The hair on her arms prickled and Roh wrenched herself from the song of the current. She had forgotten where she was, but the increasing hum of the crowd forced her to turn back to where judgement awaited them. Her stomach churned as she surveyed the tiered seating of the stands, which seemed fuller, thousands of unfamiliar faces watching her and the others, a mix of lilac eyes full of anticipation. All around Roh, the competitors were gathering themselves, wrenched from the height of the hunt and the enclosed forest to this starkly open space. Applause broke out as Finn Haertel, his face contorted in pain, began to limp towards the podium, his boar on a spear held up by himself and his human. Roh eyed the bloodied bandages on Finn’s foot. Her hand went to the dried blood itching her cheek. A shredded foot for a cut face … Perhaps it had been a fair exchange.
There was no sign of the human Odi had found impaled on the stakes, nor his master, the kitchen hand, Ferron. They spotted Darden Crezat following close behind Finn; though he was covered in blood, he was seemingly uninjured. But behind him, he dragged his unconscious human across the ground by his shirt. The crowd gasped in unison from the stands. The human’s arm was missing, the joint at his shoulder no more than a bloody pulp.
Roh’s throat went dry.
‘Did you do that?’ Odi whispered to her.
‘What? Are you mad?’ she hissed back, watching assistants come forward to take the maimed human, his sandals dragging behind him in the dirt. Roh couldn’t look away, not until the poor man was out of sight.
She could feel Odi shaking beside her. ‘The bracelet … The things we stole as bait, and the poison from my wine.’
Roh started towards the marshalling area, all too aware of the competitors doing the same around her and the crowd’s eyes on her. ‘Coral larkspur doesn’t do that,’ she said, teeth clenched.
‘You said it can cause death.’
‘In large doses. The few drops I rubbed on those possessions was nothing.’
‘Well, what does it do, then?’ Odi walked beside her, the limp bird still slung over his arm.
‘Funny, you weren’t asking questions in the forest, were you?’
‘What does it do?’ he pressed.
Roh looked around and pointed. ‘That.’
Odi followed the line of her finger to the podium in the marshalling area, where the highborn Savalise Vinnet was waving her hands frantically as she argued heatedly with Elder Winslow Ward. She motioned flippantly to her human, who was slumped at her feet, disoriented, covered in a nasty rash.
‘She’s alive, is she not?’ Savalise said loudly. ‘Therefore I have done my duty. I have fulfilled the obligations of the tournament rules.’ Savalise’s catch, a sizeable fish, hung dead at her belt.
But Elder Ward’s gaze was locked on the human, who gave a moan of pain.
‘Your duty was to keep your human unharmed and whole. She is not fit for anything. You are eliminated from the tournament.’
‘No. She is fine. She —’
Elder Ward was already walking away, completely disinterested in Savalise’s pleas as commotion sounded and the bleat of a terrified animal echoed throughout the cavernous space. The army leader, Miriald Montalle, caught up with the rest, wrangling a live deer with a length of rope.
Another cheer sounded from the crowd as Yrsa reached the podium. Roh’s brows shot up in surprise. A rope hung between Yrsa and her young human, sporting an array of smaller game: numerous klyree, fish and strange small birds.
So this is how it will be determined, Roh realised. By weight, not size …
‘Clever,’ she murmured, glancing back at Yrsa and her game as the attendants transported it into a tent that had been erected by the stands. Feeling uneasy, Roh continued to size up her competitors and their prizes. Neith had a single klyree, Zokez’s human carried a goat of sorts, while Estin and Arcelia both had small geese. Roh spotted the other lowborn competitor, Lillas. Both she and her human were dazed, their faces and arms covered in a savage rash that seemed to spread before her eyes. They would not be making it to the next trial.
Roh swallowed. While she had not permanently harmed anyone, she may as well have signed a death sentence for the humans. They would be turned out into the passageways of Saddoriel and left to face the lure of the lair. A slower, crueller death, perhaps. She knew of no tale where humankind survived Talon’s Reach alone.
