Alanna swayed gently in her saddle at the lolling pace they’d set. Isidora rode at the head of their little party, with Father at her side like always. They were talking in a low murmur that she couldn’t make out at this distance, beside them were the newest strays who lagged behind Isidora as her guards. It was pitiful how easily they’d fallen prey to her sister’s talent.

“Sunup to sundown… always talking,” Modran groaned behind her where she sat rigid on the saddle. Her gloved hands pressed hard against her sides. Speaking of mysteries, the woman herself was as much of an enigma as the nature of the wastelands. Modran had a talent and a strong one. It was closer to becoming a major one than her own.

If it wasn’t already.

What was it? Were Modran’s ‘illnesses’ just a ruse to keep their family’s greatest asset close?

“Isidora had a tremendous task ahead of her and now she’s been rattled. How about you, daughter? Are you ready for your upcoming match with one of the duelBarons?” Sevra asked as she rode beside them.

Alanna grunted. Why didn’t Father have any advice or suggestions for her? Ever since… ever since Modran and her brother joined them weeks ago they talked constantly. She’d barely talked to anyone but Sevra and Modran. Isidora ran Theo ragged with commands night and day. Just because he felt guilty. How was he supposed to win if he couldn’t stand up for himself with pride?

“Don’t pout, Lanna, it’s not a good look on you.” Sevra tsked sharply. “You know what to expect while she doesn’t.”

“Well, I have no idea what to expect for the Trade Trials.” Modran butted in the way she always did. Red shone in her mind and she suddenly became aware of every one of the blades their party carried. Alanna shoved down her irritation with a grimace.

By Aleyr, this girl had all of the pride and arrogance as a rooster. She acted as if she could see through everyone’s secrets, the way she talked as if her opinion had actual weight.

It was fucking irritating.

She could be your second-sister, a voice murmured in the back of her mind. No matter how she tried to parse out what had happened and how she felt about it… she ended up only straggling in circles. She thought they were just having some fun, sure, she’d dreamed up a future with him. But just last night she had a random dream of a horse driving a human drawn carriage.

Dreams were dreams and the future was uncertain. She had been fond of him, and still sort of was, but marriage was serious and they had more important things to worry about.

Like how he had somehow sensed them with his talent then shot at Isidora. Nothing happened, but it easily could have in the middle of nowhere. Sevra knew some healing skills, but her mother didn’t have any archetypes for it. She didn’t have the knack for sensing or manipulating mana enough to create the skills needed for magic.

Her version of healing had required focused application of first aid repeatedly until it had formed a skill, but that could’ve been a negligible difference. Isidora’s chances for a future would have been shot. Once a page-elect reached Aethel and declared themselves, they were forfeit from trying again if they failed.

But none of that really mattered. Events unfold how they like, and she had to focus on herself and her own upcoming match. It could be any of the duelBarons. If she won then she’d take their place, but if she lost then she’d have to pay some sort of fine. It could be as simple as chips or a distasteful duty, or she could be pressed into service or even stricken of her title and chance to ever rise.

Isidora didn’t help her uncertainty. Her sister practiced with her talent at every moment. Emotions were clay to her, and Alanna’s were her favorite to sculpt. Father’s talent protected as did Sevra’s, but Alanna was fair game. As were the strays, Theo and Modran, but they didn’t show the signs as much which frightened her to no end. If Alanna couldn’t tell if their feelings had been tampered with, then either Isidora was only playing with her own feelings, or her sister was even more talented than she’d realized.

“... so whoever earns the most by the end wins. It’s a tough trial. The least exciting of the trials to watch, but perhaps one of the most important besides Logic.” Sevra explained. Alanna gritted her teeth in a spasm of irritation. Isidora turned around in her saddle to smirk at her.

‘Course she was keeping a close eye on everyone’s emotions. And here Alanna was dazing about instead of honing her skills, but it was hard to tell if that’d make that much of a difference when the time came.

