“The Efean rebellion must win.”
“So there is a rebellion. A real one, not just a loudmouthed poet singing the words he thinks will get a girl’s attention.”
“Ro is the voice. He’s not the heart. The rebellion is real. Efea will rise. She is rising now.”
For a frozen moment I await his reply. I hold my breath. Has his transformation into a monster already begun, or is there still a chance?
“Even if I agree, how can an untrained and disorganized rabble of villagers and craftsmen defeat professional soldiers?”
I press a hand over my mouth to stifle a gasp of relief, collect myself, then reply, “Ally with the Efeans, Kal, and they will protect you.”
“You’re asking me to betray my family. My whole life.”
“No. I’m asking you to fight for Efea. Not for me—I don’t mean it like that. You can’t do it for me. You have to believe it’s the right thing for everyone who lives here.” I press a hand to his chest. His heart pulses beneath my palm. “If the Efeans win, you won’t be king. You’ll be free.”
He rests a hand over mine. “Oh, Jes. I’ll never be free. Not as long as I live.”
He breaks off, gaze flashing past me. With the same decisive speed he used in the trial, he presses me against the wall behind him, making his body into a shield.
But it’s too late. The armed men pushing their way through the adversaries and attendants in the retiring hall have seen us. Lord Gargaron has arrived.
27
Your Gracious Majesty, did you really think I would not have you followed?” says Gargaron. He’s flanked to his left by Captain Helias and to his right by Captain Neartos. “Or that I wouldn’t recognize my most promising adversary on the court, even masked and injured as she is? How did you do it, Jessamy? How did you escape the mines?”
I know better than to say anything that might reveal how much of the north the Efean rebellion now controls, so I flash him the kiss-off sign instead. And I look him right in the eye when I do it.
He flushes, whip twitching in his hand, but Kal is in the way. Captain Helias calls me a very rude epithet although I’m too angry to be shamed by words. Captain Neartos smiles, as if my defiance is what he expected.
Kal commands, “Captain Helias, give me your sword.”
Gargaron sighs as a parent does when a child has pettily disobeyed for the hundredth time. “Kalliarkos, it is time to return to the palace. Surely you have done enough for now.”
“Just what is it you think I have done enough of, Uncle?”
“Why, you have courted the loyalty of lowborn Patrons rather than strengthening the ties that bind Garon Palace to our noble brethren like Helias, whose support we need most. Men like General Esladas and his lowborn firebirds never can see where their best interests lie. Such people will always wallow back into the mud where they feel most comfortable.”
Gargaron looks at me, awaiting an imprudent response, but I am in the game. This is trivial, meant to distract me. Instead I carefully check out the retiring hall to confirm my avenues of escape. There are two ways out, and the main staircase is heavily guarded by soldiers wearing Garon livery.
Realizing I don’t intend to answer, Gargaron turns back to Kal.
“This painted mask of righteousness you have assumed is nothing but show, Kalliarkos. You have angered the priestly establishment. I assure you, the royal family and the temples work together, not in opposition.”
“Yes, I think we know how you have worked with the priests, Uncle Gar.”
I nudge Kal’s leg as a warning. To my relief he presses a hand to my arm to reassure me. He’s not going to do anything stupid like announcing Gargaron’s blasphemous crime to an unwilling audience trapped in the retiring hall who might be killed for hearing it.
These Rings are still turning. I step up beside him and make a show of giving Kal a boastful kiss, as if I’m the kind of person who likes to rub my victories into the face of my adversaries. And because I am, Gargaron will believe in it.
Kal is surprised but he doesn’t push me away. Lips by his ear, I whisper, “If you believe the Efean rebellion is the right and just path for Efea, then in five days’ time hold a victory game in the Royal Fives Court. Require all the noble clans to be in attendance. Let a rumor spread that you’re doing it to reintroduce me as your favorite.”
He presses a finger to my palm, then touches his forehead against mine and kisses my lips a final time.
Pulling away, I say to Gargaron, “You haven’t won this trial yet, my lord. You claimed a victory when in fact we are still racing through Rings. I have a new stable I’m training in, one where you can’t touch me. I will win the favor of the crowd, and they will exalt me and give me whatever I want. Even the king.”
“Helias, kill her.”
I’m fast enough that I don’t need an opening but Kal kicks his uncle in the groin anyway. As Gargaron doubles over with a satisfying screech of pain I dart toward the exit, then cut back immediately. Helias chases me; at first he doesn’t see me double back because he’s so sure I’m headed for the stairs that are my only path outside. Instead I race for the ladder back onto the court and I climb.
Behind I hear Kal speak in his most royal tone. “Lord Gargaron, do you really think we came unattended? The Royal Army is loyal to the king of Efea, and they are here with us.”
At the top of the ladder I glance back into the cavernous hall. Among those dressed as attendants, many converge on Kal to protect him. I recognize firebird veteran faces among them.
Helias spots me on the ladder and races after, shoving aside anyone who gets in his way. I pop up onto the Fives court.
The fourth trial is still under way. No one has reached Rings so the crowd’s attention remains focused elsewhere as I roll under the scaffolding of the victory tower. There’s a trapdoor here that leads into the machinery. We all know it’s here. An adversary who descends into the hidden area of the undercourt where the mechanisms turn will be banned forever.
Forever.
But I am running the most consequential Fives trial of my life. I will give up my future as an adversary if I must, so Efea can win.
I hook the latch with my uninjured hand and drag the trapdoor open just as Helias appears on the court. A roil of heat rushes up out of the opening, drenched in the stench of hot oil and rancid sweat.
Seeing me, Helias draws his sword. I slide down the ladder, letting the trapdoor flip shut over my head. It’s dark and hot down here. A single glass-caged flame burns on the other side of the giant horizontal escapement that keeps the Rings spinning on the court. A steady clap clap clap sets the time by which workers push the main wheel that turns the well-oiled gears. Timing is everything. During a trial the Rings cannot falter, nor their rhythm skip, slow, or speed up. I listen, gauging the speed of the giant escapement.