More attendants appeared at the competitors’ sides to collect their prizes, bringing them to a giant set of scales inside the tent. A female cyren took the bird from Odi, its strange feathers ruffling against her shoulder as she walked away.
Neither the competitors nor the crowd could determine anything from this process, with the scales and prizes hidden from view, no doubt to protect the sensitive sensibilities of highborns who were perhaps not used to seeing their meals in this form. It took forever, or so it seemed to Roh, whose stomach was churning more uncomfortably with each passing moment. She needed to know, had they done enough to keep their place in the tournament? Her scattered mind took her through a series of unpleasant what-ifs: What if they hadn’t made it? What if she had to return to the bone-cleaning workshop a failure? What if she had betrayed Harlyn and Orson for nothing? What if one of them had competed rather than her? Would they have been better? Would they have —
The crowd was buzzing with excitement once more and Roh turned, realising why. Bloodwyn Haertel had taken to the podium, a roll of parchment in her hand and her hard gaze surveying the competitors, then the cyrens in the stands.
‘A valiant effort from our competitors,’ Elder Haertel said, making a show of looking at each of the battle-worn cyrens below her. ‘Your methods were, for the most part … inspired.’
With her talons extended, Elder Haertel unfurled the parchment and scanned its contents.
‘The victor of this trial,’ she said slowly, fuelling the hunger of the crowd with her deliberate pause, ‘is Yrsa Ward. Ward’s catch tallied to the most weight, and she has provided an extensive bounty for tonight’s feast. Congratulations, Yrsa.’
The applause that followed was thunderous. Roh felt the ground beneath her boots tremble. She looked to the stands, where thousands of lilac eyes were filled with awe. Cyrens called Yrsa’s name, and some threw flowers at her feet. To Roh’s right, Yrsa Ward took to the podium and bowed gracefully, her gaze falling upon her uniformed partner at the forefront of the crowd.
The elder inclined her head to the highborn before returning to the parchment. ‘Miriald Montalle’s deer was next, followed by Finn Haertel’s boar.’
More cheering erupted, echoing in Roh’s ears long after it had faded.
‘Alas, in order to have victors we must also have losers …’
Roh focused on her breathing. A steady inhale through her nose, then a quiet, slow exhale through her mouth.
‘Eliminated from the tournament are: Ferron and Lillas from the Lower Sector, Darden Crezat from the Mid Sector and Savalise Vinnet from the —’
‘Elder Haertel,’ Savalise ventured, her voice honeyed. ‘I’d like to challenge —’
Bloodwyn Haertel’s gaze was steely and unblinking. ‘You failed,’ she said, her words cutting clean through the objection like a hot blade. ‘Your human was to remain unharmed throughout the tournament.’
‘But —’
A subtle arch of one brow was all it took to silence the highborn. There would be no more protests. Visibly swallowing her fear, Savalise bowed her head and backed away from the steps of the podium. The debate, if one could call it that, was over.
But that didn’t matter to Roh. Nothing did other than one single fact.
‘We made it,’ she whispered. ‘We … we made it.’ She saw Odi’s whole body sag with relief. She could sympathise with that; she too felt relief, but it meant so much more than that to her. Turning her eyes to the crowd, Roh searched for the two familiar faces she knew would ground her. Harlyn and Orson would be there, no doubt jumping up and down, hysterical with joy at her small victory
. Roh had done what she had to, to get through the trial and it had paid off. She was one step closer to the coral crown and now she wanted to revel in that feeling, just for a moment, to celebrate the achievement with those who knew her best. But it was Ames’ eyes that latched onto her and stared back. From the lower tier of the stands, her mentor’s expression was unreadable.
Is he disappointed I didn’t win outright? Is he proud I made it to the next round? Ames gave nothing away.
Elder Haertel had stepped down from the podium and was now addressing the remaining competitors. ‘Tonight at the twentieth hour, the feast will be held for the victors in the Queen’s Conservatory,’ she was saying. ‘Until then, you are encouraged to return to your chambers and use the time to see to any … injuries.’ She said the last word with a pointed look at Finn Haertel’s bandaged foot. Was that disappointment in her eyes?
