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In the Wake of the Wicked (Veridian Empire #1) 9. Rose 12%
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9. Rose

9

Rose

A heavily built guard with a sleek silver uniform and a bushy blonde beard braided to his waist was waiting outside the infirmary with instructions to take me to the great hall for the debriefing with the other challengers. While I’d been in the palace for several hours already, I hadn’t been able to take in the grandeur around me until now. It was like stepping into a new world, its opulence so very different from our modest structures back in Feywood.

Vibrant tapestries with golden accents against multi-colored backgrounds were displayed along the length of the long corridor, brightening the gray marble walls. Gold candelabras hung from the ceiling, with matching sconces lining the marble and gleaming trim running across the baseboards and ceiling. The dark wood floor echoed with the sound of our footsteps. As we turned down several hallways, I saw servants bustling in and out of chambers, finely dressed men and women with an air of importance around them striding through the halls, and guards stationed at various chamber doors.

I’d never been somewhere so…extravagant. But its beauty was lost on me in the face of the tasks ahead.

“How far are we from the great hall?” I asked the guard, lengthening my steps to keep up with him. My father’s small satchel of herbs hung from my leather belt next to my dagger and swung against my thighs as we walked. I’d never had a chance to change from the thick leggings and dark purple sweater I wore when we left Feywood, and sweat clung to every inch of me.

“Not far,” he answered, his voice deep and gruff. His thick beard bobbed when he spoke.

“Where will I be staying? Can someone take me to my rooms afterward?”

He responded with a grunt.

A man of few words.

My eyes scanned the closed chamber doors as we passed, and curiosity got the better of me. “Will all of the challengers be staying in the same wing?”

“Knowing where the others are won’t help you win, girl. Each room is warded against intruders.”

Interesting. Not what I’d asked, but it felt like important information nonetheless. I wondered if all rooms in the palace were warded or if it was only the challengers’. I could banish a simple warding spell easily.

I needed to gain a better understanding of the layout of the palace. If I knew where Emperor Gayl spent most of his time, that would be a good place to start looking for his Grimoire.

We turned right at the end of a corridor, then another left, and suddenly, the hall opened up to a massive entryway. Rich emerald green drapes billowed from the tallest windows I’d ever seen, the bright noonday sun pooling on the wood floor before them. The chattering of voices reached my ears. Across the entryway stood double doors thrown wide open, revealing the grand hall and the mingling guests and challengers.

I straightened my spine and steeled my nerves. This was it. These were the people I would be competing against for the next month, the lords and ladies who would be observing us like animals, and the emperor behind it all. The emperor who, if Lark was correct, had condemned thousands of lives to his curse.

“Are you ready?” my guard asked, looking back at me.

Swallowing, I tucked my anxieties and fears away, covering them with that worn cloak of mettle. My lips twisted upward. “Are they ?”

To my surprise, he met my smile with a slightly more grimacing version, his mouth splitting into a grin across his ruddy features. “Horace Banathery,” he said.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Name’s Horace. Horace Banathery. Might as well get that out of the way, as you’ll be living here for the next month.”

“Oh. Well…it’s nice to meet you, Horace. I’m Rose.”

At that, he snorted and turned away, walking straight into the great hall.

I followed him inside and was greeted by the sight of two long banquet tables set up in the center of the enormous chamber, each holding a multitude of plates with pastries, cakes, slices of meat, cheese, bright fruits, and more foods I didn’t recognize. Servants wandered among guests with trays of flutes balanced on their hands—some glasses were filled with a sparkling white liquid, others deep red, some green, and the occasional dark gray.

“Horace, what’s in the glasses?” I asked before he could get too far away.

“White and red are wine. Green’s a special drink the emperor requests—it relaxes the mind, a bit stronger than regular wine. Stay away from the gray.”

My gaze locked on the nearest servant with a gray flute on his tray. “Why?”

“You’ll be spilling your secrets to anyone who asks,” he responded. I snapped my eyes back to him. “That’s my free advice to you for the day, girl. Don’t expect me to walk you through everything.” He shot me a wink, almost imperceptible beneath his thick blonde eyebrows, before sauntering off to take his stance at the front of the great hall.

He was rather growing on me .

