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The arena was so quiet, you could hear a pin drop.
Nycati’s voice rang out. “Today I ask the Dominion to return the Wrath of Fire to me.”
Silence stretched for a long, torturous breath.
“Your request is granted,” the Sovereign announced.
Resven rose, holding a carved wooden box in his hands.
Sean formed a stairway between the stage and the throne crag. Nycati marched up the stairs, each step a resolute statement. Resven met him halfway.
The screens zoomed in, capturing every minute movement in great detail.
Nycati opened the box and took out a circlet. It was a delicate half-moon of pale metal, two arms of twisted metal branches with fine leaves linked by a thin chain in the back. In the middle, where the branches met over the wearer’s forehead, a large jewel glinted with white fire. Something one of Tolkien’s High Elves might have seen in a dream.
Gingerly, Nycati raised the circlet in front of him and looked at it.
“Why is he hesitating?” Karat murmured.
“It will kill an imposter,” Caldenia said. “The Wrath of Fire will accept him only if he belongs to the bloodline.”
Nycati’s entire life culminated in this moment. If it were me up there, standing with the crown of the family I never knew in my hands, I would be wondering if the people who had raised me had been lying to me all along. There would be no do-overs.
Nycati took a deep breath and placed the circlet on his head.
The jewel flashed with red, as if a miniature volcano erupted in its depths. Nycati’s body jerked back, rigid. His arms flexed, his hands clamped into fists. He raised his head to the sky and screamed, his eyes swirling with gem fire.
A surge of magic shot from him, straight up, like a banner being raised, so intense my teeth rattled in my jaw.
Gertrude Hunt quaked, shuddering. I planted my staff into the floor and pulsed my magic through the inn, comforting, soothing, reassuring.
A pillar of glowing fire engulfed Nycati, humming like a high-voltage wire. He was screaming, his face a twisted mask of pain, but no sound came.
I strained, spinning my power around him, trying to minimize the impact.
The magic blinked and vanished. Nycati stumbled, suddenly released, caught himself, and raised his head.
The gem had turned a rich amber, swirling with deeper shades of golden brown. The exact color of Nycati’s eyes.
The white robe slid off the prince’s body, revealing pale battle armor underneath.
“The Dominion greets the Isarott,” the Sovereign said.
And Kosandion had just officially recognized him as the ruler of East Gaheas. There would be war.
Nycati opened his mouth. Magic rolled from him, a whisper of tightly contained power. “The Isarott greets the Dominion.”
He turned and descended the stairs. The Gaheas delegation rose as one and followed him down the ramp from their section, across the bridge, and to the portal. A few more breaths and they were gone.
“We will take a short recess!” Gaston announced.
“In fifth place, finishing with the second lowest score,” Gaston said, “is…Lady Bestata of House Meer.”
Bestata’s scores appeared on the screens. The strength of her military was off the charts compared to Nycati’s. Her knights were well trained and disciplined, her bowmen had technologically advanced weapons, and her fortresses were a marvel of military engineering. But all of that came at a cost. Her population was literate and had a good grasp of mathematics, but her arts and humanities were practically non-existent. She’d invested the bare minimum into religion, which somehow made her medicine and life expectancy lag behind. Her economy was stumbling. Her population was disciplined and patriotic, but they were not happy.
I really thought she would’ve scored higher, given that she was clearly winning the war with Amphie, but the Dominion must’ve placed a lot of value on quality of life.
Bestata wasn’t happy either. Her trademark sneer was back, and she looked like she wanted to cut someone’s head off. House Meer formed up behind her, as if they were about to storm Kosandion on his throne.
“Wars are expensive,” Dagorkun said.
“Especially the way she fights them,” Karat said. “This has been most illuminating.”
“Would you like a recording of her game?” I asked.
Karat’s eyes sparked. “I wouldn’t like it. I would love it. You know who else will love it?”
“Lord Soren?”
She grinned and nodded. “My father will be most pleased. Why, he might even crack a smile.”
“You should make preparations in case his face breaks.”
She chuckled.
Dagorkun leaned around Karat to look at me.
“Of course, Under-Khan, I will send you home with a copy as well.”
“Thank you. My mother will find it very useful.”
“Honoring one’s parents is paramount,” Karat said.
“Yes. It is our sacred duty.”
They shared a look.
House Meer had managed to achieve the impossible. The Horde and the Holy Anocracy would unite for a chance to kick their asses.
“What would you ask of the Dominion?” Kosandion said.
