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“I’ll go,” Tor offered. Seeing Kiva’s questioning look, he admitted, “Just looking at this city makes me feel claustrophobic.”

Eidran glanced around the group and said, “I think we need a woman with us, too. Three men traveling together make people nervous.”

Especially when two of those men were built like warriors, Kiva thought.

“I also think it should be you, Ash,” Eidran continued. “They might be more willing to talk if they see someone else who can use elemental magic.”

Ashlyn considered for a moment, before turning to Jaren and Caldon. “Can you two handle Sibley without me?”

“I always hated the way he looked at you when we were younger — like he was undressing you with his eyes,” Caldon said, his tone full of disgust. “I’dpreferit if you’re not with us.”

“We’ll be fine,” Jaren answered Ashlyn’s question. “I’ve dealt with Sibley before. He’s unpleasant, but only because he thinks everyone should celebrate life the way he does. That, and —” He coughed, and Kiva snuck him the briefest of glances to see his cheeks flushing slightly.

“That, and the last time you saw him, he tried to trick you into marrying all sixteen of his daughters,” Caldon finished for Jaren, chuckling as he clapped his cousin on the back.

“Sixteen?” Torell said, gaping. “Their poor mother.”

“Sibley doesn’t believe in monogamy,” Ashlyn explained. “Most Hadrisans don’t. His children are from different women.”

Torell looked embarrassed to not have realized as much, but even Kiva had been doing the math in her head until Ashlyn’s explanation.

“We’re losing daylight,” Naari said, impatient at their dallying. “Eidran, Galdric, Tor, and Ash will head to the village, and the rest of us to King Sibley to get the ring. Assuming all goes to plan, we’ll meet back here tomorrow morning and head south to Valorn.”

Kiva felt weary just thinking about how far away their next city was — and how much they still had to do before returning to Vallenia —but reminded herself to focus on one challenge at a time. Hadris didn’t have any arenas, so there would be no battles for them to undertake in order to get the second ring. They simply needed to ask King Sibley for it, and then enjoy — or perhaps endure — a night of his hospitality, before they could be away again.

But as their group parted ways, Kiva couldn’t ignore her fear that there would be some new complication to keep them from reaching their goal. She told herself she was being paranoid as they wound a path through the grimy streets toward the palace at the opposite side of the city, but the feeling remained with her. It was almost a relief, since it helped keep her distracted from Jaren and everything she was desperately trying to bottle up inside.

When they finally reached King Sibley’s abode, Kiva marveled at the view, since his palace was built atop a cliff looking down at a massive shipyard and out over the expansive Corin Sea. While it was made of the same dark sandstone as the rest of his city, the outside of his residence was splashed with color, with scarves and flags and banners of all shapes and sizes flapping in the wind from almost every available surface.

“It l-looks like a rainbow v-vomited on it,” Tipp observed, his head cocked to the side. A wide grin stretched across his face. “I l-love it.”

“Just wait until you see the inside,” Caldon said, wrinkling his nose. “Your eyes are going to feel like they’re bleeding.”

Sure enough, after being stopped at the gates by a group of guards who quickly allowed them entry and ordered that their horses be taken care of, they were then escorted into the palace, proving Caldon’s assertion true. Kiva cringed at the interior decorating, noting the clashing colors and tasteless portraits, some of which were so lewd that she covered Tipp’s eyes as they walked past.

“No one is that flexible,” Caldon muttered as they hurried by one particularly graphic painting.

“Speak for yourself,” Cresta muttered back, causing him to make a choked sound.

Kiva just kept her gaze down and her hands firmly over Tipp’s face until the guards delivered them into a receiving room and left them with instructions to wait for the king’s steward.

Glancing around, she fought to control her expression as she took in the shockingly blue couches with bright orange cushions over a lime green rug, paired with sunshine yellow carpet and fuchsia wallpaper. The only relief was that, while there was an overabundance of portraits on the walls, at least all the people in them were clothed.

“The decorator was clearly blind,” Cresta stated, shielding her eyes as if from a glare.

Tipp alone seemed immune to the room, and he bounded straight for the couch where a platter of fruits and cheeses rested on a small table. He began stuffing his mouth, food spraying from between his lips as he declared, “Do y-you think King S-Sibley will give us a f-feast like in Yirin?”

“Gods, we’d all better hope not,” Naari said under her breath.

“The kind of feasts Sibley offers aren’t the kind you’d enjoy, buddy,” Jaren said, the tightness around his eyes revealing his distaste for the foreign king’s proclivities.

Realizing that she was looking at him, Kiva quickly turned to study a painting of a large man seated atop a colorful throne, a goblet of wine in one hand, a bunch of grapes in the other. “Is this —”

Before she could finish asking if the painting was of the king, the door opened, and her question was answered for her.

“Deverick, you old dog!” blustered the man from the portrait, and while he wasn’t holding any grapes, therewasa full goblet in one of his hands. He was also considerably more rotund in person, enough that he was nearly waddling into the room, his red trousers and purple veststraining across his portly figure. The only item that fit him properly was the bejeweled crown atop his head.

“Sibley, thank you for —”