She could feel his eyes on her – deliberate and needling. But she didn’t look back. Refused to give him the satisfaction. She scanned the stalls for Alys instead. She’d met cocky Thorne soldiers before – plenty of them. But this one? He’d somehow elevated arrogance to an art form. He’d irritated her on purpose to watch her reaction. She shook her head. The City was large, and there were so many people here. She wouldn’t run into him again. As she walked on, she caught sight of a young couple leaning close, laughing together, steaming cups of spiced milk in hand. They were gazing at each other as though no one else existed. Kara watched them for a moment, a dull ache settling in her chest.
She would never look at Henry Caldris like that.
Finally, she spotted Alys fascinated by a book stall, where the Caldris vendor was enchanting large volumes to turn pages of their own accord, reshaping the words into different languages as she commanded.
“Alys!”
Her cousin turned at the sound of her name and flounced over, now proudly wearing the Durent hairpin tucked into her curls.
“You got the hairpin then?” Kara asked, gesturing to it.
“It’s gorgeous, isn’t it!” Alys gushed, laying a hand on it. “Where have you been?”
“I bumped into a Thorne. A particularly cocky one.”
Alys wrinkled her nose. “Ugh, typical. Did he show you his blade?” she teased.
“Worse. Apparently, I was overcome by his charm and flung myself at him.”
Alys looked scandalised. “They think just because they can fight, they’re irresistible.”
“Exactly. And this one had the face to match the ego – which somehow made it worse.”
“The pretty ones are always impossible,” Alys agreed.
Kara laughed. “He might have been tolerable if he didn’t talk.”
“At least he didn’t ask you to spar with him,” Alys said cheerfully, “That’s their idea of flirting.”
“No.” She glanced back – once – to check the alleyway was now empty. It was. “But I did tell him to read more.”
“You told a Thorne soldier to read more?”
Kara shrugged. “Seemed relevant at the time.”
Alys dissolved into giggles. “Only you, Kara.”
“Anyway,” Kara said, looking around them. “I’m starving. Shall we get something to eat?”
Alys pointed across the square. “I passed a Sorrel bakery over there.”
“Sounds good.”
Alys led the way, the delicious scent of the warm bread and sugared cakes filling the air. Behind them, unnoticed in the crowd, the dark-haired man in crimson watched the two women disappear towards the bakery. He turned away, smiling to himself.
CHAPTER 3
THE CASTING OF THE ARCALON
The Shards of the Arcanth will be secured at the border where two House regions meet, its magic sustaining both. Earth to Sorrel and Durent. Water to Navyr and Lyra. Air to Hale and Caldris. Fire to Thorne and Fatàn.
–The Arcanth Accords, Articles III-VII
The next morning, Kara and Alys joined the other delegates en route to the Arcalon arena, the path crowded with a sea of cloaks of every colour – Durent amber leading the way. The instructions had been clear. House formal wear required. Creststone visible. No late arrivals. The great stone arena rose ahead of them – vast circular pale walls stark against the brightening sky. Banners of the eight Houses rippled gently in the wind. Around her, other delegates were chattering, full of nervous excitement. A Navyrian next to her was loudly hoping that the Water trial would open this year’s tournament. She spotted Henry walking ahead with the other Caldris delegates, all cloaked in ice-white. He’d arrived last night by carriage. Not by valmare. He hadn’t sought her out, and for that she’d been grateful. There was a familiar face in the Sorrel delegation too – Anya. She looked happy. Confident. Anya had left Hale at seventeen when her magic awakened – yellow, not emerald – so she’d sworn her oath to Sorrel instead. It was unusual, but respected. It had to be. Kara had watched her leave. Anya hadn’t realised how lucky she was.
“What’s wrong?” Alys asked shrewdly.
“Getting nervous,” Kara lied. Alys peered up at the arena, now looming in front of them.
