Page 6 of The Ninth Element

The Kishi girl gives a curt nod, her expression a delicate blend of regret (for having spoken to me, I’m sure) and exasperation (at my general existence).

I bite my lip. We are all equally clueless about these trials, but one thing is clear: I need allies. At most, only nine can win this competition. Anyone with half a brain would form a strategic alliance, maximizing their chances.

Everyone else, of course, has their provincial teams to work with. Me? I have a gaggle of sorcerers who actively resent my participation and, on top of that, have no interest in actually winning. Which means charming potential allies is paramount.

The only problem? I am a socially stunted disaster, a product of a lifetime of solitude and no practice in the art of interaction. Growing up surrounded by boys, who Firelands frowns upon girls interacting with, and then spending my formative years with less-than-welcoming girls at Fire Temple hasn’t exactly nurtured my social skills. After a few initial,brutally rejected attempts at friendship, I gave up. Especially once I decided to join Martysh. Why bother building connections in a place I was destined to leave?

“I was thinking about the trials,” I confess with a sigh. “I’m a little nervous… No… I’mreallynervous. I don’t know what to expect.”

The Kishi girl raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Nervous? You must be the first Ahira in history to admit such a thing.”

I chuckle, realizing the futility of pretending. “I suppose I’m not your typical Ahira. And to answer your earlier question, I have no clue why he’s here either.” I pause, then bravely venture into conversational territory. “How do you know him?”

“Is there anyone on the continent who doesn’t know him? I was just a child when the news of the High Lord of Aramis’s son being a sorcerer reached even the distant islands of Kish. The story was the talk of the taverns for moons.”

Even though it happened before I was born, I, too, have heard about those years. The revelation that Zanyar, the sole heir of High Lord Zardalan Zareen, ruler of Aramis, possessed sorcerous abilities apparently sent shockwaves throughout the continent, igniting a fierce debate on whether he had to remain an Aramisi and claim the seat of the High Lord or become a Firelander.

“My name is Lila,” the Kishi girl suddenly says. “And you are?”

“Arien,”

“So, spill it. How’d you land a spot in this forsaken trial? Sorceresses and Martysh, it just sounds… strange.”

I frown. “You don’t know the head of Martysh is a sorceress?”

She nods. “Martyshbod Lirael, right? I heard she was the only sorceress to ever join Martysh since its founder, Jiva.”

“I doubt it. Every year, a few Ahiras join the Martyshgard Order. I’m sure some sorceresses have been among them. I know of at least one.”

I stop, surprised by my own uncharacteristic sharing. Then again, having a conversation with strangers is uncharacteristic for me. Maybe I was just a secret chatterbox waiting to be unleashed. Even Pippin looks slightlysurprised by my sudden openness.

“You do? Who?” he asks, frowning.

“I met one in Myra when I was a child, before I came to Firelands,” I respond quickly, taking a swig of water from my waterskin, not keen on delving into that part of my life.

Pippin opens his mouth, probably to ask more questions, but Lila, sensing my reluctance, cuts him off. “So, is he here to win?” She gestures toward Zanyar.

“You won’t hear Ahiras’s secrets from us,” Pippin growls.

“I suppose that’s a no. Then why is he here, sweating it out with the rest of us, when his path is obviously destined for greatness in Firelands and Aramis?” she asks, staring at Zanyar with a frown.

I understand her confusion. Zanyar’s participation in these trials is a puzzle wrapped in an enigma. It all reeks of rotten fish, and my gut churns with its stench.

I glance at Zanyar’s tall figure, but before I can get completely lost in his unfairly attractive features yet again, my gaze is pulled to something even more breathtaking.

A majestic fortress emerges from the mist.

Jahanwatch!

Chapter Three

All conversation ceases, replaced by a collective, stunned silence.

It matches the tales exactly. Perched impossibly on the precipice, the graystone behemoth stands defiantly against the nine elements, dominating the sky like a vision from a dream. Its spires pierce the clouds, catching the sunlight and reflecting it back in a thousand golden shards.

Jahanwatch, the seat of Martysh, has stood here in the heart of the Albir Mountains since the Union was established three centuries ago. It is an awe-inspiring painting of towers, turrets, courtyards, and keeps that sprawls across the clifftop. Atop the highest tower, a banner bearing the sigil of Martysh—a wolf’s head intertwined with an eagle’s head—snaps proudly in the breeze.

“It is magnificent,” I whisper, my heart pounding excitedly.

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