thought you were from across the seas.”

“I am.”

“Have you joined a tribe?”

She shook her head. “Quiet. I need to concentrate.”

Having his rattled nerves next to her only made everything worse. She’d been confident until he was so skeptical. But she’d gotten through the barrier. She hoped that meant the hardest part was over. It proved she belonged. That couldn’t be denied. She hoped.

Fallon thankfully went silent. He even stepped in front of her, as if he could provide some kind of barrier or social proof against what he was sure was going to happen.

Cyrene squared her shoulders and proceeded forward in the line. Worrying about what might happen only made her anxiety spike. So, she tried to shut it down. She had faced worse than registering for some dragon tournament.

By the time Fallon had reached the front, she could feel the tension rolling off of him. Mikel shot her one incredulous look before facing forward once more. He at least seemed subdued about all of this.

Fallon moved forward across a line in the sand of the arena and spoke to the Society members. She couldn’t see the face of the woman taking notes, but she could see Master Lorian and the other man. Neither of them looked pleased to see him signing in. She watched Lorian’s mouth move and tried to read what he was saying.

Mikel leaned close. “He asked if Fallon had the permission of his tribe to register.”

“He doesn’t,” Cyrene whispered.

“I know.”

The others spoke rapidly for a few minutes before the woman stood from her seat and slashed her hand out to the side. Both males beside her silenced. Then, she offered Fallon the quill and pushed the paper toward him. His hands were shaking as he took the quill and signed his name.

He bowed slightly at the waist and then darted away. “Good luck,” he muttered to Cyrene before vanishing into the crowd.

Mikel nudged her in the back, and she eased forward. This was a challenge that she should be used to. She could charm a room. She knew decorum and appearances were important. She’d trained most of her life for this. Even if it wasn’t her own court, it still had the same feel to it. Even if she was in a dusty arena before black-cloaked dragon riders.

“Good morning,” she said, dipping them a low curtsy befitting their station. She’d seen many of the females bow, but bowing didn’t feel natural to her. “I am here for registration.”

“Name, age, and elemental abilities, please,” the woman said.

“Cyrene Strohm. Eighteen years old.” She hesitated on the next answer. Was it a lie if she said that she only had the four main elements? Did anyone in Alandria have spirit magic? Could Fae access it? She decided she’d rather be safe. “All four elements.”

“Wonderful. What tribe, please?” The woman glanced up at her and then frowned at her red dress. “I don’t recognize those colors. They are closest to Aude. Do you hail from Moran?”

“I do not. We are of our own tribe.”

The woman looked back down at her papers before answering, “Only the main twelve tribes can put forth a competitor. We don’t allow drifters.”

“I am not a drifter. Nor was I ever part of any of the tribes. But I am here to enter the tournament, and I have magic. Clearly, as I walked through your barrier.”

That got her to raise her head. “Are you…human?”

“Yes.”

“Impossible,” one of the males said behind her.

“No crossbreeds allowed,” Master Lorian said stiffly.

“I am not a crossbreed,” Cyrene said indignantly. “I’m a human, and I have magic. I am part of my own tribe and wish to enter.”

“Sorry, no members outside of the tribes,” the woman said flatly.

“I have every right to enter this tournament.”

“What right?” Master Lorian said as if he finally realized who she was. “You have no rights here. You are a disturbance, nothing more.”

“I can handle this, Lorian,” the woman said sharply.

“Of course, Helly.”

Helly glanced back up at Cyrene with a stern, pinched expression on her face. She was engulfed in her black Society robes, and when she stood, she was no more than five feet tall. Though she had the authority of someone twice her height.

“We have rules. Whether you have magic at all or somehow tricked the barrier is up for debate. We do not allow anyone who is not part of the tribe system. It was created for a reason, and it manages our world. I do not know where you hail from, but you are taking up my very valuable time, and you should leave.”

Mikel cleared his throat, and Helly glanced at him, as if just realizing Cyrene wasn’t alone. “I would like to put forth an inquiry to the Society Council regarding this matter.”

“And who are you?” Helly asked.

“One of her masters, who has been tutoring her for this very moment. I see no reason that she cannot take place in this competition. Just because she is human does not mean she is any less capable. And, if it does, then what do you have to fear from it?”

“We fear nothing,” she said. “We are following administration procedure.”

“As you can see, we are part of the same tribe, and I am sponsoring her entry. That fits all of your requirements.”

“We cannot allow her to pass. We will, however,” she said, keeping him from soldiering on, “allow you to make the inquiry to the council. I cannot guarantee that it will be favorable. But I will write it personally.”

“Very well,” Mikel said.

Cyrene sighed softly. That was not what she wanted. But an inquiry at least was better than a flat refusal. And, from the looks of the two males behind Helly, it was preposterous to even allow her this much leeway. If they’d been in charge, she was sure that she wouldn’t have even gotten this inquiry.

Helly quickly wrote up something. Mikel read over it and nodded. He added his own signature to the piece of paper and where they could be found in the city. Then, he profusely thanked her and dragged Cyrene away.

Cyrene was seething with anger by the time they returned to the inn. She wanted to rage about her room and throw a fit. Orden took one look at her and then stood and disappeared from the room.

“How could they do this?” Cyrene demanded of Mikel.

“It’s a bureaucracy. They have to double-check all of their rules and find a way to keep you out. Don’t worry. I knew this was going to happen.”

“What?”

“I had to make you walk in there with all the confidence or else they wouldn’t have believed us.”

“You lied to me!” she accused.

“Calm down. I know how the Society works. I know their rules. Even this other Society that is so different from my own. I can see the machinations going on here. And we will find a way to make this work out for you. I have no fear of that.”

Cyrene slumped into the chair next to Avoca and checked the bond. “Creator, that was humiliating. They practically laughed at me.”

“They have lost their way. They are no longer peacekeepers,” Mikel said. “They are more concerned with the pomp and importance of their position than their mission. I have no doubt that you will bring them around.”

“I don’t know. I just want to get a dragon, learn my spirit magic, and go home.”

“Don’t let destiny catch up with you too soon.” He tenderly brushed her hair back and then went back to his rooms to wait for Matilde and Vera’s return.

They waited all day and night.

And Matilde and Vera returned, covered in blood.