At the main entrance, a khawaga held a snapping, growling dog by its scruff. I stared at it while Wes walked up to the khawaga. Would Ayume’s dogs have sniffed around the lake’s edge, pawing for Timur’s corpse? Timur, who had loved his family enough to kill for them.
The sole adornment to the drab castle was on the double doors leading inside. A green-horned bull glowered as we approached, towering over us. My whole body could fit inside one of its flared nostrils. The bull’s three tails stretched from one door to the other.
Three khawaga hurled their weight against the door, and it reluctantly yawned open to admit us. “The Supreme stays on the second floor,” the khawaga grunted, eyeing the guards. “Do not wander.”
Reed carpets crunched beneath us as we headed to the stairs. King Murib certainly adhered to Orban’s spirit of frugality. Not a single tapestry or jewel decorated the walls. The stairs groaned under our feet.
Jeru and Wes took their stations on either side of the door. Inside the room, twelve chairs circled a rectangular table. The lanterns were shaped into Orban’s bull, half its body coming out of the wall while a candle flickered in its gaping mouth. The servants lit the candles sitting along the table, bathing the room in an orange glow.
“Champion,” a servant called. He pointed at a chair three seats away from the head of the table. “For you.”
I took my seat and stayed still while the servants buzzed around me, laying out platters of rolled grape leaves, seasoned oxtail, and greasy ox hooves. Orbanian culture did not center around creative agriculture like in Omal. They ate what their soil produced, mainly dense grains and spring vegetables. Meat in Orban was a delicacy few could afford.
“Sylvia.” I flicked my gaze from the empty plate. Arin had slid into the seat across from me. The door opened before the Nizahl Heir could speak.
“Excellent. You are both already here,” Supreme Rawain said.
Violet ribbons weaved a complicated pattern on the front of his billowing robes, and each sleeve ended with Nizahl’s royal seal emblazoned across the cuff. His ringed fingers closed around his scepter. The ensemble did not suit Orban’s humble setting in the least. He took a seat at the head of the table. A servant went to close the door.
“Leave it. I am expecting another guest,” Rawain ordered. “What a day. Murib speaks far too much for someone with little worth saying. Vaida could sing him off a cliff with two notes.” The servant left a miswak next to each of our plates. Supreme Rawain tapped the tooth-cleaning stick against the table. “In the event a Champion does not escape Ayume during the first trial, Murib usually keeps a khawaga waiting on the cliff through the night. If the rope is untouched by dawn, the khawaga finds a better use of their time than waiting on a dead Champion. Did you see the Lukub Champion in Ayume at all, Sylvia?”
“No, my liege.” I focused on a point past Supreme Rawain’s shoulder.
My liege, Hanim repeated in disgust.
Rawain shook his head, leaning his scepter against the chair. “Vaida is insisting Murib leave a khawaga at the cliff another day. Murib is bowing to her will. Asinine. Anything crawling over that cliff’s edge will be slain on sight.”
A rapping at the door drew a smile from Rawain. “Ah, the last member of our company has arrived.”
The door opened, and I glimpsed the identical alarm on Wes and Jeru’s faces seconds before Vaun entered the room.
The Nizahl guardsman bowed deeply. “Your Highness. Commander.”
A quick glance at Arin confirmed he was as surprised to see his former guardsman here as Wes and Jeru were.
“Vaun, sit. You and Sylvia are well acquainted already, yes?”
A pronounced limp slowed Vaun’s gait, and he eased himself into a chair between Arin and the Supreme with a wince. “Yes, sire. We are.” The Nizahl guardsman finally looked at me. Instead of the loathing I expected, vindictive glee animated Vaun.
This isn’t right, Hanim said. Rawain does not remember the names of guardsmen. He does not invite them to a private supper two kingdoms away.
“Sylvia was going to tell us how she finished the first trial,” Rawain said. He peered into his chalice, taking an experimental sip. He grimaced. “I am especially curious to hear how you climbed a rope with poisoned sap clotted on your palm.”
Arin’s plate remained untouched. I held his gaze as my cuffs tightened, my magic chasing the emptiness back to its dark corner. Only one possible piece of information could compel Rawain to invite Vaun against Arin’s wishes.
Rawain suspected I was a Jasadi. Why else ask such a pointed question about the first trial?
Strangely, I found the prospect thrilling. Let him suspect I was his enemy. Let Vaun’s accusation cut a place in his head and carve my name into his skull. I had lived in the maw of discovery almost my entire life, simply waiting for its teeth to close. But now… fear had spent its currency, and a more dangerous power paved the road ahead.
I smiled brightly at Supreme Rawain. “I climbed it the same way I would have without poisoned sap, just with more screaming. Sire.”
Ah, I had missed Vaun’s furious glare. His reliably terrible presence undid some of the damage I had wrought unto myself after Rawain’s visit.
Rawain laughed, causing Arin and Vaun’s heads to whip toward him. “My apologies for a silly question.” He unrolled a grape leaf, evaluating the seasoned rice inside. He tried to rewrap it. “You were in a distressing state when you reached us. My son reduced several medics to tears.”
“His Highness has been diligent in preparing me for the Alcalah.” I could play at pleasant if it would prove Vaun a liar. “I would have hated to waste his efforts in the very first trial.”
“Yes, he is quite particular about such matters. Too particular, sometimes. But I could not have hoped for a more accomplished Commander.”
Arin inclined his head in acknowledgment. His unease was obvious, at least to me—he’d carved the tip of the miswak into a point.
“How did the sap adhere to you?” Vaun said. “I expressly recall His Highness cautioning you against leaning on the trees.”
I lifted a shoulder. Vaun wanted some incriminating answer he could pounce on.
“Fear renders memory obsolete. I reacted on instinct and suffered for the error.”
“You were the last Champion to emerge, a full hour after the Omal Champion. How is it the air did not send you to sleep?” Vaun pressed.
Arin slowly turned his head to stare at his guard. Vaun quailed, shrinking in his seat like a reprimanded child.
“I tied a cloth around my mouth and nose to slow its progress. I am a chemist’s apprentice,” I informed Rawain. “I recognized the odor.”
“Absolutely astonishing.” Rawain leaned back in his seat. He cupped the scepter, running his thumb over the delicate glass orb at the center. “It reminds me of the Alcalah twelve years ago. The Jasad Champion bewitched the rope into lifting him over the bluff. The other Champions were furious at the injustice, of course. The Alcalah has been vastly more interesting with four competitors, since strength decides the Victor instead of happenstance of birth.”