‘Dismissed.’
When Roh looked up to find Ames again, he had disappeared as the spectators dissipated, breaking from the stands and into the marshalling area, spilling like a river through floodgates. Roh was jostled roughly and she grabbed hold of Odi. She wasn’t going to let him out of her sight amongst all of this. She pulled him by the wrist through the throngs. Cyrens were clambering to get to the victor and runners-up; Roh was invisible to them, and for once she was grateful for that fact. She found a quiet spot on the edge of the stands, waiting for the excitement to die down.
Odi slumped against the stone column behind him, letting his head fall back and rest there, eyes closed. Roh knew the feeling, yet she wouldn’t let her guard down, not here amidst all these vipers. One last time, she craned her neck, trying to find Harlyn and Orson, but the stands had emptied. Only a few stragglers remained, none of whom Roh recognised, and without the presence of the highborn victors, the lingering spectators’ curiosity turned to Roh and Odi.
She pulled at Odi’s shirt. ‘Time to go.’
Roh stared at the clothes that had been laid out for her on the bed. Loose-fitting linen pants and a lace-trimmed camisole, with a colourful silken robe to be layered on top. A new jewelled belt to cinch the whole outfit together lay next to the luxurious fabrics. Roh glanced back to her own clothes in a pile at the foot of her bed – her muddy boots, dirt-spattered pants and the droplets of blood on her once-white shirt. The highborn fashions taunted her. As did the scabbed cut on her cheek. It ran through her old scar, creating a zigzag of disfigurement across her face.
She got dressed while Odi was in the bathing chambers, willing herself to relax now they were in the safety of their rooms. But she couldn’t shake the events of the day from her mind: the jagged coral swinging at her face, the human impaled on the sticks, the man whose arm had been maimed … After all that, they were expected to dine opposite each other? It was some sort of sick joke. Not even the thought of Finn Haertel’s cut-up foot could salvage her mood. She felt restless, an uneasy churning still roiling in her gut.
At last, Odi emerged from the bathing chamber, hair dripping, a towel slung across his hips. Roh averted her gaze. ‘You didn’t want to change in the bathing room?’
‘I left my clothes out here.’
She didn’t reply; instead, she busied herself cinching the jewelled belt around her waist. She willed herself not to blush. It seemed incredibly intimate, not to mention unnecessary, to have a shirtless human wandering around her sleeping quarters, piquing her curiosity. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen one of the male cyrens without a shirt on; she had been in all-female quarters for years now. While Odi was a little on the scrawny side, his frame was corded with lean muscle. The job he did in the human world was clearly a physical one.
To Roh’s relief, Odi scooped up his clean clothes from the bed and returned to the bathing chamber. While she waited, Roh wiped the mud from her boots and tugged them on, deciding that no matter what luxurious dresses or pants they put her in, she would stay grounded in her own shoes. And she was going to need some semblance of normality tonight. It was one thing to stand around at a gala with her fellow competitors, but to attend a formal sit-down dinner was another. She would be forced to make conversation with them … and what could she possibly have to say? Would they even be speaking New Saddorien? Or would she have to endure an evening of private conversations held in front of her in the old language she didn’t understand? The anxiety was already building up within her, making her chest tight and her mind race.
Odi emerged once more, in fresh, stiff clothes. She didn’t say anything as he pulled on his fingerless gloves and boots. Perhaps he needed something to ground him, too.
At last, Odi straightened, amber eyes bright. ‘Ready?’ he asked.
Roh lifted her chin. ‘Always.’
The Queen’s Conservatory was nothing short of spectacular. The giant rectangular room had been transformed into an opulent formal dining hall. Two long tables ran parallel down the length of it, adorned with silver plates, cutlery and goblets, as well as jewelled candelabras and embroidered serviettes. Each high-backed chair was cushioned with rich, colourful velvet, and large, shiny cloches ran down the centre of each table, glinting in the flickering chandelier light. The windows and doors to the surrounding private gardens were open, and the sweet fragrance from the vibrant blooms wafted in, mixing with the mouth-watering aromas of the roast game.
