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None of the other candidates speaks enough of all three of the other languages to respond to all of those questions. By the end of the series, they’re standing stiffly, the soldier ruddy-faced with frustration, the noblewoman pursing her lips unhappily.
I haven’t spotted any incoming attacks, but before the cleric can announce her verdict, Lothar lifts his voice. “You were selected by the princess’s allies, Your Holiness. I’d like to have a cleric the Order of the Wild chose test her with a few questions she can’t be expecting.”
Our cleric steps back. As a man in green robes takes the stage, my body tenses. But he keeps a careful distance from Petra as if to avoid any idea of threat.
He asks her another series of questions in each of the same three languages, throwing in one in Woudish and another in Darium after—long questions that I know at least in the tongues I can speak myself are much more convoluted than what the first cleric asked. But Petra answers each steadily enough, without a hint of being thrown off.
The cleric indicates his approval, but there’s a hint of a sneer to his tone. “One last thing. The Battle of Raclawnem—how did your great grandmother’s forces win the day?”
My skin prickles with the sense that this is some sort of trap, but Petra doesn’t hesitate. “There was no Battle of Raclawnem. Raclawnem is a small valley town not far from the Pinch. The nearest significant battles I’m aware of that were fought in that area were in Mevild county during the rebellion against the empire, and outside the city of Accia under my grandfather’s rule.”
My gaze flicks to the cleric. Apparently he was hoping to catch her in a lie of confusion or make her look inept. Instead, he’s done the opposite.
He lets out a short chuckle and bows his head. “My questions are finished.”
As he descends the platform, I think I see him shoot a brief apologetic grimace Lothar’s way. Another round of applause rises up.
A gray-robed cleric for my self-appointed patron godlen takes over next, ushering the candidates into the large, intricate boxes constructed by the baron’s craftspeople. Casimir contributed his insight to those too. They’re painted an ominous thundercloud hue to enhance the sense of a threat, with a silvery sheen on the entwined parts so it’ll be easy to spot when each segment is released on the way to freedom.
As the cleric explains to the candidates and the audience that these are identical puzzle boxes designed to test cleverness and ingenuity, I notice a slim man moving along the edge of the crowd.
He bends to place something on the ground several paces from the corner of the platform. Then he ventures farther where the mass of spectators has fanned out around the sides of the stage and sets another object down there.
There’s nothing overtly threatening about his movements. The guards haven’t moved to stop him. But something about his meticulousness sends a jangle of warning through me.
I nudge Casimir and point out the man. “What do you think of his intentions?”
Casimir studies him for a moment as the man meanders on along the side of the platform. “He doesn’t care about the outcome of the current test. I suspect that’s because he’s planning to alter it. If I…”
A wisp of magic tickles past me, and the courtesan sucks in a breath. “What would make him happiest is if I looked the other way and pretended I never noticed him. He’s definitely attempting some kind of sabotage.”
My mind leaps through several possibilities even as my chest tightens at the thought of releasing more of my magic already. But I do have the sacrificial accomplices below me, waiting to play the one part they can.
Ignoring a twinge of queasiness, I touch Stavros’s hand. “Signal the guards to be on the alert.”
Then I extend my concentration toward not just my target and a couple of scraps of wood lying at the base of the platform, but the mutilated accomplices as well.
A waft of energy rushes through me, propelling my own magic out of me faster. Even with only a small intent in mind, I have to yank at my power to rein some of it in.
The two pieces of wood shift and nestle together—and the buttons on the man’s trousers snap apart. The loose fabric drops to his ankles in an instant.
He stumbles and pitches forward. Several more of the objects he was holding spill from his arms.
In an instant, the guards Stavros alerted rush forward to restrain the guy and confiscate his cargo for examination.
“That was nicely done,” Sulla says softly. “One more challenge down.”
I can’t manage more than a tight grin. “Who knows how many more to go.”
Thirty-Nine
Ivy
It seems the count Lothar chose is quite clever himself. He bests Petra’s speed at unraveling the puzzle box, though only by a matter of seconds.
That isn’t anywhere near enough to shake her confidence. She tackles the next two trials with the same cool determination she’s brought to the previous.
And without any significant interference from the scourge sorcerers. Sulla upends one more figure who tries to aim a spell toward the stage, and then there’s nothing further.
