Training with Avoca was considerably more grueling than anything she had done at the arena facility. Every part of her body ached, and her magic was honed and sharp. She felt ready for whatever they were going to throw at her.

She just had to get through this banquet first.

Suvinna had recommended a shopkeeper who could fit her for a dress. The woman, Dinah, had been flattered that a champion would come to her store and had gone above and beyond Cyrene’s expectations. Apparently, outfitting a champion was good for business.

The bright red dress was in the stylish Kinkadian fashion that Cyrene had seen many of the women wearing in the arena boxes. The top was fully beaded, a sleeveless number with a high collar. It was pinned at the nape of her neck and across her back, but the rest was entirely backless. The lace bottom revealed an inch of smooth, pale skin, and then a full red skirt dropped all the way down to her feet. The designer had a friend who had insisted on doing her up for the occasion. She felt glamorous with her dark hair in a high bun and showy makeup with blood-red lips.

She had been to enough balls for her nerves to stay in check when she arrived at the ballroom. She’d reserve the rest of her anxiety for tomorrow at the actual tournament. This was just ceremonial.

Cyrene took a deep breath and then entered the room. She was thankful that no one was there to announce her presence.

But she only made it a few feet inside before Master Lorian, Master Jerond, and Mistress Helly appeared before her.

“Cyrene, may we have a word?” Helly asked. It was the first thing that she had said to her all week.

She had said that they wouldn’t be familiar after healing Avoca, but Cyrene hadn’t expected her to be cold. But she was.

“Of course.”

They guided her away from the onlookers and to a secluded corner of the room. Looking back and forth between their stern faces, she could tell that this was serious.

“What’s going on?” she asked.

“We have been informed that you were involved in a prank this week,” Helly said.

“I—”

“And,” Lorian continued, “that you dropped dragon’s meat onto another student.”

“Wait, what?” she gasped.

“It was reported that it wasn’t even the first incident,” Jerond said with a shake of his head. “What do you have to say for yourself?”

“I didn’t do it,” she firmly told them. “Whoever reported me is clearly trying to get me expelled from the tournament. I was the one who had the dragon’s meat dropped on me. It was blood and fat and sinew and utterly disgusting. I scrubbed for nearly an hour, trying to get it all off of me and out of my hair.”

“Is that so?” Lorian asked. “Then, why didn’t you report this to us?”

“I just thought it was stupid. Everyone already hates me for being here, and I didn’t want to make it worse.”

“So, you allowed these pranks to happen and refused to turn the people responsible in even though it was making your life miserable?” Helly asked. But her attention was on Lorian.

“Well, yes,” Cyrene answered. “I was focused on training. The pranks didn’t physically harm me. They were just annoying. I figured it was better to take that into the competition rather than in the training room.”

“See, Lorian,” Helly said.

“That doesn’t prove it,” Lorian said.

“I am with Helly,” Jerond said.

Cyrene looked between them, confusion clouding her features.

Helly finally looked at Cyrene. “We know that you weren’t the one pulling pranks. We just had to make sure the event was reported twice.”

“Oh,” Cyrene muttered.

“Continue on into the banquet hall, Cyrene,” Helly said.

“What…what will happen to the person who did this?”

“I think you know,” Helly said. “Now, go.”

Cyrene didn’t need to be told a third time. She did know what would happen. She wondered if that was why Lorian looked so angry. Was Alura finally going to have consequences for her bad deeds?

She stopped when she finally found an empty table to survey the room. The banquet hall was half the size of the arena space with high-top tables filling the room and a long buffet table down the middle. Drinks were served on platters by waiters in tiny black shorts and waitresses in clothing so tiny, she didn’t even have a word for it from back home. Nearly everything was exposed—from the small string up their butt cracks to the cleavage falling out of the triangle tops they wore. Cyrene kept forcing herself to look away every time one of them walked past. She knew that Byern was prudish, but she had thought that she had gotten over some of it by traveling the world. It seemed not.

“Have a drink, Cyrene.”

Cyrene turned and found Alura standing before her. She pushed a flute full of bubbly toward her.

“You’re going to want to drink up before you’re kicked out.”

Ah. So, Alura had turned her in. The easiest thing to do would be to not engage her, but Cyrene couldn’t help herself.

“I’ll toast to you then,” she said. Cyrene held the glass aloft. Alura looked at it as if it was a trap. “What? You don’t want to toast?”

“You don’t belong here,” Alura said.

“That fact doesn’t seem to matter.” Cyrene set the glass down on the table and turned away from her.

“It will.”

Helly clinked a fork against a glass at the front of the room. “Excuse me. Excuse me. Will all of the competitors please come up here now?”

