1337 P.B.

  MERIT'S HOME

  IVORY COURTYARDS,

  ILLIYNUM

  'IT'S A LONG JOURNEY, SO I SUGGEST WE BEGIN TONIGHT.'

  The clock ticking over the fireplace tells me it's only been an hour since my world was shaken. Two hours ago, I was studying for my final exams. . . and now I'm facing what's either certain death or certain glory. Neither seem very appealing. The messenger has excused himself to the hall to let us discuss this new event.

  Atticus sits across from me, and for once, he's not running his mouth about anything. With the way he's staring so intently at me, I almost wish he'd start complaining. About how unfair it is that I go and he doesn't, or whatever. Anything to make this feel normal.

  Rhea sits at my side, hand grasping mine.

  "Mer, you have to go," she murmurs. "This is your chance to change the world."

  Screw the world, frankly. I should care more about it, but right now, I'm more angry at Isis. She entered me without my permission, without my consultation. And she expects me just to go along with it? To willingly walk into what's most likely my death? I know the tales told of heroes long ago, and how they met their ends in terrible ways. I know that when I leave my home, I most likely will never see it again. I know that everyone sitting around me is thinking the same -- this may be the last time they see me.

  Dread has filled my veins with fear, but the gods have spoken, and I will fight. My mother grasps my hand firmly, and I can almost feel her concern beating in time with her heartbeat. "Promise me you will come home," she whispers, and my heart twists.

  I can't honestly promise that. A lie is better than truth right now, though, and so I nod. "Of course I will."

  My father is beside my brother, and his dark eyes glitter with tears. My father isn't necessarily a stoic man, but it startles me to see such strong emotion. "Merit," he warns despite his voice breaking, "you cannot let anyone know. No one must know you've already been Chosen, or you'll be disqualified." It sounds so innocent, and yet I know the opposite is true. Disqualification could mean being sent home -- or killed. I drag in a deep breath, and reach for him.

  My hands are shaking.

  -

  I am to bring nothing with me, the Ranger reveals. "Clothing and equipment will be provided there for you," he states in a less than monotone voice. "Only bring personal items that you are prepared to lose." He doesn't elaborate, and I wonder if he's speaking about thieves. What else could there be?

  It is three hours after I have been told of my new fate, and my family and best friend stand around me like it's my funeral. The Ranger has some odd expression in his mismatched eyes, and I take it for pity. I don't like being pitied, but by Ra's light do I need it now. If only pity could save me from a tournament of blood and death. Instead of continuing to dwell on such ugly matters, I straighten my back.

  I am a fighter.

  I always have been.

  I kiss my parents goodbye, and give Atticus one last firm hug. He shoves me playfully, but his voice cracks when he says, "Don't get your ass kicked too much."

  This sort of sendoff is too somber for my liking. Will other participants get more time with their families? Will they be sent off with pride? Maybe even excitement? Or will their families tear up and hug them so tight they can't breathe too?

  Rhea's hug is almost desperate, and she makes me promise to stay safe. Another lie, another promise we both know I may not be able to keep. But we don't mention that, instead finishing up and exchanging the sort of look only two close people can. I wish I could ask her what a normal sendoff looks like, but the Ranger's eyes bore into the nape of my neck and I know it is time to go.

  Before I can chicken out, I follow the Ranger out the door.

  The ride is quiet and long. Urban scenery flashes by the carriage window, and it loses its appeal after a while, so I take to studying the quiet man across from me. Dark curls frame his tanned face, and if I didn't know better, I'd say he was dozing off in the corner. I suspect he's awake though. Rangers are divinely selected guards, and the best at what they do. As the old saying goes, The only safer place than with one Ranger is with two.

  Or something like that.

  The golden falcon pinned to his shirt is how I know his patron god, besides his eyes. He looks young to have been selected already, much less get into the most highly trained army in the world. He wears a plain black leather jacket, and a navy blue t-shirt. His boots are the same material and color as his jacket, and his jeans are darkwashed. Dark on dark on dark.