“How much farther until we reach Gatestone?” Theo asked quietly from the rear of their party where Isidora had banished him.

“We should reach it soon.” Sevra answered before dismissing him again. Mother kept saying that he wasn’t blameless, especially with what Alanna had confided in her about Isidora’s newest toys being bandits, but that he should still be punished a bit for loosing an arrow without checking it was an actual target.

“What’ll happen there? I’ve heard there was some sort of ceremony?” Modran asked, fishing for more information.

“Why don’t you wait and find out?” Alanna snapped with a twitch of her reins to spur Fleet forward. Modran squeaked as she tightened her grip around her waist, but at least it shut her up. Too bad no one else would let her ride with them.

Tingles danced up and down her spine, a prickling itched right at the nape of her neck. Was Theo watching her or perhaps were there bandits lying in wait? Eager to do some bargain shopping from their saddlebags?

She reached for the hilt of her sword, reassured by the press of the metal pommel and the rawhide wrapped handle. It fit like it had been crafted for her hand, which it had been, but all blades felt that way to her.

Sevra boasted that by the time she was through with her training she’d be a force to be reckoned with even if she had to fight with a blade of grass. Alanna didn’t know if that was quite true, but she had been made to use her talent on other unassuming things.

Straw became like needles in her hands, same with anything else she guided the red of her talent through. One day she wondered if she’d be able to turn the air into a blade.

Perhaps that’d make Modran step more lightly around her.

Miles were chewed up under the steady pace of their horses then spat out behind them. Roads bent and curved, the press of the forest faded as farmland swallowed it whole until only sparse thickets remained. Gatestone grew closer, and as it did, traffic swelled on the road.

Traders with a column of wagons and carts kept in a tight line thick with guards in tough jerkin hides roved around their cargo. All of them had a bow and quiver on hand, along with axes, spears and swords.

The spears were a surprise. They had been long out of fashion throughout the Chalice’s existence. Spears were unpopular due to its solitary use in either hunting or war. Give a man a sword and he could duel to protect his honor and that of his country, but give a man a spear and a baser nature would be unleashed.

They were fine in the wastelands or in boar hunts, but otherwise they were preferred kept out of the hands of the people. Spears were forbidden even in War Games between the Three Chalices.

But the rise of bandits meant a rise of all kinds of unfashionable things.

Including armor she noted with distaste.

Wearing a dress of mail or worse, plate was a sure note of the wearer’s lack of talent and skill. Only someone who intended to kill would wear armor to protect themselves from the dishonorable attacks they themselves would use. The rahvleir was protection enough for the most vital parts of the body, but it still left enough bare to prove if its wearer was skilled or not.

Only the Order should be able to wear armor inside of the Chalice. The valiant men and women who guarded the Chalice’s walls to keep them safe from any threats that lurked in the Unholy Wastes. Stories said that if you laid a hand on the ground that the skin would shrivel and peel back, muscle would blacken, fat would drip. Then you would die.

Not to mention the abominations that wandered the wastelands. The wasteborn prowled constantly on the hunt against themselves and humanity. Everything about them was designed to harm or kill.

Armor was more than justified then, but not against other people.

She once again wondered if Father’s talent was dishonorable. As long as he didn’t overtax his talent or skills, he was nigh invincible.

“We’re almost there,” Alanna told Modran before she could ask again.

The road curved to a pass through the grand stone packed arch that led into Gatestone proper. It had no wall or door, but it was a magnificent structure that gleamed as if it had been freshly erected even though it had stood for hundreds of years.

“Is that the Order?” Theo’s voice cracked in incredulity. She shivered at the familiarty of that breathy tone before his words caught up in her ears.

Twelve men and women guarded the gate as much as they guarded the whole of the Chalice. Gray capes fluttered behind them with the white oval of the Chalice in the center, and a red eye blazed in the center. All of them wore a real coat of armor, along with a bow, quiver, knives and swords of a higher quality than she’d ever seen outside of a museum in the Inner Ring of Aethel.

