When we first entered the city with the rest of the Crown’s progress, I wasn’t sure what to expect. Heavy, towering pines of the Iron Range gave way to coarse, earthy fields and cracked riverbeds the further east we got. Montfort was a week’s ride north of the capital, a week and a half from Sjeka and the first-year trials we had just left, and it shared neither city’s natural splendor. While not as dry as the Red Desert by any means, it was certainly more arid and cool.
But what Montfort lacked in beauty it more than made up for in mass. The great city was famous for its architects, and the moment I spotted it from the road, I knew I was in for a shock.
Even two miles from the start of the city’s residence, I could see the giant slabs of the Candidacy’s arena towering above the rest. Like a giant stone mouth that longed to tear out the sky. The raised seats and spectator towers were easily fifteen houses tall from their lowest peaks.
The rest of the city was a bit simpler in nature—large square buildings and simple housing, flat roofs and rectangular windows, heavy curtains and chipped bricks in simple sun-dried mud, and the occasional stone-and-mortar mix. One raised building stood out among the rest: a steep dome roof supported by heavily decorated columns and smoothed walls, but even it paled next to the city’s central feature.
Our horses kicked up loose dust as they made their way through the streets. I was stunned by the crowds. Every which way we moved were great herds of people, lowborn and highborn alike, flooding the markets and knocking on doors. That wasn’t all; outside the city limits had been canvas tents as far as the eye could see.
As our tracks slowed, both Paige and Darren’s guard, Henry, pressed closer to our side. The herald—who had been busy entertaining two women in our progress—broke free to blow his horn and proclaim our arrival to the crowd. In truth it did little—there was nowhere for the people to go.
“Like a bay of pigs, and just as brainless,” Paige griped under her breath.
Wren giggled as I hid a smile. In the past three weeks the young princess and I had become close.
In some ways, she was the little sister I’d never had. Sweet—always saving me the last candied figs in our evening meals—and easy to laugh in a way that I was not, especially at my guard whom she had deemed “charming.”
Wren was such a change from my loud, raucous brothers and their constant slew of insults and insatiable bellies. She didn’t seem to mind my lowborn upbringing, and preferred my company to the rest of the court. She was a bit shy around Blayne, but that could have been their difference in age. Knowing what had happened to my best friend, I’d made it a point to ask about their wedding night when we were alone, and she had all but blushed furiously in reply.
Since the girl hadn’t paled or given any sign of terror I took that to be a sign that Blayne had truly grown since the incident with my best friend. That, and I’d requested her ladies-in-waiting report any bruises or marks marring her skin. I might trust the prince a bit more since the night in the old queen’s chambers, but I was determined to do everything I could to ensure what happened to Ella never happened to another girl again.
“Fresh from this morn’! You won’t get a better deal if you try!”
Our progress fought its way past the merchants to the ornate building I had admired before. As the hostlers appeared I realized it was where the Crown and its most important court would reside for the time being. Baron Cuthbert’s manor.
The king’s scholars confirmed it a moment later as they detailed our visit.
“During the last Candidacy it is estimated one-fifth of Jerar came out to watch, and with the Crown’s own son a contender at present we expect close to a third.” The man cleared his throat. “Not to discount the foreign embassies from Caltoth, the Borea Isles, and, of course, the Pythian court.”
“That many visitors?” I squeaked.
Darren edged closer to lean into my ear. “Nervous, love?”
I rolled my eyes in jest, but in truth I was terrified. Hundreds of thousands of visitors. Every one of the stadium’s seats. Filled.
And here you just thought they built it that big to look pretty.
Wait.
Caltothian embassy? I grabbed Darren’s arm. “Caltothians?”
“You didn’t know?” Darren took me by the hand, slowly edging along the standing crowd to peer at the back of the crowd, and tilted his head to the right. A stranger stood, engaged in conversation with a man who could only be Princess Shinako’s father, Emperor Liang.
The man was tall and broad-shouldered, with curly, brown hair that fell to his shoulders. Foreboding, too—with cynical blue eyes that read the room in an instant. Self-assured, and not remotely perturbed to be surrounded by a room of potential enemies. I found myself wondering how he had found the courage to face the Crown in the light of what his kinsmen had done.
“Lord Tyrus of Gyr.” Darren lowered his voice. “It’s tradition to send invitations to each court, but for Caltoth it’s little more than formality. Given the state of things I don’t think anyone expected King Horrace to send a man. But perhaps with the New Alliance he is willing to make a bid for peace.”
I snorted.