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The scourge sorcerer’s body lights up with a glow stark enough to cut through the strengthening sunlight. The people around her glance over and stare.
With a harried expression, she pushes off through the crowd away from us, maybe afraid some worse punishment is coming.
While we’ve been fending off magic attacks, it seems the candidates have made their choices. They’ve all straightened up with their piece hidden in their clasped hands.
The Prospira cleric starts at the far end of the row from Petra. He beckons to the bearded count. “What did you pick?”
The count holds up a chunk of wood that’s basically just a rectangular slab. Tinom amplifies that image too, so there’s a second giant man looming like an immense ghost above his actual self.
“The wood of the tree is most important,” he says. “It allows people to build their houses and warm them with fire. To make carts to carry goods to market and bring new purchases back again. And it provides a home to animals as well.”
The cleric hums, and a murmur spreads through the crowd. It sounds like a reasonable answer to me.
Without giving any judgment, the cleric strolls on to the bulky man with soldier airs. “And you?”
As Tinom’s illusion shifts to him, the soldier holds up one of the wooden fruits. “The fruit of the tree feeds both people and animals. You can’t build much if you’re starving.”
“True enough,” the cleric says agreeably, and continues on to the sinewy noblewoman. “What do you think?”
She holds up a piece identical to the count’s. “I also chose wood, for the same reasons—and it can also be used to build bridges, barns, fences, temples—everything a society needs to grow.”
“Many excellent thoughts.” The cleric’s tone stays even. He reaches Petra and bobs his head to her. “Do you have anything new to say?”
“I do, actually.”
Petra opens her hands. It takes me a second to realize she’s holding one of the fruits—but only half of it, the inner side showing several seeds carved within.
She traces the tiny ovals. “The seeds are more important than anything else, because they allow more trees to sprout. One tree can’t build much of a house or a fence, or offer enough food to feed a family for more than a few days. The more you can grow, the more you can provide.”
A smile touches my lips. Yes, that’s exactly it.
A ruler needs to think not just of the present moment but how the whole country can thrive together.
A sudden round of applause, punctuated by a few cheers, sweeps through the crowd. Petra keeps her composure but brightens a little.
The cleric smiles too. “Spoken like one who truly understands Prospira’s hopes for us all. That is the answer I was seeking.”
A man in the red tunic of the Order stomps his foot near the front of the crowd. “Hold on! How do we know you didn’t give the false princess her answer beforehand?”
The cleric knits his brow. “I wouldn’t dishonor my godlen by cheating her of a proper trial. But if you don’t trust my answer, I suppose we could ask the daimon whether Princess Petra’s answer felt genuine.”
The captured daimon must give an invisible nudge, or maybe the spirits could understand. A streak of sparks lights up, flowing around Petra’s body, as if giving their approval.
“But—” the man starts.
Lothar holds up his hand to stop him. “Let it stand.”
I study him through the gaps in the wall. Why isn’t he fighting every verdict tooth and nail? Is he worried about how he’ll come across and waiting for a better chance?
Or does he know he’ll get the opportunity he needs later?
The green-robed cleric for Estera comes forward next, holding a crate with several glossy balls about the size of the candidates’ heads. She hands a ball to each of the candidates. “I’ll light the globes with each correct answer. A ruler Estera can support will understand the history that brought us to this place and the countries that surround us as well as our own. You have ten chances to prove your knowledge.”
She runs through the questions at a steady pace, touching on the effects of Darium rule, the overthrowing of the empire, past relations with our neighboring countries, and ending with three questions asked respectively in Veldunian, Bryfesh, and Icarian.
With each correct answer Petra gives, her orb glows brighter—and her fellow candidates stumble more. Whatever their existing education and the hasty studying Lothar will have put them through, it doesn’t match that of a woman raised since birth as the heir to the throne.
I suspect Petra could have answered any of these questions nearly as well at ten years old as she does now.
