Her attention turned back to the arena. The others hadn’t arrived for their Trials yet. If she hurried, she could help the poor little one.
Tempest closed the distance between herself and the boy with ground-eating strides. She slowed her pace when he noticed her and cowered farther into the stone wall against his back. Holding out a hand, she smiled softly at him to let the child know she meant him no harm.
“Hello, little one,” she said as she bent low beside him. “What’s wrong? Did you hurt yourself? Where are your parents?”
He peered at her with wide, tear-filled eyes. His ice-blue irises and snowy hair which were akin to Juniper’s.
An owl shifter.
She hid her grimace. Shifters set her teeth on edge, but she wouldn’t let that get in the way of helping the youngster. His people may have caused problems in Heimserya, but he was innocent. She would not condemn him for crimes he’d been no part of.
Tempest pointed at his hand that held a jade dagger with an intricate handle, its blade smeared with red. He’d cut his palm open; the wound was bleeding all over the boy’s tunic. She studied his ragged clothing. A fine blade. Too fine for a commoner.
Focus on the task at hand. You’re not here to interrogate him.
“Do not be afraid,” Tempest soothed, stroking the boy’s hair as she did so, the downy strands tickling her palms. “What happened to you? Do you want me to take you to the healer’s tent?” Aleks, the resident Hound healer—one of Tempest’s favorite uncles out of her multitude of them—would be working in there already, preparing for the Trial. He’d happily help the boy out, if Tempest asked him.
The boy’s upper lip trembled. “I didn’t mean to cut myself,” he whispered, “but I didn’t know what to—what to do with it, and—”
Tempest gently took the blade from him, wiping it on the ground to remove the blood before sheathing it beside her other dagger. She smiled. “Luckily I know exactly what to do with a dagger. Let me keep hold of it until we get you to the healer’s tent, then you can tell me all about what happened, all right? What’s your name?”
“T-Tomas,” he said, a shy smile crawling upon his face when Tempest held out a hand to him. He took it, tiny fingers apparently even smaller within Tempest’s grasp, and waddled along beside her toward the tent. She ignored the crowd asking after her as she passed; she barely had enough time to sort Tomas out before the Trial started.
“Aleks, I need your—” Tempest began as they pushed through the tent flap, her nose wrinkled in distaste. An odd, sickly-sweet smell filtered through the air. It was cloying in Tempest’s nostrils, unfamiliar and thick. It wasn’t outright vomit inducing, but it set her teeth on edge.
Aleks really works with the oddest drugs.
“Tempest, what are you doing here? You should be announcing yourself to the king!” Aleks exclaimed, looking up from the notes he was poring over in order to frown at her. But his expression relaxed when he saw Tomas. “I see you found another lost wee one.”
Tempest drew shallow breaths through her mouth and tried to ignore the odor. Tomas coughed as she hauled him on top of a cot that was most likely prepared for her, should she injure herself today.
“What do you mean another?”
He chuckled. “Well, there was that little girl Sasha last week, and the twins the month before that, and—”
“Well it’s not like anyone else is helping them out, are they?” Tempest retorted. “Somebody’s got to help them.” If she hadn’t stepped in, she doubted someone would have taken it upon themselves to help the wee one.
“You know, I agree with you, Tempest,” Aleks said gently.
“Then have Madrid tell the king to funnel more money into the orphanages.”
“Tempest—”
“I know, I know,” she interrupted, sighing heavily. “Now is not the time. Well it will be the time once I’m made a Hound.” She’d lucked out as a child, being born to the Madrid line. If she hadn’t, well… life would’ve turned out very differently for her. The orphanages were a joke. They were workhouses for little ones who had no one to protect them. Even thinking about it made her feel sick.
Her thoughts must have shown on her face because the healer squeezed her hand once, before diverting his attention to Tomas and began to clean his wound. “I do not doubt that. You will do a lot of much-needed good once you’re sworn in.”
Tempest loved that Aleks had never once doubted her. The number of days and nights she’d spent inside his room as a child, feverish and sick and hallucinating, had brought them close together. Sometimes, Tempest had imagined her own father was sitting beside the healer, watching over her as she fought the latest sickness she’d contracted. Other times, Tempest believed that Aleks himself was her father—his hair was an identical shade of periwinkle to hers.
On more than one occasion, Tempest had almost asked him if she was his daughter.
Almost.
But Tempest was scared of the truth—Hounds were not allowed to hide their children in obscure cottages in the middle of a forest, away from Dotae. To do so was treason. If Aleks really was Tempest’s father then she had to believe that he’d had good reason to hide her—so she stayed silent, content with the fact that she had amazing uncles to look after her. They’d all had a hand in raising her.
“Right, off with you,” he said, waving for Tempest to leave the tent. “I’ll look after—”
“Tomas,” she supplied, smiling at the boy.
“Tomas.” He arched an eyebrow at Temp. “I hope that I don’t see you in here again today!”
Tempest laughed. Of course, Aleks wouldn’t want her to get injured, though, in all likelihood, she would. No one came out unscathed from their Trial.
“I shall endeavor to be careful,” she said, remembering that she had told Juniper the same thing.
Aleks stepped closer and kissed the top of her head. “Fight well.”
She nodded and winked at Tomas before she left the tent. Tempest edged around the screaming crowd and jogged down two flights of stairs, her belly a riot of nerves. The chants and stamps upon the wooden floor of the stands vibrated through her feet, and the sounds from the brass trumpets of the royal band rung in her ears. The scent of warm, sweet, and spicy pastries, roasted nuts, and salted meat perfumed the air. Her bare arms prickled as thousands of pairs of eyes roamed over her as she stepped into the arena. It felt as if everybody in the royal city of Dotae was here to see her succeed... or—for some of them, at least—see her fail.
I won’t fail.
In the very center of the arena stood a platform upon which Madrid, the head Hound, was standing. Waiting for her. But Tempest knew she had to kneel before the king first, so she turned to face the royal stand at the northernmost point of the arena.
She bowed deeply, her long braids almost touching the ground. “Your Grace,” she called out, as loud as she could make her voice. Tempest was pleased that her voice did not tremble, but her legs felt as though they’d turned to jelly.
King Destin seemed barely interested enough to acknowledge her presence. He side-eyed her from his throne, looking younger than his forty years. He was wrapped in a sumptuous, fur-lined coat of ruby red to keep out the chill of the day. He didn’t speak a word, merely waving a hand toward Tempest to indicate that she could begin the Trial.