‘This is certainly different to the lair I stumbled into,’ Odi said.
‘And to the Lower Sector I was born in,’ Roh murmured, tilting her head back as the music began.
At the front of the room, atop a small carpeted dais, was a human musician, seated on a small stool, with a large hourglass-shaped instrument placed between her legs. As the woman drew her bow across the strings, Roh let the melody wash over her. It played to a piece of her soul she kept locked away within her.
To her great annoyance, Odi nudged her gently and she opened her eyes. The room was filling with competitors and highborns.
Of course the nobility are here, Roh mused. She reluctantly moved towards the tables, spotting the place cards that had been positioned on the glittering dinnerware. It didn’t escape her notice that Neith, the other lowborn, was seated at the other table.
As Roh reached for a drink on a passing tray, she noticed the tremor in her hand. She clutched the goblet to hide the shaking from Odi. When she pressed the cool metal to her lips, Odi leaned in closer to her.
‘Be careful,’ he whispered. ‘Remember the poison last time?’
Roh only just refrained from flashing her talons at him. Who was he to lecture her? It had been she who had caught the poison before he ingested it. But she gave the goblet an exaggerated sniff before taking a large gulp. The flavour of smoked berries burst across her tongue, causing her mouth to water. She fought the urge to guzzle the whole goblet.
Arcelia Bellfast approached them, standing straight and tall, an untouched drink in her hand, her human so close to her side they nearly brushed shoulders. ‘I’ve noted that my human wasn’t missing any belongings,’ she ventured cautiously.
Roh swallowed her mouthful of wine. ‘That’s because we took nothing from her.’
Arcelia’s eyes bored into hers, and finally, the former teacher dipped her head. ‘Understood, Rohesia.’
As Arcelia walked away, Odi looked from Roh to her, confused. ‘Why didn’t we set one of those traps for her?’
Roh strummed the stem of her goblet. ‘I didn’t set one for Neith’s human, either.’
Odi’s frown deepened. ‘Why not?’
‘Because we’re playing the long game, Odi,’ she told him. ‘We may need allies later, and the more cyrens who owe us favours or underestimate us, the better.’
Roh’s attention snagged on the cyren who had just entered the conservatory. A thrill rushed through her and the events of the trial momentarily faded as she fantasised about the conversations she and Estin Ruhne could have. Roh watched the renowned bone architect in awe as she crossed the room and addressed the nobility in a dignifie
d manner that Roh could only dream of imitating. Estin Ruhne was probably the only cyren here she had anything in common with. Roh longed to talk with her, despite the fact that she knew she’d gush and make an absolute fool of herself.
A delicate bell chimed, cutting through the quiet melody floating from the dais. Elder Winslow Ward, Yrsa’s aunt, took to the stage. Her robes trailed after her, and her jewelled belt winked in the candlelight.
‘Welcome to tonight’s feast,’ she said, greeting them with more warmth than Roh had ever witnessed from a council elder. ‘And congratulations to our victors. The queen has expressed her explicit satisfaction with your performances today. Her Majesty has bid me to pass on her congratulations, also. We have glimpsed the extraordinary qualities of true leaders today. Her Majesty has organised a reward for all eight of our remaining competitors. Tomorrow, you will be given an exclusive tour of Talon’s Reach.’
A tour? Roh couldn’t help scanning the faces of the other competitors. The Jaktaren and the highborns gave away nothing, but the rest looked as confused as she felt.
Elder Ward smiled again. ‘Now, we invite you to take your places, for this great feast is about to begin.’
With Odi as her shadow, Roh found their place cards in the centre of the first table. She took her seat on the plush chair, and Odi sat beside her. He picked up his place card and showed it to Roh.
‘What does this say?’ he asked, pointing to the cursive Saddorien scrawl across the parchment.
A Lair of Bones Page 14