“My, my, Ragnar, you certainly have changed over the years,” a smooth baritone voice said from behind me.

Ragnar?

I turned to find a handsome man in a tweed jacket several steps away: tall and built—surprisingly so, for someone who appeared to be in their late forties or fifties—with dark brown hair streaked with gray and a matching short-cropped beard. His light green eyes held mine with a kind humor, like he was exchanging a joke with an old friend. I merely raised an eyebrow, not wanting to speak too soon and give more of myself away than I wanted. That was something Ragnar had taught me— silence is a powerful defense .

The man chuckled at my lack of response and crossed his arms. “Where is the old fellow, anyway? I had it on good authority he was the Feywood challenger this year.”

“Who told you that?” I asked sharply.

“Him.” He winked. “Ragnar and I go way back. Used to pop by and see him for a spell when I traveled to Feywood on business. Before, well…before border laws became so messy. He got me out of a tricky situation with some Striders once, and I’ve owed him ever since.” The man looked around me. “Is he with you?”

I narrowed my eyes. Fates, how many people did Ragnar keep in contact with outside our province? “I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

He tapped his nose, his light eyes sparkling. “If you want to try and blend in here, perhaps lose the satchel”—he nodded to my pouch of herbs—“and the winter sweater. You’re not in Feywood anymore. Also,” he leaned in closer, and I fought the urge to reach for my pouch, “You look just like your mother.”

I inhaled sharply. “How do you…” I couldn’t finish my sentence. My shock was palpable, coiling through me and making me shiver.

“My mother is from Feywood,” he explained. “I spent several years there in my youth, before our family moved to Tenebra to be with my father’s side. That’s how I met good ol’ Ragnar.”

Tenebra. He was certainly not as I imagined someone from the cold Shadow Wielder lands to be, based on stories I’d heard. A Shadow Wielder with an Alchemist mother—I wondered if he possessed both types of magic. It was a rarity to have multiple, and incredibly powerful.

“I’m a bit older than Ragnar, I admit, but I took a liking to him. He was always up for a challenge.” He smiled fondly. “Let’s see, I think the last time I saw him and Morgana was…well, I believe your mother was with child. I knew that must be you the moment you walked in—Ayla’s spitting image. A bit of Hamilton, too.”

His warm smile pricked something in me. I’d never met anyone outside of my aunt and uncle who talked about my parents. Who sounded like they truly knew them.

“How are they doing, by the way?” he added.

My heart stuttered. Images of blood and smoke erupted in my mind, the taste of sickly fear coating my tongue. Swallowing, I slammed my walls back up, forcing my face into one of neutrality. “They passed away when I was young.”

His face fell immediately. Eyes lit with concern, lips turned down, shoulders softening. “Well, I’m very sorry to hear that. They were good people. What’s your name, if I may ask?”

I hesitated before saying, “Rose. And you are?”

“Oh, how rude of me.” He held out a calloused hand. “My name is Alaric.”

My lips parted. “Alaric? As in…Alaric Rinehart ?” I asked, too surprised to even take his hand.

Alaric Rinehart was the runner-up in the last Decemvirate, and his story was well known across the provinces. He was the Tenebra challenger ten years ago and had been in the lead until the last trial, when the Iluze challenger had tricked him with a vision that left him momentarily blinded. Alaric still finished in second, but Tenebra and Iluze had been up in arms for months after the fact.

I wondered why he was back—perhaps to mentor the new Tenebra challenger. Previous competitors did that, sometimes. Ragnar had met with one of Feywood’s prior challengers once or twice to gather as much information from her as he could .

Alaric’s grin was back, a hint of a dimple on his left cheek appearing among wrinkled skin. “I’m offended Ragnar never mentioned me. He knew I would be here.”

My surprise soured, the reminder of my uncle slamming back into me. “Ragnar is…he’s unable to compete.” I bit the inside of my cheek before adding, “He fell under the Somnivae curse last night.”

Alaric’s hand flew to his mouth. “ Last night ?”

“And…I’m taking his place,” I said, scratching awkwardly below my ear.

His eyes widened. “Well, this day is getting more and more interesting.” He bore an expression I couldn’t read as he said, “I hope there are no hard feelings, Rose.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, tilting my head.

