Page 68 of A Game of Veils

By the time the exhibition is over, more than a dozen animal carcasses lie slumped on the arena’s grounds along with seven human corpses. Raul has taken a gouge to his lower leg, limping as he heads to one of the doorways. I suppose the imperial medics will heal up the victors.

Those of us who are the emperor’s special guests rise and take our leave through a private exit before the main mass of spectators departs. In the broad street outside the arena, the carriages that brought us have pulled around to collect us.

I move to beckon Rochelle to join me in one, but she’s no longer standing next to me. My steps slowing, I scan the mass of nobles around me.

Her cloud of blond curls is nowhere in view.

Where could she have gone? I veer a little to the side where I last remember her being, searching for her familiar form.

As the other nobles start piling into the carriages, an urgent shout catches my attention from farther down the street. I hurry over and spot one of the imperial guards ushering Rochelle out of a neighboring street.

Her face is flushed, her hands fluttering aimlessly in the air. “I saw a kitten run off that way, and I thought maybe I could bring it back to the palace. I didn’t mean to wander off so far.”

The guard answers in a gruff undertone, but he lets Rochelle continue on alone as soon as we’re close to the carriages. She notices me watching and offers an embarrassed grimace, but there’s a frantic cast to her eyes that makes me hesitate.

“Here,” I say gently, and motion her into one of the carriages that still has room.

We’re tucked in with a few other court ladies, who rave about the excitement of the battles while the carriage rattles through the streets toward the palace. I hold my silence, studying Rochelle from the corner of my eye. The way her hands fidget with her skirts, twisting the fabric. The way she worries at her lip as she stares out the window.

When we disembark within the palace gates, I touch her arm. “I feel like I need a walk after all that sitting. Join me for a stroll in the gardens?”

Rochelle summons a smile. “That sounds lovely.”

I wait until we’re well out of hearing range of any imperial staff, meandering close to one of the warbling fountains. “Are you all right? What happened back there by the arena?”

A flash of panic crosses Rochelle’s face. Her hands ball at her sides.

“I’m not going to judge,” I add quickly in a hushed voice. “Whatever’s going on—I’ll help you if I can.”

She stares at me for a long moment as if weighing my honesty. Then her shoulders sag. “I suppose it doesn’t matter if I tell you. I’m stuck either way. If you go tattling to the emperor, it’ll just speed along the inevitable.”

The hopelessness in her voice makes my throat tighten. “What do you mean, Rochelle?”

She ducks her head to gaze at her hands instead. “I thought maybe I could slip away. Run off, pay someone for a ride back home, hide out there until Marclinus has his wife and maybe wouldn’t care anymore about the rest of us who were supposed to vie for the spot…”

But the guard spotted her and dragged her back.

My spirits sink, but I make myself ask the obvious question. “Have you asked about being released from the competition?”

Rochelle lets out a shaky sigh. “Not directly. I talked to my father a bit, and when he was done berating me for not appreciating the opportunity he created for me, he told me he’s heard the emperor saying a refusal to participate will be taken as treason. I just thought—if I wasn’t even here for them to think about me… I don’t know. It was probably stupid.”

What can I say that would provide any comfort? My gift doesn’t show me how to conjure cures for impossible terms set by tyrant emperors.

The best I can tell her is the truth. “I don’t blame you for trying. The trials, everything he’s putting us through… You never asked for this.”

“Neither did you. None of us did. Although some seem happier about it than others.”

Her eyes narrow briefly, maybe thinking of Fausta. Then she shakes her head. “The ridiculous thing is, even if I won, I wouldn’t be happy about it. He isn’t who I want to marry.”

Her phrasing tips me off without her saying more. A pang fills my chest. “There’s someone else you do want.”

Rochelle’s voice drops to nearly a whisper. “There’s a man in the town by our estate… Not noble, but his family have been the main medics in the area for generations, and he’s trained into the same calling. It’s an honorable profession. Father wouldn’t accept it, not yet, but I thought—maybe in a few years, if I haven’t found a better match. If one of my sisters makes a particularly good one. Then he might ease up.”

And there’s no chance of that now. Now her only options are failure and death or success and marriage to a different man.

A rush of emotion wells up inside me—echoes of love, frustration, grief, and anger I can no longer separate apart.

It isn’t fair. But it was never meant to be “fair” for me. Fair for a princess is an utterly different thing.

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