The arrangement could have been worse, I supposed. I could be Arin, stuck between Vaida and Felix. The Champions were seated at one end of the table, the royals at the other. The twelve or so nobles Vaida had invited took their places in the center, their excited chatter echoing in the hall.
A few servants bustled around, filling our chalices with a floral wine. At the end of the table, Felix curled his lip in my direction. I lifted the dull knife from my plate and met his gaze as I slapped the flat of the knife against my palm. He flinched, and I hid a laugh against my wrist. The prospect of no longer needing to pretend was heady. Pretending to struggle to carry crates, because I needed to look weak. Pretending to smile when I wanted to scream, because a village girl should be grateful for any fate beyond a husband and six children.
Vaida’s offer of freedom could never have given me this. Myself.
And who are you? Hanim asked, disparaging. Do you think you can pluck yourself like a flower away from the garden that raised you, the roots that built you? The past is our sun, Essiya. Only by allowing it to shine can you bloom.
“Hello,” a deep voice said to my right, startling me back to my surroundings. The Lukub Champion smiled. He was an attractive man, his skin a few shades darker than Sefa’s, with a twinkle in his eyes that dazzled several servants into overpouring his drink. He was tall, likely close to Arin’s height, boasting a hard body familiar with years of labor. “Sylvia, is it?”
“Yes! Timur? Or was it Mehti? Forgive me, I have abstained from meals all day in preparation for the Banquet. I can hardly think,” I reached for his arm, swallowing down my shudder at the contact. It was easier to bear a touch I had initiated. As predicted, the wariness smoothed from around Timur’s eyes. I beamed, squeezing his arm once more before releasing it. “I loved your introduction! The red fire was just…” I gestured wildly, as though plucking the proper words from the storm of my appreciation proved too difficult.
Timur laughed. Good. The Champions would not be comfortable around the Nizahl Champion if they thought I was anything like my host Heir. I needed them relaxed.
“Thank you,” he said. “It is a pleasure to meet another Champion from the lower villages.”
The Orban Champion, Diya, glanced over. I had fixed her in my periphery as soon as she sat. About her, Arin had had little to offer. A fact that bothered him to no end, I was sure. Diya of Orban possessed no distinguishing talents. She was short and curvaceous, holding her drink like someone might try to poison it. Arin told me Sorn’s decision to choose her as his Champion had mystified Orban, and at first impression, I echoed their confusion.
“I believe the Orban Champion is also a lower villager in her kingdom,” I said magnanimously.
“Interesting that you should recall such a detail but forget Timur’s name,” Diya said without looking at me. She scowled at the servant who tried to pour red wine into her chalice. Her hair was shorn to her scalp on both sides, the long strands in the center smoothed to the nape of her neck. She pushed her fingers into the wavy brown locks, sweeping them to the left.
Timur tapped his spoon against my plate. “Ignore her. She intends to win the Alcalah through sheer unpleasantness.”
Sultana Vaida tapped her chalice, silencing the conversation. White lined her eyes, bright beneath her crown. Rubies sparkled on the tight bodice of her ivory gown. A cape of white flowers flowed behind her, the scent pungently sweet, on the cusp of cloying. Another two hours, and she would need to replace it. The Lukubi dignitaries gazed at their Sultana with a reverence I’d seen reserved for the Awaleen alone.
“Thousands of years ago, our Awaleen made the heartbreaking decision to save the kingdoms they had founded by purging the world of their magic. Baira, Kapastra, and Dania gathered at Sirauk to plan how they would stop their brother. The Awal of Jasad could not be imprisoned, nor could he be killed. The magic in his blood had eaten at his humanity, and what was left cared little for the wreckage he wrought. Our brave Awalas, fearing their magic might lead them down a similar path, resolved to lay themselves in the same trap that would contain Rovial. Rovial followed Dania to Sirauk, plotting to attack the Awala of Orban. But she had secret intentions. You see, the other sisters were lying in wait. Lukub’s beloved Baira approached from behind and encircled Rovial in her unbreakable embrace. Dania drew the runes on his forehead that would guarantee an eternal slumber. Kapastra of Omal raised her hands and activated the magic they had woven around the bridge. Scholars believe Rovial screamed so loudly, he brought the skies themselves crashing to earth. Clouds and thunder enveloped the siblings as they plunged from the bridge, sealing themselves in the waiting tombs below.”