“Attention challengers, guests. Please make your way to the south end of the hall,” a loud voice called out above the mingling crowd.

Alaric looked toward the south end as people headed in that direction, then back to me. “I’ll be seeing you more, I suppose.” He gave me a grim smile. “I’m the Tenebra challenger.”

He bowed to me before striding off after the others, leaving me to collect my thoughts and my jaw, which had hinged itself open. He was the Tenebra challenger again ? The same person competing twice…it was unheard of. Completely unprecedented.

I quickly ran through our conversation, wondering if I’d given any information he could use against me, cursing myself for getting caught up in his talk of my parents. Fates, I couldn’t trust anyone here.

It didn’t matter how kind they may seem, how harmless, how endearing. Every single one was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Myself included.

Brushing off my shock and growing nerves, I passed the tables of food and stood behind the gathering crowd, taking in my surroundings. There were thirty or so people in the great hall, a handful of whom wore decorative cloaks and fine jewelry—various court members, I assumed. Several men and women sat directly in front of a raised podium, pencil and parchment in hand. More than likely reporters preparing to record the debriefing to disseminate to the public later on. My eyes glazed over other attendees, wishing I knew who the challengers were.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a flash of movement, and turned to meet the gaze of a tall, tan man with broad shoulders and dark blonde, wavy hair that swept a little past his ears. He peered back at me from across the hall, his expression unreadable, his hands folded behind his back. I held his stare with equal impassiveness until the corner of his lips twitched and he looked away.

“I’m grateful to you all for being here today as we begin the thirty-second Decemvirate of the Veridian Empire.” The familiar voice of Lark Everest drew my attention to the front of the hall, where she stood on a raised podium, her black hair now in a bun at the top of her head. “My name is Larken Everest, and I’m this year’s head architect.” She paused for a smattering of applause.

“As you all know, the Decemvirate is a highly anticipated tournament among the six provinces, designed to test skill and power to determine how the limited magic of the empire will be divided. This year’s Decemvirate will consist of three separate trials. The first two will begin seven days apart from one another, and then we will hold the traditional tournament masquerade ball two weeks later, followed by the third and final trial.”

The scribes wrote furiously, jotting down every word she said.

“The first starts tomorrow morning. This trial will test your intellect; the second, your mettle; and the third, your courage. You will be given relevant information before the start of all three. You are free to go anywhere in the capital you desire—as long as you are back at the palace by the eve of the trials to receive instructions, and are in attendance at the debriefings after the conclusion of each. Failure to comply will result in your province's immediate disqualification.

“Rankings will be updated following the individual trials and will be determined based on how quickly and proficiently you pass each.” Her voice turned sharp as she continued. “We do not allow any misconduct toward your fellow challengers in the interim between trials. Guards will be stationed around the palace day and night to prevent brutality and violence.”

Ahead of me, a young man with black hair shaved close to his dark scalp called out, “What about during the trials?”

Lark leveled him with a stare. “There are no laws regarding your interactions with one another or the components of the trials while you are inside of them. Your goal is to get through them as swiftly and skillfully as possible.”

In other words, anything was fair game.

The man who’d asked the question twisted his head to smirk at someone to his side. He was another challenger, I figured. And one who seemed particularly pleased by the idea of no restraints in the trials themselves.

Clearing her throat, Lark added, “That being said, if you are found to be behaving in a way that puts innocent civilians of this capital in any danger, whether it be threatening, harassing, or harming of any kind, you will be disqualified and punished to the fullest extent of Veridian law.”

“What about cheating?” a woman asked from the side of the chamber, leaning on the wall with a knee bent, foot propped against the marble. I raised an eyebrow and held back a snort.

Lark gave the woman a sly smile. “You’re welcome to try. I think you’ll find my trials a bit harder to cheat your way through, Arowyn.”

The woman shrugged and crossed her arms, a disinterested look on her features.

Arowyn. Another challenger? I took a moment to brand her into my memory, tucking away my observations. Long, light hair—almost white, hanging straight down to her mid-back. Heavy black kohl lined her eyes, and it was difficult to tell her age beneath the makeup. Perhaps a few years older than myself. I wondered what province she was from. There was nothing to give her identity away, no telltale colors, no crest, no weapons. She wore tight black pants that hugged her voluptuous curves, with brown boots and a loose, white tunic tucked into the front. Emberfell, maybe? The boots could fit in the swampy Lightbender province to the north. Or Celestria. I often saw Bethaly wearing similar loose blouses.

