Crush the King (Crown of Shards #3)(32)
I stared out at the sea of happy, excited faces and breathed in the scents of everyone’s collective honey hope and sour, sweaty eagerness. An unusual combination, but a pleasant one today.
I glanced at Auster, who nodded. Even though I had never been to the Regalia before, this was part of our Bellonan tradition, and Auster had schooled me on what to do and say. So I drew in another breath, then let it out, and pulled the sword from the scabbard on my belt. The tearstone blade glinted a dull silver in the early morning sunlight, as did the two bracelets on my wrists.
I rubbed my thumb over the blue crown-of-shards crest embedded in the hilt, letting the sharp points dig into my skin. Then I drew in another breath, tightened my grip on my sword, and swept it out to the side as I performed the perfect Bellonan curtsy. I held the curtsy for several seconds, showing my respect for everyone who had gathered here, and all the work they had done to make this moment possible, then slowly straightened and spread my arms out wide.
“Bellonans!” I said, my voice ringing out over the field. “Welcome to the Regalia!”
The crowd roared back, yelling, cheering, clapping, screaming, and whistling. Calandre must have made more pennants than I’d realized, because several people waved them in time to the wild, raucous cheers.
Despite all the dangers that waited for me on Fortuna, their excitement was contagious, and an electric hum of anticipation charged the air. I suddenly found myself wanting to grab a pennant, snap it back and forth through the air, and cheer at the top of my lungs. My people had worked hard for weeks, months, years to hone and perfect their skills, and they deserved this chance to shine in front of the other kingdoms.
“Are you ready to show off your finest goods and amazing creations? Are you ready to display your skills and magic? Are you ready to battle in the arena for the glory of our applause? And most of all, are you ready to show everyone that Bellonans are the smartest, strongest, fiercest people on this continent?”
My words whipped the crowd into a frenzy, and their yells, cheers, claps, screams, and whistles reached a frantic, fevered pitch. The noise went on for more than a minute before they finally calmed down.
“Then let’s show them all that and more!” I screamed, stabbing my sword high into the air. “To battle! To glory! To victory!”
“Battle! Glory! Victory!” everyone screamed back. “Battle! Glory! Victory! Battle! Glory! Victory!”
They kept screaming those three words over and over again, each one louder than the last. I soaked up the crowd’s enthusiasm, pouring it into my mind and especially into my heart. No matter what happened during the Regalia, I would never forget this one perfect moment, when we were all united, and anything seemed possible, even the death of the Mortan king.
With my sword still raised high in the air, I turned around and marched across the field. Fortuna waited in the distance, as did my allies and enemies alike.
The Regalia had officially begun.
Chapter Eight
I wound my way down the stone steps that led from the ridge to the waterfront plaza below. Paloma, Sullivan, and Captain Auster stayed close to me, while Serilda, Cho, and Xenia trailed behind us, along with several guards and the chattering crowd.
Our route took us by a fountain shaped like a miniature version of Seven Spire that bubbled in the center of the plaza. People rushed past the fountain, across the plaza, and onto the wide stone drawbridge that stretched from Bellona across the water to Fortuna Island.
I waited for the bulk of the crowd to move past, then went over to the bridge, along with my friends and guards. Just like the seven bridges in Svalin, this one also had a name—Perseverance. A similar bridge stretched from the Mortan side of the river over to the island. Auster had told me that it was called Power. Of course it was.
Fierce-looking gladiators were carved into the Bellonan bridge’s solid stone walls, while an alternating pattern of swords and shields was inlaid in the walkway flagstones. The bridge was only a few feet above the waterline, and the tearstone span shifted from light gray to dark blue and back again. The changing colors matched the sparkling surface of the water and almost seemed to move in time to the rolling waves.
By this point, most of the Bellonans were already halfway across the bridge, but I slowly walked along it, studying Fortuna Island as it came into focus.
Stone and wooden docks lined much of the golden, sandy shoreline, and fishermen were rowing and sailing their boats back to the island, having already secured their first catches of the day. My nose crinkled at the stench of fish, blood, and guts mixing with the fresh and salt waters.
The docks opened up into a series of stone plazas filled with wooden carts, and I could hear the merchants shouting and hawking their goods all the way over here. Beyond the plazas, a wide boulevard stretched out in both directions, and carts, carriages, and wagons jostled along the cobblestones, almost as if they were in a race to see who could circle the island the fastest.
The far side of the boulevard was lined with shops and houses, all painted in vibrant colors—bright reds, sunny yellows, summer blues. Black slate tiles covered the buildings’ steep, sloping roofs, along with black wrought-iron weather vanes that looked like arrows pointing up at the stone steps that had been carved into the hills above. People were already climbing the steps, heading to the plaza on the very top of the island where the Games would be held.
My friends and I reached the opposite side of the bridge and headed onto the island. I’d only taken about three steps forward when a man planted himself in front of me.