Cyrene smirked at Alura, and then they both moved toward Helly. Without a word, they went to opposite ends of the line to stay as far away from each other as possible.

“Thank you all for attending,” Helly began. “This is the annual Tournament Banquet, and I am so pleased that we could have so many Society members, donors, and esteemed guests in attendance this evening. While this is typically a celebratory evening where you can all mingle with the competitors before you, we do have some unfortunate news.” There was a pregnant pause. “Conroe of Sayair has been disqualified from the dragon tournament, effective immediately, for violation of tournament rules.”

The audience erupted into gasps and whispered conversations and even some outright outrage as members in attendance from Sayair threw angry curses at the elimination of their contestant.

Cyrene’s eyes, however, moved to Alura. She didn’t look all that happy that Cyrene was still in the tournament, and her little trick hadn’t worked. But that was when it came back to her; they’d said the prank had been reported twice. That must have meant that Dean had actually gone through with it. She found him standing a few people over from her, but he kept his eyes fixed forward. He must have known this was coming.

Helly held her hand up, and the room quieted. “All rules were set forth before the tournament began. Every contestant knew the rules. We must adhere to them. If you have complaints, please take them up with the tournament office.” Helly looked around the whole room and waited once more for someone to disagree with her. “So, without further ado, our twelve champions.”

The crowd cheered, raising glasses and toasting the beginning of the tournament season.

Helly turned around and dropped the smile from her face. “If anyone else is involved in a prank or fight during this tournament season, I will remove you so fast, your head will spin. Am I clear?”

“Yes,” everyone said at once.

“Please act like you are representing your respective tribe and bring honor to your people. Now, go mingle with Society members, who will potentially be your peers in the future, and the donors, who keep this tournament running year after year. Refrain from embarrassing us further.”

Helly swept around and stormed away from them. And, as soon as she was gone, the competitors dispersed. Cyrene moved to catch Dean, but he disappeared before she could get to him. Her frustration about the whole thing mounted. She was happy that she hadn’t been incorrectly disqualified, but it would have been easier if everyone had just left her out of all of this.

“Well, that was interesting,” Fallon remarked. He looked good in a pair of black slacks with a white button-up, black jacket, and Galanthea gold bow tie. Even his dark hair had been slicked up.

“I like this outfit,” Cyrene said, tugging on the jacket. “Going to need to bring this style home with me.”

He laughed. “It’s becoming the style at formal functions here. Robes or suit jackets or traditional tribal wear. But I prefer the jacket. I get lost in robes.”

“Who knew that you were so interested in fashion?”

“Fashion shapes our lives.” His tipped ears burned red. “So what? I like to dress nice. It killed me, wearing those rags on the way into Kinkadia.”

Cyrene just laughed at him. “You are easily the most interesting person I have met in Alandria.”

He snorted. “Sure, Cyrene.” Then, he groaned. “I have to go meet with some people from Galanthea. They all hate me, but I’m what they have.”

“Hey,” she said, reaching for his coat, “you’re a champion now. Remember that they should bow at your feet. You had to pass testing, which means you’re stronger than you give yourself credit for. If this doesn’t work out, you could still go home and be a leader there.”

He sighed. “Maybe you’re right. I just don’t think they’ll ever accept me.”

“Make them.”

“Thank you.”

She nodded, and then he was gone.

And, as soon as he left, a swarm of people descended on her.

“I adore that dress. Where was it commissioned?” a woman in a nearly sheer peach gown asked, fingering Cyrene’s full skirt.

“Thank you. It came from Dinah’s Boutique.”

The woman wrinkled her nose. “Truly? Who knew that human woman had taste?”

“I am a human woman,” Cyrene reminded her.

“Of course. And we’re all looking forward to seeing how you do in the tournament tomorrow.”

A man in deep purple flashed her his teeth. “We do wish to know what you have up your sleeve.” Then, he laughed at his own joke. “Figuratively speaking.”

“Uh-huh,” she murmured, taking a step back.

But there was someone else there, too. A man in a teal silk shirt with the buttons half-undone to reveal his toned chest. “I’ll have you know, I wagered an enormous bet on you.”

“You…what?” she asked in confusion.

“Everyone does it. You’re an underdog, and I love a good underdog.”

“Oh.”

The woman in peach reached for Cyrene’s hand and pulled her closer. “Don’t listen to Frederich,” she said with a wink. “Zavala has a lot to offer a girl like you. We’re a small but mighty tribe on the northern coast. Gowns that you couldn’t dream of. Jewels and riches you don’t even see here, in Kinkadia.”

Then, the man in deep purple snagged her away from the peach-dressed woman before Cyrene could say a word. “Glorya has such an imagination.”

“Oh, do I? And what would Genoa have to offer? You don’t even practice magic in your tiny sliver of a peninsula, Bradlye,” Glorya snapped.

