She continued watching her mother work for a moment. She was probably too busy to speak with her daughter, and it was easier to talk to her father anyway. Ceilsea just had to find him.

  “This is where we will have to part ways,” Ceilsea told Shae who had continued watching her mother undistracted.

  “Why? Did I do something wrong?” Shae asked, jerked out of their focus and looked worried.

  “No, but I’m going to find my father. Do you really want to meet the High Wizard?” she asked, already knowing the answer.

  “Nope. Wizards are always buzzing with magic,” they commented, which was true. Ceilsea’s father even fixed his hair with magic.

  “I’ll see you this evening?” Ceilsea confirmed and Shae nodded their agreement.

  Shae quickly disappeared into the crowd.

  Ceilsea stopped one of the wizards to ask where her father was. They pointed her toward the first aid tent. Ceilsea could have guessed, but now she had better directions.

  Her father had always been a generalist in magic, but on top of his magic studies, her father had spent years studying the human body. He had trained Rivonae and Jala in the basics of combat magic before encouraging them to develop their own styles different from his. According to Rivonae, their father’s fighting style incorporated a lot of non-flashy but effective manipulations of the opponent’s body, causing temporary pain or paralysis. He could also amplify speed or strength in himself, though that was harder to pull off. Unsurprisingly, their father was extremely adept in healing magics as well. His knowledge sometimes rivaled physicians, both magical and non-magical. In huge events like the tournament anyone with skill was enlisted to help. Her father had more experience with combat injuries than anyone else, so it was not surprising he’d had been helping in the first aid tent below.

  As Ceilsea descended into the arena, an enormous long tent stood along the edge opposite the royal box. Ceilsea had seen the fighters enter and exit there as they cycled through the circuits. There was a shadowy open area behind the tent. Both spaces were for the fighters to warm up, train, and wait for their turn to fight. In the back farthest corner, which had to be lit by lamp light even with the sun high in the sky, stood the tent Ceilsea had been directed to.

  Walking in, Ceilsea was blasted with the crushing pressure of active magics and an overpowering medicinal smell. The first aid tent should not have been this full from the fighting, but people had probably been injured outside of the tournament as well. Some would be here to have small injuries treated and return to the fights, while others had worse injuries and needed additional treatment after yesterday’s Evening Song. Her father was in the middle of the tent casting on a woman’s twisted leg.

  “Father,” she approached and spoke slowly so as to not startle him. “Good morning.”

  “Ah, Ceilsea, good morning, just give me a minute,” he said unbothered. His fingers moved minutely in sharp contrast to her mother’s grand gestures and flailing strumming outside. Even though Ceilsea did not think he should talk while casting, he continued with the obvious question, “How was the reception last night?”

  Ceilsea glanced at the woman he was treating. She was clearly concerned with her leg, but she could still hear this conversation. Not to mention, every other person in the room, patient or physician, had seen her enter and could listen in. Even though she had expected it, she was disappointed. If her father actually cared about her true thoughts and not just her diplomatic answer, he would have asked in private.

  “It was fine, nothing special,” she answered, tailoring her response to the possible prying ears. It also signaled to her father nothing he needed to worry about had happened.

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  “We know that’s not true because you were present,” her father replied, almost absent mindedly. Ceilsea’s features remained stoic, but her insides twisted. Her father had never given her compliments before she had sold her first sculpture for a small fortune. Previously she’d been the problem child he pitied and struggled to find worthwhile. She clearly remembered the day it had switched. Calling her ‘special’ now only reminded her that his love was conditional.

  “Did his majesty enjoy himself?” her father asked, confirming that her own feelings were unimportant in the grand scheme of things. Ceilsea was still very cognizant of the people watching as well as the pressure of magic around her.

  “I’m sorry. Can we speak outside?” she said after pause. She sounded more embarrassed than annoyed, but it was for the best. The palace servants already gossiped about how she got on better with the king than her own father.

  “Of course,” he said, lowering his hands and addressing the woman. “Thank you for your patience. Stay off that leg or you’ll wear through the spell before it heals. I will have someone bring you a crutch, and you should come back tomorrow to see if it’s healing correctly.”

  The woman muttered thanks but looked upset, though she could not be in pain. That leg was doused in so many layers of magic that Ceilsea squirmed. Luckily her father led her out of the tent.

  “Is there an issue?” her father asked, concerned.

  Ceilsea finally relaxed slightly and quickly assured him. “No. The King was probably happier than I had seen him in weeks last night. He was definitely satisfied with the evening. I just didn’t think everyone in there needed to know about how much of a struggle putting on this tournament has been for him.”

  “I suppose you’re right. I’m glad you're aware of the effect your words have in public.” he said, almost self-congratulatory complimenting his daughter. He seemed to ignore his own slip up. “Are you looking forward to watching another round of fights?” He continued, asking her a question he knew wouldn’t have a positive public answer.

  She started to answer, then stopped. After weeks of playing up how much she disliked being forced to be present at the tournament, it might be strange to suddenly switch now. She had to enact her plan with Shaelis somehow though.

  “I figure it’s still going to be atrociously boring, but there’s one… or two people I’m interested in seeing compete,” she stated.

  “I know you don’t like it, but the king needs you there to give cultural gravitas to the event. The tournament is civilized and respectable with you there. Do try to appear somewhat entertained,” her father repeated something he had said before, as if she did not know her own importance as a symbol of Sumanar’s high culture. Sumnar was no longer seen as a backwater country of nomadic tribes and bloodthirsty warriors when she was there.

  “I can try, but it is difficult when I don’t know what is happening most of the time. Have you seen anything, or anyone interesting so far?” she switched the conversation back on her father. Perhaps she could gather some intel for Shae about their opposition.

  Her father thought for a moment before replying, “I was only watching to see if there were wizards worth recruiting into his majesty’s service. Miennere and…oh, what’s she going by… Jala were the most technically skilled, but there were a handful that seemed promising if I could train them. I have to wait for them to be eliminated before I approach them.”

  “So… there are no clear standouts who seem like an obvious choice to win?”

  “If that were obvious in the first round, the tournament wouldn’t be very entertaining. Truth be told, it’s probably going to be one of the noble’s champions that wins. They are handpicked for their skills. As for martial prowess, your brother would know better than me. I may have taught him the basics of sword and silent song, but he knows more now than I ever have.”

  Of course, Rivonae would be a better judge. That’s why she was going to seek him out next.

  “So what brings you here to see me?” her father asked, inconveniently remembering her random appearance.

  “Oh nothing much. I’m just taking a break from my work,” Ceilsea said, looking past her father.

  “Ah, that explains your…,” he started looking her up and down, noting her work clothes. Then he smiled and said, “Let me walk you back to the palace. You really shouldn’t be walking around alone right now. It could be dangerous if someone wants to hurt Sumanar or the king,” her father warned.

  “Yes, father,” she answered automatically, even though it wasn’t going to stop her from continuing to ignore his advice in the future.

  Within the palace walls, her father left to go attend to High Wizard business. Ceilsea told him she was going back to work in her courtyard, but instead doubled back when they parted and made her way to the training yards within the castle.