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After we wish one another luck, Sorza, Luren, and Dristin all find their own spots, diagonal and down from me. I can’t worry too much about them now. They’ve been making their own preparations, as have I. And theirs are much less risky. Now is the time that we must all focus on ourselves.

“Lovely day,” Jura whispers through the back of the tent fabric.

“I think we can expect a sunny afternoon.” I would have replied the same way no matter what the sky looked like. Glad you made it, I’m saying in code.

The citizenry of Eclipse City flows in. They flood the stands and survey the offerings of the students and initiates, eager for free arcana work.

I pick up the gossip of the day. Most of it is benign, but I hear a few mentions of people seeking cards to protect them from the escapee from Halazar.

I catch sight of a few professors milling about with the rest. Vaduin moves up and down the row I’m in several times, looking agitated, eyes whipping about.

I wonder if he’s annoyed that most initiates seem to be favoring inking and reading over wielding.

When Las passes once, she seems much more at ease.

Some students follow dutifully behind their new patrons for the day, having agreed to lend their services until sunset, when the All Coins Day festival ends.

Many initiates, like Luren, are busy reading cards.

Dristin consults with his clients with zeal, giving suggestions to highborn and lowborn alike on what cards might be best for their specific ailments, wandering off with one or two and then returning when services have been rendered.

It takes a few hours of selling my inked cards to graduated Arcanists who flash me their academy badges and the lords and ladies who wear the sigil of their clan before, eventually, Jura makes her way to me again.

Rather than lurking between the densely packed tents and staying out of sight as she had been this morning, she’s now on the other side of the stall.

She’s wearing a satin dress along with a fur coat that I’ve never seen before.

Even though she doesn’t bear any clan sigil, she exudes the ease of wealth.

Her hair is a brilliant shade of red today, a long wig trailing down her back and over her shoulders.

Was Silas wearing a disguise as simple as that?

A wig and tinted glasses … Is that why I didn’t recognize him immediately?

Or are he and Griv different people and I’m grasping at straws?

I push away the questions and stay focused in the moment.

Jura meanders over, studying the cards.

“He’s starting on this row, he’ll be here soon,” she whispers as I look out for any others that might come up to my table.

“Are you ready?” I ask. Her makeup is incredible. The contours she’s painted have almost completely transformed her face.

“Yes.” No hesitation.

No sooner have I asked than the Stellis carve a path through the citizenry for the king. Jura steps off to the side of my table—the one missing its corner. The position gives her the ability to be out of the way yet right at hand.

It’s the first time I’ve ever laid eyes on the king.

He’s a towering, hulking man—I can see where his sons get their height from.

But his frame is bulkier than both combined.

Muscles bulge from underneath his tailored silks, the kind that are more for function than form.

At his right hand is his heir, Ravin. After what he did to me at the soiree with Liam…

after finding out he might have been the one behind my time in Halazar…

my body instinctively readies itself for an attack. But I keep my cool.

At Ravin’s side is a woman of equal height and an even more imposing build than Ravin.

Leigh Strongborn, the Wind’s Bane, wedded to the first prince.

The first daughter of Clan Strength lives up to her namesake.

She rests her hand lightly on a heavy broadsword at her hip.

Her stormy gray eyes constantly survey the surrounding area with a keenness like that of the falcon on her shoulder.

The queen and the youngest of the three Oricalis princes are absent. Kaelis had told me during our final preparations that’d likely be the case.

Behind the king, crown prince, and princess are three cloaked figures. Their oversized hoods conceal their faces. But, if what Kaelis said is to be believed, one of them is Judgment. The other two must be the Hierophant and Temperance—the other Majors Kaelis said live at the high court.

Will Elorin end up wearing one of those robes as well? She had said on graduation she’d be sent to the court, her power too valuable to give to a noble clan. My stomach churns for her. These Arcanists are little more than dogs on invisible leashes.

The king makes his way to me, acting as if it were on a whim.

As if I’m not the one he’s sought out. He’s large enough to cast a shadow over my entire table.

His eyes are as black as Kaelis’s, short-cropped hair like raven’s feathers.

There’s a flicker in the inky depths of his stare that suggests he might have once been attractive in his younger years, but now that spark has cooled and hardened with age. Only a dangerous shadow of it remains.

“It is good to finally meet you,” he says, as if it has been years he’s waited.

“My liege.” I duck my chin respectfully.

“I hear you have something for me.” His voice is a low rumble, like the earth itself is groaning—and about to cleave in two.

I’m taken aback at how quickly he cuts to the chase, even with Jura standing right there. Perhaps it’s because she keeps her head bowed in deference to him. Or perhaps it’s because the king knows that with a snap of his fingers he could have her ended, now or whenever he wanted in the future.

“Yes, your majesty.” I dip into a curtsy. “I have prepared a special gift, just for you.”

“Well? Do not keep your king waiting,” he says before I can even straighten.

“Father, perhaps not here.” Ravin’s eyes dart to Jura, his brow furrowing.

Does he recognize her? It’s not possible.

We planned for him potentially knowing the names and faces of everyone from the Starcrossed Club, hence Jura’s disguise.

Hopefully, he doesn’t recognize her, and she looks like just another noble.

The king ignores his son and holds out his hand to me.

I reach into the pocket of my coat. The card has been wrapped in black silk. While cradling it in one hand, I slowly unwrap it.

His eyes light up with a flash of gold. With a hunger so keen it could make milk curdle. The moment I see it, I know, This man should never be allowed to harness the power of the World.

Just as he reaches for it, a gale sweeps up the row, rattling the tents.

I grab the card on instinct, throwing the silk back over and protecting it.

I’m only slightly faster than the king. His large hand closes around both of mine.

Hunger has turned to murderous intent that I’d dare block his access to his prize.

“Sor—” My quivering apology is cut short.

Over the king’s right shoulder, the head of one of the Stellis slides off his neck, falling to the ground with a clang and a crimson splatter.