“You could have whatever you like in Genoa,” Bradlye said with a wink. “Your own mansion. Your own ship. Your own personal blacksmith. We are inventors down in the south. We can entertain you. You would never grow bored.”

“Oh, thank you, but—”

“Ignore Bradlye and Glorya,” Frederich said, adjusting his teal silk shirt for maximum exposure. “Concha would be a perfect place to host you. We practice healing and focus on doing what is good for the body and soul.” His finger moved seductively down Cyrene’s arm. “And we could start with what’s good for the body right here.”

“I don’t think—”

“Do you prefer male or female, darling? We don’t object. We’d be happy to supply either or both for someone such as yourself.” He winked.

Cyrene blushed ten shades of scarlet.

His laughter filled the room.

Then, a man in a suit to match Fallon’s with a navy-blue tie pulled her away from the crowd. “I’m just going to steal Cyrene for one moment.” Then, he whispered in her ear, “Walk with me, or they will never stop promising you your heart’s desires.”

Cyrene swallowed and nodded, following him away from the rest of the crowd. She hadn’t realized how elevated her heart rate was. The whole interaction had been overwhelming. People betting on her to win and offering her anything she wanted to get in her favor. They didn’t even know if she’d win, but they wanted to be on her side if she did.

The Bryonica man stopped them near the balcony where fresh air came in on a gentle breeze. She sucked it into her lungs.

“You were suffocating in there. And I think, when Frederich started in, your face turned the color of your dress. I thought I’d save you.”

“And what do you want in exchange for saving me?” she asked the jaded question.

“Nothing,” he said on a laugh. “Well, no. I want to thank you for shaking things up.”

“Thank me?” she scoffed.

“Yes. You have no idea how long I have wanted someone to knock Lorian Van Horn down a peg or two.”

Cyrene narrowed her eyes. “And who are you?”

“Where are my manners?” He stuck his hand out, and they shook. “Kivrin Argon of Bryonica.”

“And are you also part of the royal line?”

“You got me,” he said with a charming grin that dimpled his cheeks. “My official title is Lord Kivrin of Bryonica, First of the House of Cruse.”

“Ah, so you are…a prince?”

He laughed. “The Cruse family isn’t in favor. And my rich history hardly matters. What matters is that I saved you from owning family riches in the north, a mansion and ship in the south, and a few concubines to the east. No one in the west will speak to you, of course.” He nudged her shoulder. “So, keep it up. I’ll be rooting for you.”

“You’re not rooting for Walston?”

He shrugged. “He’s a Dramen.”

As if that explained it all. She really didn’t understand their royal lines at all. She’d have to ask Fallon to explain it to her.

“Good luck,” Kivrin said before disappearing back into the crowd.

Cyrene shook her head. Everyone here confused her. She stepped out onto the balcony, determined to get some fresh air, and was surprised to find Dean standing on the balcony. He was leaning forward over the railing, looking down at the city below.

“Hey,” she muttered, coming to stand beside him.

“If you’re here to scold me about turning Conroe in, save your breath.”

“I’m not.” She leaned her elbows into the railing. “I’m here to thank you. If you hadn’t turned him in, then they might have believed Alura’s and I could have gotten kicked out. So…thank you.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“I know.” She let the silence fall between them for a few minutes before continuing, “So, where is your homeland? How did you get to Alandria?”

He shot her a suspicious look. “Why?”

“I was just curious. I can tell you about my home, if that would put you at ease.”

He just stared at her.

“It’s a beautiful place with four perfect seasons. The royal castle is built into the side of a mountain, and a river runs in an L-shape through the mountains and then around the capital city. I love it best in the winter when everything is covered in snow. My best friend and I used to run through the snow and catch snowflakes on our tongues. It also brought the Eos holiday.” Her voice choked up at that. She couldn’t help watching Dean for a flicker of recognition. For him to remember what it was like in Byern. For him to remember the time they had spent together that Eos holiday in Eleysia. “We would get candy and chocolates and presents. And, at night, Bursts would fill the sky with bright lights. It was magical.”

That was how she liked to remember Byern. Not the way it was tainted in her mind now that she knew its true history…or what the Dremylons had done.

Dean turned to face her, and there was nothing in his expression that said he remembered anything. Anything at all.

“I don’t remember my homeland,” Dean finally said.

That broke her heart into a million pieces.

“But, if you’re trying to gain sympathy from me…you won’t find it.”

“No, but…you and I…we could be allies,” she said. “We’re the same, you and me. They don’t expect much from us.”

“I don’t need allies.” Dean raised an eyebrow. “And you and me…we’re nothing alike.”

Cyrene watched him walk away, realizing then just how true that statement now was.