Nimbuses crackled around each and every one of them. All of them were stronger than her parents. Sevra could coax another’s talents to greater strengths, or snuff it to embers, just as easily as she could use parts of another’s talent for herself. Father’s was a nigh impenetrable defense that had carried him far as a duel-and-horseBaron until he bowed out when she’d been born

“Why would they be here?” Modran stammered in the face of the legendary watch that kept them all safe. Good. The woman didn’t maintain her tawdry bravado at everything.

“Whatever it is it can’t be good.” Sevra muttered darkly. “Anything that takes them away from the walls portends trouble.”

“Trouble…” Modran hunched behind Alanna as if she were afraid that whatever doom the Chalice was protecting them from would seek her out specifically.

Of course Modran would think she were special enough to warrant this turn out. Obviously, the Order itself were nervous that the rise of bandits would allow an attack or something else to that effect. Why would the Order be specifically looking for her? Talents were rarely impressive by themselves, rather it was more how the individual used it that made them awe inspiring or not.

Father said something she couldn’t hear, but Isidora turned to beckon them all forward. A wave of obedience and awe spiked through her, but yet they all came to her sister’s attention.

“Alanna, do you have your duelPage badge with you? With security as tight as it is you might need it.” Father asked without looking at her, but instead he glowered at the members of the Order interviewing those ahead of them seeking admittance.

She didn’t bother answering, but instead slipped out the pure white badge with crossed swords emblazoned in the center. No red on it yet, that’d come with the Baronship.

“Will we be safe entering?” One of the strays spoke up meekly for one of the first times since she’d begun following Isidora like a puppy. It was the tall one with graying hair and a notched axe.

“You’re in our service, of course you will be.” He raised an eyebrow at them then glanced at Isidora who flushed. Father disapproved of her toys speaking out of turn. As did Alanna. A part of her still wanted to cut them down for what they had done to Theo, but well, first of all his honor was his own.

Secondly, being a slave of Isidora’s whims was already a fate worse than death apparently. They all took their own life in the end.

“Next!” A Dontrosi Orderman shouted at them when they didn’t immediately come. “What business do you have in Gatestone?”

“My daughter and I are going to Aethel so she can unseat a Baron.” Father gestured towards Alanna, who presented her badge to the man who didn’t even bother looking at her.

“And the others?” He peered at each of them as if searching their souls, a red nimbus flickered around him briefly then vanished.

“I seek my right to Aethel as a horsePage-elect.” Isidora nudged Silverwind forward to smile at him. For once the red haze was absent from her person. Father must’ve warned her about using talents on the Order, or she’d finally found a nugget of sense when Alanna wasn’t looking.

“You’ll want to find horseBaron Tomandre. He’ll explain the rules of the next step to you. Who are the three women without ribbons?” He glared down at Sevra and the strays.

“Sevra is my sister’s mother. The other two are my servants.” Isidora squeaked when his flint eyes crossed her again.

“No servants.” He rolled his eyes. “They’ll have to accompany your sister and Lordship father.”

“You recognize me?” Father asked, surprised. How had the man known he was Lordship since he didn’t mention it?

“I don’t forget a face, sir. Take the servants with you or send them back to your home.”

“What’s the hold up over here?” demanded a short woman as she sauntered over to the Dontrosi. She seemed to tower over him even though she was dwarfed by his stature.

“I was just being thorough, Salv.” The man sighed as she squinted at each of them then waved them through passing directions without a moment’s pause. “Those ribboned go to the Lordwright’s Manse. It’s in the center of town, now get a move on!”

They hurriedly gave goodbyes but she frowned at them and waved with a sharp cut of her hand for them to hurry through.