  "Take a picture, it'll last longer."

  I blink. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stare."

  He gives an almost imperceptible half shrug. "I'm used to it." His eyes flutter open, and that smile from before returns. "I'm Kier, by the way." To my surprise, he offers his hand and I shake it. "And you're Merit."

  I'm not sure what to make of his friendliness. I guess I expected a silent and stoic kind of person, based on his career and attire. My mind is reeling still from the information of today, and I just lean back. "So. . . you're a Ranger."

  "That I am. I know a look a little young," he says. When I only stare, he shrugs. "Everyone asks, sooner or later. I applied for the Rangers, got tested, and Horus decided I would be a good fit so he claimed me."

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  The connection between our gods isn't lost on me.

  In many of his myths, Horus is the son of Isis. I wonder if it was a coincidence that a guard claimed by my patron's son was sent to guard me. If it is, it is a very strange one.

  "I was actually wondering if you knew anything about the announcement," I reply. I don't need to elaborate. Kier's face darkens for a brief moment, his smile faltering. His patron is, after all, a war god. "Why are the Trials starting?"

  "That," he breaths out, "is not my place to speak of."

  I press on despite his eyes narrowing a little. "Wouldn't the Rangers know something, at least?"

  Kier falls silent again. He seems to consider my words, before letting out a sigh. "That's way above my pay grade, actually. I'm a messenger, Merit. Just a guard."

  In the most exclusive and elite army in the world, but sure.

  My sigh echoes his. I'll just have to ask Isis then.

  We stop for the night at an inn named the Broken Altar. Kier pays for two rooms with what I assume is palace gold. He and the carriage driver will share a room, but I get my own. No one pays attention to us as we weave through the dining room and head up the stairs. The driver stays behind to eat, and Kier stops me at my door.

  "Wait, Merit," he whispers. He steps closer. "Be careful."

  How cliché, I think. I manage to stop myself from repeating that out loud. There's always that one scene of some character warning the protagonist to be careful before they head into whatever adventure awaits them.

  "I'm serious," he adds. "Make sure you win."

  And on that note, he vanishes into his room.

  ? ?? ?

  THE HIGH ROYAL PALACE,

  ILLIYNUM

  We arrive at the Royal Palace the next day. It is an imposing structure made of gleaming white marble and glittering gold and clear glass. It'd be more fitting if it was nighttime and there was some eerie crescent moon overhead, but it's broad daylight and hot.

  After escorting us past the guards with grim expressions, Kier escorts me through a winding maze of bright white. Ancient Mediterranean-style pillars line our way, reminiscent of the old palaces discussed in history textbooks. Kier, with one of those now-familiar smiles on his lips, explains to me that things are changing in the Royal Palace. Mostly security, he explains, because of the contestants arriving in the next few weeks. Security levels have gone up. Hundreds of potential Heroes will be showing up. It's the perfect time for any of our enemies to kill off many of them.

  Five hundred will be entered into the competition, and only seven will be walking out as divinely crowned Heroes.

  Four hundred and ninety-nine now, actually.

  He delivers me into the hands of a priestess with eyes that bore into my soul. Arkaea, is her name she reveals, and it seems fitting for her.

  "I am a Priestess of Artemis, Lady of the Moon and of women," she informs me. Silver and blue mingle in sharp contrast against her skin. "While you stay here at the palace, and participate in the Trials, you can think of me as your guide. If you have any questions, or concerns, please bring them directly to me." Her gaze is as cold as the night her goddess rules over.

  "Lady Kingsman, I wish you the best of luck," Kier murmurs. I turn to catch him in a brief bow, and for a moment, I swore his eyes flashed true gold and silver. Then it is gone, and Kier is nodding his head to the priestess. "Priestess. I must go now."

