“I look like an idiot,” Clover said, breaking the silence. She plucked at the dress.
“You look great,” Kerrigan reassured her.
Just then a cheer rose up from the stadium. The four of them all jumped at the unexpected noise and then raced to the front of the box where they congregated with the fifty or so other Dragon Blessed currently over the age of ten. The rest of the littlings had been left behind in the mountain with handlers. Many of them throwing fits to get to stand where Kerrigan stood now, looking out across the sand strewn arena.
Hadrian made a way for the lot of them to get closer to the action. And together, they watched the representatives of the twelve tribes stride into the arena guided by the sponsor Society member in long flowing black robes. Each of them held a banner in their tribe colors with the coat of arms embroidered in black. When a tribe was announced, a cheer went up in the crowd from the others of their home. The marauding Venatrix in their scale-like silver armor made the crowd roar. But it wasn’t until the blue and silver of Bryonica, holding three banners denoting the three royal lines, strode confidently into the stadium that the entire place seemed to erupt at once.
Kerrigan looked over their faces, wondering if in a different life she would have known them, would have been one of them. Mistress Helly was at the front of the Bryonican line with a proud smile on her face. Last tournament she had been the game administrator and had had to remain neutral. This year she was able to play favorites as she walked with an unprecedented hundred potential competitors for the healing tribe.
“Look at that pomp,” Clover muttered in distaste. “A hundred potentials? Absurd.”
“It makes perfect logical sense,” Darby said. Her voice was earnest.
Kerrigan knew that she desperately wanted to be chosen for Bryonica tribe after her coming of age. A fact that did nothing but make Kerrigan cringe…though she’d never explained why.
“No. It makes them look desperate,” Clover countered. “Twenty to fifty is sufficient to guarantee that you find a champion. A hundred is ridiculous.”
“It’s a show of strength.”
“I’d expect that from Venatrix or even Galanthea. They’re warriors. But Bryonica? It’s beneath them.”
Kerrigan tuned them out as they continued to argue about the merits of how many potential competitors to put forward. Her attention was drawn to what no one else had noticed in the crowd now that all the twelve tribes were out. A black smoke was spinning into existence at the center of the arena.
“Gods, do you see that?” Kerrigan whispered.
Her friends snapped to attention, taking in what was happening.
Hadrian touched Kerrigan’s shoulder. “Have you ever seen anything like that?”
“No. I thought they had extra security this year,” Kerrigan said.
“They do,” Darby confirmed. “They didn’t want the same thing to happen as when…uh, Cyrene came.”
Kerrigan frowned. What in the gods’ name was happening? The smoke was growing stronger, almost solidifying at the center. She had never seen anything like it. And she had no idea how it could happen. There were hundreds of barriers around the arena. No one should be able to penetrate it.
The crowd had grown restless, taking over the announcer who was trying to calm the arena. Society members already on the ground reached for their magic, stepping forward to protect their contestants. Others in black robes began to appear on the outskirts. Kerrigan recognized the protections they were reinforcing on the perimeter. And still that black cloud continued to spiral.
Then just as soon as it had come, it disappeared and standing at the center of the entire arena was a man dressed head to toe in black. He was tall, impossibly tall with long lean legs in fitted black pants. He wore a suit jacket at the height of fashion with a black shirt buttoned high, nearly to his collar, just barely exposing his pale, nearly translucent throat. He ran a hand back through his dark as night hair and then leisurely surveyed the crowd with eyes that were pure sin.
Kerrigan’s throat bobbed as those eyes cast across the Dragon Blessed box. Gods, he radiated sinister energy. And yet, he was the most beautiful person she had ever seen in her life.
“What is the meaning of this?” the master of ceremonies managed to recover his voice to ask.
The man tilted his head just slightly and smiled something wicked. “My name is Fordham Ollivier, prince and heir to the House of Shadows. And I have come to enter the Dragon Tournament and reclaim what was once stolen from us.”
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