Roads spiraled in grand corkscrews from each of the seven gatestone arches that led into the town with homes and shops that jutted out from the ground in a tight jumble from one to the next. People milled about with a more subdued mood then she had expected.

Tankards and festival sticks speared through meat and vegetables were in people’s hands, but the air was stifled rather than full of song and conversation. It couldn’t be any more different from when she had last been here for her own Pageship.

Gatestone’s fashion left a lot to be desired in her eyes. Men and women each wore dresses buttoned up in a diagonal line beneath the shoulder down to their navel. Embroidery studded itself over the normal gray stitches and they didn’t wear a smidge of jewelry for bizarre reasons. It was considered improper and gaudry, despite the fact that their clothes would’ve been better used as sacks.

With how much trade spilled through Gatestone’s odd colored streets she would’ve expected them to be decked out in rings, brooches, necklaces and all manner of baubles. But they said that the best way to honor Aleyr was to live an ostentatious life.

Alanna didn’t know about that, especially since the festival continued here straight until the last page-elect left its hallowed gates to venture to Aethel. Gatestone was the last town before Aethel.

“Will you accompany us to the Lordwright’s Manse, Father? Mother?” Isidora asked, sounding uncertain for once. Tiredness sunk in her eyes and she seemed to be afraid for the first time Alanna could remember in forever. The cynical nature she’d developed since Isidora came into her talents suggested that this was yet another trick.

But the lack of a nimbus surrounding her did not lie.

“We cannot. You… and the others have to go alone.” Father said, then pointed her down the road. “We’ll continue behind after the traditional twelve hours to give the elects time to undergo the journey with only their peers as company.”

Isidora nodded, queasy. Pride was easy to hold onto until you learned you only had those you sought to bring down beneath your heel to rely on. No one could amount to greatness alone, but no one could climb to the peak solely on others' cooperation either.

The old Aetheline dilemma had as sharp of a bite as ever.

“Good luck sister.” Alanna said as hugged her sister awkwardly due to the saddles and Silverwind towering over Fleet.

“Luck isn’t necessary. I expect you to see me holding the horsePage badge high for all of Fremr to see. Just like you and Father.”

Alanna nodded and turned to look at the glum Modran still behind her in the saddle. “This is where you get off. You better make Fremr and your family proud for all of that upset you put them through with your proclamation.”

“We’ll see. We all live and die alone, and so our merits are weighed.” Modran’s hazel eyes so similar to her brother’s were dark as a river frothed with raging undercurrents. She leaned closer to whisper in Alanna’s ear, seeming overcareful not to brush against her, “Win duelBaron or you’ll never be good enough for Theo.”

“Please get off my horse.” Alanna forced her shock numbed mouth to a smile. What an insolent brat! She’d insisted on duels for less, but lucky for her, page-elects were exempt from duels until after their Pageship.

“Think I can bum a ride, Theodran?” Modran slid off clumsily, still a surprise to see considering what a natural horseman her brother was. They raised horses on a farm for Aleyr’s sake. Alanna almost thought she’d never ridden a horse before. She still didn’t understand why Modran had insisted she ride with her.

Maybe she just wanted to get Alanna’s measure?

“Isn’t it bad luck to go to Aethel on a horse you don’t own?” Theo smirked at Modran then rolled his eyes to pull her up. Her heart twinged as she watched the two of them ride off towards her own impatient sister as they left for the Manse. She couldn’t help but wonder if that would be the last time she’d ever see any of them.

“And so it begins.” Father sighed patting a hand on Alanna’s shoulder. “We can no longer help her now, but she has my blood just as you do. Let’s head to the dueling halls for a few spars.”

“I fear that blood is what will make Isidora step wrongly. You worry about finding rooms for us, Tyren, I’ll give Alanna some instruction before we can leave. I suspect this year’s Trials will begin sooner than any of us expected.”

Tyren scowled at Sevra then turned his horse around in search of an inn. He barked for Isidora’s strays to follow him, but they were already gone.