“Well, then,” Lark finished, clapping her hands together. “That’s everything you need to know for now. Remember to trust your instincts, and that the end goal may not always be what you think.” Her eyes strayed to me at those words, lingering longer than necessary. I shuffled my feet and anxiously fingered the satchel of herbs at my waist.

“Before we part, I’d like to introduce His Majesty, Emperor Theodore Gayl.”

At Lark’s words, a large door opened to the side of the podium, revealing a cloaked man emerging from the shadows.

My eyes trained on his long, silver-flecked black hair extending to his shoulders in waves, his billowing dark green cloak, his powerful strides. When he roamed his gaze over the crowd, a shiver went down my spine at his piercing eyes: one a deep blue, and one so light it appeared white.

Theodore Gayl was the most powerful Alchemist this world had seen in recent history. Maybe ever . As much as I hated laws like the strict border mandates he’d put into place, and as furious as I was about his inaction toward the growing violence and separation, I’d also always had a twisted fascination with the man. Or more so, his magic.

I didn’t know much about his life before he became the emperor twenty-four years ago, except that he’d lived in the capital and served the former Emperor Branock Aris in some advisory capacity. His bid for the throne came at a shock, considering his closeness with the Aris family. Now that Lark said he was behind the curse that ultimately led to Emperor Aris’ downfall, it made sense.

It seemed that everything he did was to gain more power and control over the empire. Ragnar used to tell me how when he was younger, the citizens of each province were free to roam the empire, visiting neighboring lands without worrying about repercussions. Without ridiculous laws and vicious border guards. Exploration and travel and learning about each culture was once encouraged .

But Gayl had planted seeds of unease within his citizens across all provinces with his ideas that our power, our strength, was the only thing that mattered. Was what defined our worth. Not unity, not freedom. Magic . And above all, we needed to focus on cultivating our individual powers. The Decemvirate had always been a competition, of course, but he had turned it into so much more than that.

Once upon a time, our magic had been a gift—a tool and resource to help in times of need, to aid us and make life easier where it could. Now, it was viewed as our right . Our value and status in the empire was measured by the magic that ran through our veins. The more powerful provinces like Iluze and Tenebra were raised on a platform, receiving wealth and resources from the capital because of their prestige. Their elevation led to enmity and a bolstered sense of entitlement—Beth had told me how there was even talk of these stronger provinces threatening to invade the weaker, to claim more land and magic as their own.

And if they truly wanted to, they could. There was nothing but an icy lake and a handful of border guards stopping Iluze from declaring war on either Feywood or Celestria, whose weakened magic and little support from the capital left us defenseless. If our territory was conquered, would our magic go to our captor? Would Alchemy cease to exist? Would we lose our power altogether? These were questions nobody had tested over the centuries, but now seemed to be more and more enticing.

The man before me had undeniably made the world darker, colder, more power-hungry. I wished for a better future, of course. A future where our worth as people didn’t dwell in our magic, where we could live harmoniously as Veridians instead of defined by the power in our blood.

But as I watched Emperor Gayl command the entire chamber with his mere presence, and as I felt that Alchemist power radiating from him and stirring something in my magic, it was difficult not to be impressed. Envious , even. That he could have this control in the palm of his hand, the ability to twist the world to his will and break it apart with a thought.

If Lark was right, this was the man who had started the Somnivae curse. This was the man I had to stand against.

My jaw tightened as my hands clenched at my sides. He was the reason Uncle Ragnar was lying in an infirmary. The reason I was forced into this position in the first place. The reason thousands of families were suffering and mourning, that hatred among provinces abounded, that children couldn’t safely cross from one forest to another without fear of an attack.

I met Lark’s gaze as she stepped to the side, and the edge of her lips curled ever so slightly. Resolve pounded in my bones. I’d already agreed to help her, but I think we both realized in that moment that each of us would do whatever it took to bring him down. We were on the same side.

And once this tournament began, there was no turning back.

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