The Age of Undeath

4. Divine judgement - Tatiana

These people were savages. The revelation hit Tatiana more frequently than the Denmorian sun. In her homeland, crime was not a sport. Arenas were entertainment – a place for gladiators to face-off against deadly monsters and giant beasts. Not to slay people. She hid outside the ballroom, listening to the scene within, clenching and unclenching her fists.

"You're lying!" cried a man, his accent thick with the southern sands of Denmoria's capital. "Lorenzo would never—"

"I'm afraid it's true." Tatiana peeked in enough to see the back of Captain Evangeline Vallen's head, the efficient auburn bun and the tips of her pale pointed ears. "He confessed."

Whispers buzzed around the room, like wasps taking note for later gossip. With all eyes on Lorenzo Vicentes, Tatiana tiptoed over the threshold unnoticed. The courtiers had flooded from the far side of the room, creating a clear path to an elegant woman wearing an iron head-circlet. Her expression was rigor mortis – eyes bulging, lips pressed thin – staring at Lorenzo as if seeing a ghost. War had to be raging inside her and Tatiana could imagine all the desires pulsing through a mother bound by law and dignity. Was she holding in a scream? Did she despise her son for admitting treason? Had she gone deaf and blind in shock?

A young nobleman rushed to her side, gold cloak billowing at his back, abandoning a child on the ballroom floor. The nobleman gripped Señora Vicentes' elbow like he expected her to collapse, but she only stood taller. Placed her hand atop his. The crowd's murmuring turned into outright talk. Having been in Tucapon for six months, Tatiana felt proud to realise she could understand the nearest cluster of people. Compared to the southern Empire, where her ship had docked over a year ago, the northern Imperial dialect was basically another language.

Clémence clapped her hands to regain order, but Tatiana's throat closed. Sight fixed upon the small feathered humanoid now ushering the abandoned little girl into the shelter of his wing. Is this an omen? Something like nausea gripped her stomach. Tingles crawled in the back of her head, like the hand of the Goddess brushing past. Shit, am I supposed to avert my eyes? What were the teachings on this? Why is he just here?

"Ser Lorezno has requested trial by combat." Clémence's voice was a distant dream as Tatiana rifled through the memories of her mother's voice instead – desperate to decide how she should behave before the Avishkar. "If the skystream forgives his treason, he will walk away with his life. The Captain of the Watch has graciously agreed to oversee the trial to ensure it is fair and to witness the verdict."

Evangeline did not acknowledge the mention. She kept her grip firmly on Lorenzo's shoulder, not even glancing at the loyal halfling by her side, Lieutenant D'arc, clutching a scroll in her child-sized hand.

"Lorenzo's challenger is fairly new to the city, but many of you may recognise her name. Please welcome Gladiator Tatiana."

I'm just doing my job, Tatiana told herself, over and over again, refusing to look at the family now rejected by their piers. At Clémence's sweeping gesture, all eyes turned to the back of the room, and Tatiana felt every inch of her skin exposed. She focused on Clémence, who had promised her payment that surpassed coin. An introduction. A promise to escape this continent's twisted version of the sport Tatiana had grown up mastering.

Beaming at her guests, Clémence said, "Let us move to the veranda."

The chilly night air smelled of fresh water and cooked game. Despite the circumstances, Tatiana gaped in awe at the view. The veranda was suspended at least fifty feet above one of Tucapon's many rapids, churning as it was fed by the Rhaler Cascades opposite – a waterfall over half a mile wide. It curved like a half moon out of the Star Metal Mountains. Sitting at the top of the waterfall, tucked back into the shadow of the mountain so it appeared to float in the river, loomed the Water Palace. Ripples reflected off its white stone walls, capped with glittering azure domes and turquoise spires. The elves who once ruled from that palace must have been equally elegant.