  Arkaea dismisses him with an almost imperceptible nod.

  "Now, Lady Kingsman," she hums out, her eyes flicking back to me. "You're to meet the High Family soon, but certainly not in this condition. During your stay at the Royal Palace, you will have two maids to accompany you, wash your laundry, do your bidding, and so on. If you make it to the Third Trial, you will be given a third maid. Now, if you make it to the Fifth Trial," she turns at this, "you will be given the honor of participating in the Ceremony of the Sun."

  I almost want to laugh, but sheer fear keeps my voice silent. The Ceremony of the Sun? The one every citizen goes through to find their god?

  Arkaea is two steps in front of me, yet her voice turns sharp. "This will not be an ordinary ceremony, Lady Kingsman. Should you survive the first four Trials, your ceremony will be presided over by the High Queen. By that point, many gods should want you as their chosen."

  Too bad.

  "Now, here are your rooms. When other contestants arrive, you will gain a new roommate. For now, enjoy the rooms." Arkaea dips her head to me before turning on her heel and striding away.

  I have little time to process that, or notice my new rooms, before two women are sweeping in and rushing me to the shower. I am scrubbed down efficiently and quickly, before being plucked out of the water and toweled down. I feel almost dizzy from the speed of it, but I manage to stay sane. The maids brush my hair and then offer me the outfit I assume I'm supposed to wear.

  The fabric is soft in my hands. High quality, then. I slip on the simple white long sleeve shirt, and then the black pants. Both are even softer when I wear them. A pair of black boots completes the outfit and I am being ushered out of the room.

  -

  "Your Majesties, Lady Kingsman is here to see you." The guard's voice is loud in my ear, and I almost wince. Can he shout any louder? But I move forward at that moment, obeying the summonings of the High Priestess.

  The throne room is beyond stunning. Gold and white pillars once again dominate the space, and high arched windows let in the noon sun. The room is fit for, well, royalty. Statues of marble immortals, both heroes and deities, line the walls. One close by seems to be of two men, one with a spear and one with a shield. Achilles and Patroclus.

  Heroes who lived tragically and died violently.

  Is that the fate that awaits me?

  I kneel before the dais, bowing my head. "Your Majesties," I greet softly, my tone nothing but reverent for these god-anointed mortals in front of me. "Your Highness," I add to the princess nearby, my eyes flickering up as far as they can. It's about as far as her feet, sandaled in gold. Everything seems to have gold on it.

  "Rise, Lady Kingsman," a soft feminine voice utters. When I obey, I am greeted by the sight of the highest family in the land. The Vastborn. King Henri sits furthest to the left, and his dark gaze studies me. He is regal in gold and black, matching the queen.

  Queen Alexsandria sits directly in front of me, and I realize it is she who told me to stand. Her navy gown is studded with diamonds and gold, and she wears a golden circlet on her forehead with a snake rearing off it. The crown seems so familiar, but I can't quite place it.

  "You are one of the first contestants to arrive, Lady Kingsman."

  This time, the voice comes from the High Princess. Alvera leans back in her throne, and yet more gold glitters against her dark skin. The gold in this room alone could feed half a city. On the second step of the dais waits Arkaea, watching me closely. Ensuring I don't fuck up, I'm sure.

  "Indeed, Your Highness," I reply, glancing back to her.

  Something about Alvera is intriguing.

  "Tell me, Merit," the queen begins, "why did you join this competition? What do you seek to gain?"

  The obvious answer is fame. Hero status. Gold. Any one of those would be a normal, fine answer. But none of those are the truth, and I don't think it's a good idea to start out my stay here with a lie.

  Something behind the queen's throne flashes and my throat tightens. There's a flash of divine white, and I'm almost surprised the priestess present doesn't even seem to notice the presence of a god. And an extremely important one too.

  "I only wish to serve the gods, Your Majesty," I respond with a smile.

  From behind the throne, Isis gives her own smile in approval.