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Ouch.
A long shoot slithered out from the large Dushegub in the front row of their section.
Bestata kept going. “It is unfortunate that you have been raised for the sole purpose of trapping a male with your looks, but you don’t have to be just pretty fruit on the vine.”
She was killing it with puns.
The shoot coiled on itself in a tight spiral.
“At least I’m pretty,” Unessa said.
“Thank the gods for that,” Bestata snarled. “Nature had to give you something to compensate for your boiled egg brain.”
The shoot snapped out, launching a projectile into the air. Sean and I moved at the same time.
A pit appeared in the middle of the arena floor, sucking the projectile into itself. Long flexible tentacles erupted from inside the pit, grabbed the Dushegub, wrapped him up like a mummy, and pulled him into the hole.
The arena went silent.
A single breath passed, and then the stands erupted.
The Donkamins made a weird ululating noise. The otrokar stomped their feet. House Meer stood up and clapped, roaring. The oombole section turned into a 4th of July fireworks show with colors and fins flashing in a dizzying display.
The Dushegubs hissed and creaked in unison. Unessa wrinkled her nose and hissed at Bestata. The vampire knight sneered and bared her spectacular fangs.
Sean slid the pit toward the killer trees, the tentacles hovering straight up, waiting to snatch the next troublemaker.
I rolled my voice through the arena. I didn’t scream, I didn’t raise it, but it sounded loud, and it was everywhere.
“No interference with the trials will be tolerated.”
The Dushegubs fell silent.
The First Scholar spread his wings, calling for silence. When the arena complied, he leaned forward and spoke to Unessa. “Do you have a rebuttal?”
Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t told I had to bring one with me.”
Bestata spread her arms and looked around at the audience.
“Very well,” the First Scholar said. “This debate is concluded.”
Unessa raised her chin and shot a triumphant look at the Dushegubs.
“You didn’t win, idiot!” someone yelled from the otrokar section.
Kosandion covered his face with his hand, hiding his expression.
Unessa turned toward the First Scholar.
“While crudely voiced, the assessment is undeniably accurate,” he told her. “Neither of you will be the winner of this debate.”
She spun on her heel and marched back to her section, her hands clenched into fists.
Neither Unessa nor Bestata seemed likely to assassinate Kosandion. Subtlety wasn’t their strong suit. If either of those two targeted the Sovereign, it would be a direct assault. The way he spoke about it suggested a cunning hidden enemy.
“Instead of attacking the question, the knight attacked her opponent,” Resven said.
“She holds her in contempt,” Miralitt said.
Resven raised his eyebrows, but Miralitt didn’t elaborate.
Kosandion glanced at me. He was Caldenia’s nephew, so he knew perfectly well why Bestata reacted the way she did, but he wanted a public explanation. Perhaps it was for the viewers at home.
“The Holy Anocracy prizes personal excellence,” I told them. “They strive for a life of individual achievement. Bestata had to train and fight since she could walk. She knows she can kill Unessa in individual combat without even raising her heart rate. Now she also knows that Unessa’s thinking is underdeveloped. From her point of view, the Dushegub candidate is a useless, pretty thing unworthy of her sincere effort. She refused to dignify her with an actual debate.”
“What is your opinion of Unessa?” Kosandion asked me.
Put me on the spot, why don’t you? “The way she speaks and what she says indicates that she was raised by the Dushegubs from an early age. Anyone who can survive that shouldn’t be underestimated.”
Bestata was confusing education and cleverness. Unessa might have had limited exposure to the humanoid society and its complexities, but she had rebutted Bestata’s argument, even if she didn’t know the proper word for it, while Bestata had nothing to counter with and resorted to insults.
Where did the Dushegubs find a humanoid child? Did they buy her? Did they steal her? Were there more like her?
It was time to bounce the light again. I stopped it on the Kai. Prysen Ol rose, swept his layered robe back with an elegant gesture, and descended the ramp. He always held himself with a quiet dignity. Even as he was walking now, his steps were small, and his right arm was bent at the elbow and held across his body. It was all very deliberate and restrained.
Self-control would be an excellent quality for an assassin.
Prysen Ol touched an orb. The insects spiraled out, floated over to the Gaheas, and danced around Nycati’s purple hair, matching the golden diadem on his head. The Gaheas candidate stood up, a flawless movement, and took the ramp to arena floor.
An appreciative murmur spread through the spectators and died down.
“Interesting,” Resven observed. “Those two appear well matched.”
I had looked through the footage from yesterday’s dinner, and something caught my eye. On paper, Nycati came from a scholar family, aristocratic, but mid-ranking, and all appearances indicated that he was selected to be their candidate for his merits and achievements. The head of the Gaheas delegation, Naeoma Thaste, was the equivalent of a duke, one step removed from the royal family. He outranked Nycati by a mile.
