The heavy scent of salt in the night air washes over Rel. He stands motionless, oddly calm as relief and anger dance a tango in his chest. The keyring may not be gone forever, but it had somehow fallen into the hands of this girl who just finished flaunting it across the arena like a fool. As he wonders just how many people may have caught a glimpse of the gems, he concentrates on the possibilities that lay before him. With such a delicate situation, one that is starting to require more juggling and reorganizing than expected, he resists the impulse to jump at the first idea that comes to mind. He needs to find out what she wants.

He scans the crowd, hoping that Elder Nygawa, Vala’s father and Consul of the Earthfire League, had chosen any other arena to start the night off. Despite the clouds of dust Kywen kicked up, Nygawa would certainly have noticed his personal gems around the ankle of a levitating girl who nearly ripped the arena apart. Known for his brightly colored scarves, the man tends to be easy to spot in a crowd. The only Elders currently in the arena sit in their plain dark robes, chatting among themselves. Not a splash of color to be seen.

Sighing with relief, Rel finds himself thinking back to the display of power he just watched, and he smiles as he imagines the look on Amina’s face watching Kywen turn the rumors on their heads. The girl is quite gifted. Strange that Enclave Kostis would keep her talents so thoroughly hidden, he thinks, but he shakes his head and tucks that puzzle away for another time.

He tracks Kywen as she leaves the arena, preparing to follow her at a distance, but she turns and stalks straight toward him. The hairs on his arm shift ever so slightly, and as he takes a few steps back, he sees someone slide out of the shadows, her face a mask of concern and something else, something unreadable. The young woman’s knuckles begin to turn white as she clasps her hands together. Her dusky skin is slick with sweat, and she peers at him for a few extra seconds before walking toward Kywen.

He wonders how long she had been standing there. She must have recognized him, the way she held his gaze. Thoughts of using the ring pass through his mind, but Vala’s warning remains etched in his memory. He feels drained from the magic he channeled this evening, and it would be just his luck to pass out from exertion before performing his first official Collaboration duties and be found face down like a drunk in Silk Alley. Amina would never let him live that down.

He considers an option that had been hovering in the background, one that gives him an opportunity to get the gems back as well as question the Kostis girl about how she got her hands on them. He can announce Kywen for the Airmala bid.

Not only will he be able to intercept her before she accepts, the bid will seem legitimate since he would benefit from acquiring such a powerful ally. He has no doubts about the number of offers she will receive after that performance. It should be fairly simple to convince her to refuse his invitation and choose another Enclave once she hands the gems over, he’ll just offer not to turn her in to the Clans Celus in return.

He can’t afford to waste time, but causing a scene would be just as bad. The large stands still contain several clusters of people discussing the bidders and watching the last girl try to compete for their attention. She’s on the older end of the spectrum and stands in the middle of the arena with confidence, her dark hair pulled back into a mass of coils that frame a strikingly pretty face. She sends her palms up and out into the air, manipulating the water in the surrounding area to condense into clouds and charging them with electricity, filling the night sky with a roiling storm.

Her curls lengthen towards her shoulders as rain falls steadily upon her and her outstretched arms. The flash of lightning dazzles the crowd as she pulls three thin but precise bolts from the heavy clouds with an outstretched finger, one thundering down after another, scorching a single target to ash with sizzling claps of punctuation.

Rel can’t help but notice that her demonstration adds to the higher than usual amount of weapon-like performances tonight. The peace treaty had eliminated the need for such skills for centuries, but they never fully disappeared from the Collaborations. He considers tonight a resurgence, a night of historical reckoning. The Council had tried to downplay the growing chasm between a handful of clans who have begun to snipe with each other and plot against one another.

At the end of last season, Rel noticed a pattern of events that led to quite a few strange situations. The evidence of elevating tensions between a few clans became clear as he attempted to handle the resource allocation issue between the Clerics and the Curators. He felt his parents and the Council had been ignoring the problem for far too long. Shortages of supplies continue to increase along the coasts, destabilizing a handful of Shade Clans despite the Elders’ claims of commitment to working with everyone equally. Rel suspects the merchants, who benefit far more from the abundance of gems than the Shade clans do, have been swaying Elders in their favor, and he was there to witness tensions boil over less than half a season ago.

If he hadn’t doubled back to steal a portion of the Fair Isle grain from the ships, he wouldn’t have seen a man with blue hands give something wiggling in a bundle to the captain with a sack of gold and a scroll. He would’ve also missed old blue hands getting engulfed by eight tentacles and pulled into the ocean several minutes after the ship sailed away.

The man was able to blink out of the creature’s grasp and onto land, but now has to remain far from any body of water large enough for a tentacle to fit through or risk being grabbed by the hexed octopus until he removes the curse. Issues of unregulated and forbidden magic usage rise but continue to be swept under the rug, only whispered about while the official message is continuing peace, cooperation, and compromise.

Rel could understand why his brother fled so long ago, before he got the chance to know him. Instead, his bond is to a system he finds more ineffective than cooking rice with cold water. With the roll of a single dice, everything he’s worked for could be derailed by a spoiled girl and her meddling. If he gets caught, he doubts they’ll go lightly on him. The extra supplies he’s lifted made a significant impact distributed throughout the affected clans, but more needs to be done to enhance their sustainability long-term, and it won’t happen without him.

He watches the girls approach each other with hesitation under the last of the flickering lightning. The taller one reaches out and places both hands on Kywen’s shoulders. He has to get closer to hear what they are saying and starts to walk along the railing in a circuitous route to snake behind them. Kywen swats away one of the girl’s arms and then reaches up to flick her in the forehead. The girl leans in and whispers something in Kywen’s ear. He is close enough to see the shock on the girl’s face in response. Only a few more steps and he’ll be able to hear.

“. . . keep it on or off?” Kywen says.

“I have no idea, it’s hidden for now,” the girl responds and hooks her arm with Kywen’s. As they walk out to the main path, he expects one of them to glance back at him, but they slip out without seeming to notice his presence. Could they be dumb enough to think he’d not follow?

Rel rolls his shoulders a few times to loosen them up, stretching his neck from side to side while he allows a lengthy gap to form between himself and the pair as they make their way down the double moon-bathed cobblestones leading out to the sea. If the mystery girl told Kywen about him, he has to be stealthier. Waiting until they are almost out of sight, he slips into the crowd and follows. They’re easy enough to track as they walk quickly and pass the other arenas, stopping just before the entrance to the Wiovan’s tents. He keeps his head down and blends into a large group of northerners gathered around a tray of roasted goat skewers as they laugh and celebrate.

Their painted clay mugs are filled with cider, spiced hot chocolate, and the famous southern “serpent’s wine,” known for its strong effects and jade green color similar to the stone-snake it’s named after. Made from the maceration of several herbs and spices, including fennel, anise, and wormwood, the drink can cause minor visual hallucinations and intense relaxation.

Rel wishes he could celebrate as planned with the serpent’s wine his friends would have waiting for him after two jobs well done, but he settles for a mug filled with the steaming chocolate and waits to see what the girls’ next move will be. A tad rich but with a perfectly balanced ratio of chile to sugar, his drink disappears almost as quickly as Kywen dashes into the new arena, dragging her accomplice behind her.

If he can’t confront her soon, he’ll have to move forward with the only plan left. He wipes his mouth and takes his time before cautiously making his way inside, stomach doing flips to the beat of his pounding heart at the sight of so many glowing blue hands.