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I lift my voice again with renewed confidence. “Lothar and his scourge sorcerers can’t deny what you’re seeing with your own eyes. The trials we’re assembling have the support of the spirit world. The divine energies we mortals can barely grasp will decide who is most likely to bring the All-Giver back to these realms.”
The next chorus of murmurs that passes through our audience sounds awed, not hostile. A few keep staring, dazed, but most swing back to face the riders from the Order.
The lead rider sets his mouth in a tight line, but he doesn’t seem to know how to argue against this very vivid demonstration.
Petra speaks into his silence. “The Order can have a place in these trials too. You were already preparing for your own, and we’ve been sending out word that ours are approaching for days. I’m sure you’ve picked your champions. Send them forth at dawn, and we’ll see who the gods bless with their favor.”
Thirty-Eight
Ivy
The fine chain of the concealment charm itches at my neck. I try to scratch surreptitiously, not that anyone can see me anyway.
It’s been chafing against my skin all night.
Now the dawn glow is creeping across our hastily erected stage. The sunlight enriches the deep purples and blues and brilliant yellows and oranges that Casimir recommended. They give the wood an otherworldly quality, like a glow of enlightened energy shining out of the darkness. Looking up at the platform and the various painted structures rising from it, I could almost believe they were formed out of divine energy rather than human effort.
Hopefully our audience will take away the same impression. We need them to see this spectacle as definitive proof of the gods’ approval.
Beyond the ring of daimon, Black Talons members, and guards poised behind me around the platform, the crowd of spectators has swelled. I can’t count them all, but I have to think thousands are craning their necks or sprawling on the grass, waiting for the spectacle of the trials to begin. And more are arriving in droves as the word has spread.
It won’t be long now. All nine of the independent clerics we invited to oversee the different trials have arrived. Shortly after the last bell, the Order of the Wild brought forth a large carriage that supposedly holds three challengers to the throne who’ll compete with Petra.
They haven’t shown their faces yet, though a few different Order members have ducked into the carriage, presumably to discuss strategy.
There’s been no sign of Lothar so far, but his representatives assured us that the former magic advisor intends to be here to ensure every step of the trials is carried out “fairly.” By which I’d imagine he means, “in some way that’ll let us win.”
If he tries anything too obvious, there are thousands of witnesses to observe his villainy. But we have to stay on the alert for more subtle tricks.
I don’t expect him to back down easily.
Tinom has set himself up as a sort of master of ceremonies, which suits me just fine. I can’t even show my face, let alone run the most important event that’s happened in Silana in decades. He eases down from the stage at a summons and goes to speak with a couple of Order representatives within a careful cluster of protective gang members.
A group of about a dozen riders catches my eye from the north, riding toward us at a canter. I wouldn’t think much of the new arrivals, but it’s unusual to see so many together on horseback.
I slip around the stage for a closer look, and a smile springs to my lips. The warming light catches off Voleska’s sandy blond hair, swinging with her steed’s strides in its usual ponytail.
We sent a message to Pima to let her and Emor know the trials were impending, but we hadn’t known if either of them would make the trip in time.
The riders approach at the back of the platform by the spread of carts and wagons. A few of the people who came with us from Pima break from their ranks to greet Voleska and their colleagues, and Stavros and Casimir head over as well.
I slip between the carts to follow them, getting enough shelter to remove my charm.
When I step forward to meet Voleska and her gaze meets mine, I can’t help hesitating. Something flickers through her expression in her initial pause, and it occurs to me that we never discussed the source of my magic, even though I assume she’s caught wind of the real source and extent of my power by now.
Lothar has spread his tales about my murderous ways far and wide. Maybe she isn’t enthusiastic about counting me as an ally any longer.
But the pause is only the space of a heartbeat. Then Voleska marches forward with a grin and grabs me in a brief but eager hug, topped off with a clap on the back. “Look at this production you’ve pulled together. We’ve come a long way from brandishing stolen shields, huh?”
A laugh that releases some of my bottled tension tumbles out of me. “I guess we have. I can’t take much credit for this. I’m just making sure it all goes off without a hitch.”
Voleska nods. “I’ll let you get back to that, then. And I brought a few more friends to do our part.”
Stavros taps my arm, peering toward the city. “Lothar is on his way. We’d better get into position.”
He touches my cheek in a brief caress. We set off for the stage together, me vanishing with another yank of the chain over my head.
Most of the structures on the platform are meant to serve a purpose in the trials themselves, but there’s a semi-circle of boards just a little taller than Stavros off to one side. Slats cut between the boards give anyone standing in that alcove a view of both the rest of the platform and the audience.
