As she looked around the spectators she spotted dozens who must have heard what the colored bands symbolized. They were sporting yellow flags and armbands. None that Carys could see in the crowds displayed blue favors. Her brother’s skill and magnanimity were known far and wide. The people already thought he was a hero. They would be excited to have him as their King.
She hadn’t been flattering Dreus when she assured him he’d make a good ruler—far better than she would. She didn’t have the patience for listening to the grievances of blacksmiths and merchants and lords and soldiers, didn’t have the desire to fix their petty concerns with a royal decree. And when it came to the windmills—she liked the results of the powerful machines, but she had no interest in understanding how they worked or managing the Masters of Light or allocating power allotments to the city.
And even if she was willing to deal with those things, the idea of having armed guards follow her wherever she went sounded horrifying. Andreus liked attention. But every time Carys had to push herself in front to protect her brother she learned anew how painful it was to be seen—and judged. The strap hurt, but those wounds healed. It was the way everyone looked at her—as though she were unworthy of the crown—that made her want to sink into the red bottle and stay there.
People whispered.
They shook their heads, and Carys knew that even if she had not given her promise to keep her brother safe, she would still get those reactions.
Needlepoint and sitting around playing cards or strumming instruments held no fascination for her. A model of feminine decorum she’d never be. She was destined to be the royal disappointment to the kingdom. There was no point in inflicting that on the throne if there was another choice. As long as she got Andreus through whatever these Trials would be, he would keep the kingdom from passing judgment on her.
Carys pushed Nala to a gallop to the south side where the viewing platforms waited. Spectators in the back pushed and jostled to get a glimpse of the noble procession, while the others up front cheered when one of the men competing at the lists was knocked from his horse. The fallen man scrambled to his feet and raced for his sword instead of yielding. Carys didn’t have to watch to know that, for the smaller man, it wouldn’t end well as he faced down a much larger opponent who had ditched his lance in favor of a battle-ax. The promise of the coins or valuable weapons offered to the winners was too tempting for those in need to turn down. They’d rather risk an ax in their throats for the possibility of a better life than survive and be forced to live the lives they currently had.
The procession rounded the back of the platforms as the spectators gasped and then several long seconds of silence descended on the crowd. Quiet in the middle of the tournament meant only one thing.
Death.
The sound of cheering then resumed, signaling the body had been removed and the next contest had begun. Nobles often bet on whether or not competitors would survive the events they participated in. She wondered if they would bet on her and her brother today.
When they reached the viewing platforms, grooms came to take their horses as the Council of Elders’ pages, easy to spot in their all-black attire, informed the nobles of the purpose of the yellow and blue platforms and instructed them to choose a spot on the one representing the successor they hoped would win the crown.
One by one familiar faces from the court hurried toward the platform with the yellow canopy. A few had the decency to look back at Carys with guilt, but most never bothered to glance her way as they pledged their support to her brother.
She then saw Imogen, wrapped in a snow-white cloak, blush as Andreus escorted the seer up the stairs to his platform.
Good, she thought. If the seer and the court openly supported Andreus, it would make it harder for the Council to depose him in favor of Lord Garret. Carys spotted him now, looking at her from the base of the center platform where the Council members sat. Elder Cestrum put his clawed hand on Garret’s broad shoulder and said something to him, but still Garret didn’t move. He just stared at her. His long red hair hung free today and in the sunlight framed his face like the sun.
Carys resisted the urge to smooth her hair or straighten her dress. She wasn’t fifteen anymore and infatuated with the solidly built, skilled nineteen-year-old who had bluntly said her erratic behavior and stupors were an embarrassment to the entire kingdom. She’d admired him for speaking the truth to her face instead of whispering it behind her back and for thinking she was strong enough to handle it. But he was her enemy now, and it was clear by the way Elder Jacobs clapped Garret on the back that he was part of whatever the Council had planned for her and her brother.
Turning toward the steps to the blue platform, Carys stopped short of running smack into the same dark-haired dignitary she’d spotted riding with Elder Ulrich.
“Excuse me, Your Highness,” he said with a smile that softened his sharp, tanned features in a compelling way. “I didn’t mean to get in the way. Although, it seems like I am making a habit of that when it comes to your family.”
“It does seem to be a skill of yours, Lord . . .”
“Errik of the House of Yarxbell, Trade Master of Chinera, and a lot of other titles my father and mother would say are necessary but mean just about nothing to those who don’t live within our borders.” His mocking charm should annoy her. Instead, she was intrigued by his lack of fascination with his own importance.
“Trade Master.” Chinera was at least fifteen hundred leagues away, across the Fire Sea, but she had been schooled thoroughly enough on the power structure of the kingdom to know the Trade Master was a counselor to the King and empowered to speak on his behalf in negotiations beyond the Chinera border. Lord Errik appeared at most only a year or two older than herself. To rise to that position so quickly spoke either of the influence of his family or his skill. Perhaps both. “It’s been at least fifty years since the last Trade Master visited Eden. And your visit was timely for my family. My brother and I owe you thanks for your interference with our mother yesterday. That habit came in useful.”
“It’s always nice to be of service. Although, I have a feeling you would have found a way to solve the problem had I not been so intrusive, Highness.” His deep blue eyes turned serious. “I should probably get out of your way now, unless you’d allow me the honor of escorting you to your platform.”
Carys shook her head as trumpets sounded, signaling that the nobility’s participation in the tournament was about to begin. “I believe the High Lords and visiting dignitaries are to be seated with the Council of Elders in the center. I’m sure they’ll be able to make you comfortable there.”
“I find comfort to be highly overrated, Your Highness.” He offered his arm. “May I have the honor of joining you?”