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As he escorted them through the Castra, the gossip began. The corridors were busy with lords and the few of their ladies who had braved Patria—everyone important, trusted, or mistrusted enough for Flavian to keep them close instead of relegating them to the camp.
Cassia knew the character of such courtiers well. Theirs were the cutting tongues that had abused the king’s bastard her whole life. That was how she had learned to feed them the rumors she wished them to spread for her.
They parted to make way for Solia, their whispers following her. Who was the mysterious lady with the sword and royal purple gown, her face and hair hidden in a golden veil? Who was the foreign suitor radiating charm at her side?
Who was the visiting princess riding a mythical cat, bedecked in indigo and silver? Who was the priestess from afar, wielding her staff with dignity, resplendent in her vibrant robe and headwrap?
The only thing any of them could say with certainty was that Lady Cassia had returned from Orthros. How different their whispers were now. Returned alive…noble mission…Kyria’s maiden emissary… Cassia suppressed a bitter laugh. She had gone from whore’s daughter to divine virgin in their eyes.
Little did they know she was neither, but a proud heretic. She reached for Lio’s presence, but the feeling of him so near and yet out of reach made her mouth go dry with thirst.
The greatest challenge of the day would not be hiding her sister’s identity until the right moment. It would be hiding her own Craving.
The sun blazed down on the tournament field from a cloudless blue sky, sending a prickle of sweat over Cassia’s skin. When Ben showed Solia’s party to her box, Cassia was grateful to take her seat. The knight joined Flavian, who took the presiding place across the field from them, his box bedecked in the blue and gold of Tenebra, rather than the darker Segetian gold.
Cassia bristled at the sight. That was one of her suggestions, that he downplay his side of the feud and align himself with Tenebra as a whole. Seeing her glare, he gave her a bow. She returned a cold smile and unfurled Solia’s banner, letting it drape over the railing in front of her sister. Gasps and wild theories traveled through the crowd that was filling the wooden stands.
Cassia held her breath, waiting to see if Flavian would seize control and unmask her sister. But he said nothing, apparently willing to play along for the time being, if only to keep his unopposed status for as long as he could.
Trumpets sounded, and Flavian stood to say a few rousing words. It took very little to stir the excited crowd into a frenzy. Boots pounded in the stands, Tenebrans’ form of applause. Cassia played her role and stamped along with them, the rhythm making her own tension pound higher.
But Solia sat forward in her seat, her posture alive with interest. Cassia should have known. Solia had never cared for tournaments when Cassia had been a girl, but that had been a lifetime ago—before Solia was a Victor of Souls.
“You live for this sort of thing, don’t you?” Cassia tried not to let her apprehension through in her voice.
“You have no idea how tempted I am!” Solia exclaimed. “I could humiliate every man who competes today.”
“That, dear sister, is precisely what I am afraid of. Do not get any ideas.”
Solia held up a hand. “I know. They must crown me in skirts before I can spring my sword on them. What is the prize, though? It’s sure to be generous on such a sacred day, when the political stakes are so high.”
“According to Ben, an estate and the privilege of lighting the festival bonfire. The lands are small, within Lord Flavian’s father’s power to grant without the king’s permission. But they come with a title.”
Solia cursed. “I’d love to pluck that plum off of Segetia and revert it to the crown. But even more, I would relish the looks on everyone’s faces if I lit the bonfire with my bare hands.”
“You may not. But I fully intend for that prize to be ours today.”
“Hmm,” said Tuura from Cassia’s left, “as entertaining as it would be to make an impression on these louts with my staff, I think it would send the wrong message about my intentions as a mind healer.”
Kella leaned around Solia and Hoyefe to look at Cassia. “Please tell me cats are allowed during the mounted combat.”
“I’m afraid not.” Cassia glanced across to Hoyefe. “Fencing, however, is most certainly allowed.”
Hoyefe put a hand to the hilt of his curved sword. “I would be delighted—if my First Blade approves.”
“Your First Blade insists!” Kella clapped her hands. “I hereby appoint you to show the shadowlanders what the Ashes are made of.”
Solia withdrew a purple handkerchief from her sleeve and cast Cassia a quizzical glance. “I take it that’s what this is for?”
“Care to make Hoyefe your champion today?” Cassia asked.
With a flourish, Solia presented Hoyefe with the handkerchief. “Lonesome, go forth and humiliate them on my behalf and become the first Imperial with a title and land in Tenebra.”
“I make no promises to revert it to the crown. I have a new theater production to fund, after all.”
“I wouldn’t dream of robbing you of your prize,” Solia promised.
“In that case, it will be my pleasure.” He gestured to the first challengers. “Shadow, whom do you recommend I start with?”
