The King Trials 2: Beyond.

“Come now, Vinny,” Markiveus exclaims over the riling cheers. “You are going too easy on the poor sop.”

The rest of the Herems and I are on the Skydeck all encircled around Vince duelling with another crew member. A colour pool of red, black, cream and brown, blended all around. Almost the entire collection of Captain Elfort’s air crew is ringed around the sparring pair, Vince triumphing over yet another daring volunteer.

Wisps of my hair obstructing my vision, my tresses braided into fish plait, the wind running its airy fingers through it. Most of the Piratas have to clutch on to their peaked caps to keep it on their heads, their other arm outstretched, fists pounding the sky.

Vince’s bare chest glistens under a noontide sun with decorative, matching leather bands trussed around both biceps. Confidently, he stares down at his opponent with a smug smirk, his chin raised. His opponent is crouched down in a poor offensive position, knees slightly bent, elbows to his flanks, fingers sprawled.

Vince quirks his brows and beckons him with quick, fluttering fingers. The gesture initiates an instant attack, lunging for an ambitious assault. His opponent unleashes a flurry of wild punches, Vince folds his arms behind his back and effortlessly evades each jab thrown in his direction, a sequence of ducking, and a trade of jerking himself into the opposite line of attack.

Vince’s smirk blossoms into an entertained grin.

Bass voices erupt into guffaws, amused by their fellow Pirata flailing about, stumbling into attacks and Vince dodging each time, moving with feline grace, untouchable.

“Stop dancing,” Brennon says with his hand cupped around his mouth. “Finish him already!”

A fierce look glints in his eyes, a sharp smile splits his face, and he strikes. He launches a strong blow to his stomach, and he nearly doubles over. Vince finishes him off by spinning low to deliver a full swivel sweeping kick, and his opponent crashes on to his back. He releases several phlegmy coughs, rocking on his back from side to side, his pained groans drowned by the cheerful booms.

“So, what did our poor friend do wrong?” Vince asks whilst he circles him in a thoughtful pace. The defeated Pirata scrambles up to all fours. “First off, his form was pitiful. You need to hold a strong defence to execute a strong offense. Lock your feet, hold your ground and be unmovable.”

Vince stops circling to offer him his hand. The Pirata looks at it hesitantly, Vince nods back at him encouragingly before he clasps his hand on his forearm and Vince heaves him up to full standing.

“Hit me,” he says with an expressive hand gesture. Most of them speak Arkian, Piratas are well-travelled and well-versed in dialects because of it.

The Pirata readies himself by jogging on the spot, shaking out his fists before he hurls two punches and a cross jab, all of which Vince deflects with his forearms, watching him methodically with an assessing eye.

“Your left arm is stronger than the right,” he says, more to himself than to him. Decided, he says, “When you thrust, shift your weight, pivot your hip to drive power into your blows.” He demonstrates his instructions whilst issuing it. “Do not favour a high guard too much, it makes you predictable.”

The Pirata nods and Vince claps a hand on his shoulder before he walks off to join the surrounding crowd.

“Who is next?” Vince asks, the call slays every roar of merriment. He revolves around and outstretches his arms expansively. “No-one? Is there no other brave soul among you?”

Though there is no vocal response, silence itself is a reply.

“Show us real fight,” one of the Piratas demands, and the crew harmonises together with a chorus of agreeing rumbles. “Show us how Herems fight.” The rumbles escalate to nearly shatter the stratosphere.

Vince does a quick brush of his hair with his hand, swiping away the idle strands, his hair tied into a low ball. His gaze searches the crowd for familiar faces, and he stops until his eyes land on me.

“How about I show you how a Hera fights?”

Solaris nudges his elbow into my side agitatedly.

I knock his elbow away with my own.

The Pirata’s furore dwindles to awkward and perplexed mumbling.

I incline my head, fixing him with a grave look. “You dare challenge me?”

He gives me a lazy smile and nods his head condescendingly. “I am sure a wise Valwa like yourself remembers the traditional ways of our forebearers, the way power shifted. A Pentium.”

I cross my arms and a smile curls the edges of my lips. “I know what it is, but I question your decision for the sake of your honour. For it will be mine when I will have you begging on your knees for mercy.”

The Piratas erupt into a series of long and deep ’oooo’s.

Vince bops his head many times and waits patiently for the noise to fade. “When I am done with you, you will be screaming for me to stop. Face it, I am just too… large.”

“The only thing that is too large is your ego,” I say, and I drop my arms to my side. “I will gladly reduce it to normal size for you.”

As I am about to step into the ring, a loud voice blares throughout the entire Skydeck, echoing into the aether. I whirl around to see Captain Eelfort standing in the balcony, red-faced.

“Uzeke-le lempas!” He throws his arm in multiple directions, his voice like a foghorn is lodged inside of his throat. “Keke lemnas!”

Instantaneously the crowd thins, disappearing like morning mist, dispersing in all directions, scattering. Only the other Herems and I linger aimlessly.

“Hera Aurora.”

I look back at him with a narrowed vision.

“Please, join me,” he solemnly requests.

I sneak a curious look back at Solaris; he shrugs. “I am coming with you.”

“Hera,” Vince says to my back.

I peer at him from over my shoulder.

His index finger bounces between himself and I. “Pentium rematch. Just you and me, and we will see whose skill is greater.”

I arc a brow at him. “Who is better? The one that devises battle strategy and crafts of war, or the one that simply executes such plans.”

I turn and walk to the staircase with Solaris by my side. I catch glimpses of burgundy, but I do not see Primus Kelan, Duce Merian, or even the mysterious twin Hitsches.

Together, Solaris and I ascend the steps.

“What do you think he wants,” he whispers to my flank. And my response is resigned to the simple raise of the shoulders. When we reach the balcony, Eelfort nods us over and we pursue him into the corridor. Before it seems like we’re heading in the direction of our cabin, at the end, instead of going left, we head right down a shorter and dark passage.

Eelfort opens the first door on our left and releases a treasure of brilliance. He holds the door open for us and steps aside to allow Solaris and I to enter. We amble inside and my eyes peruse the modest size bureau with a broad, half-moon shape desk in the right-hand corner, cluttered with documents and parchments of a different kind. Roamers, grid rulers and other map tools.

There are two bookshelves. One on the right side, opposite from his desk but twisted at an angle to face the direction of the entrance, tall and narrow. The other is on the left side, a wide low-lying bookcase protected by glass panelling.

Straight ahead of me is a booklover’s haven. The abundance of light comes from the window that takes up the entire front wall with an awe-inspiring view of the vault of clear blue, appearing as if the ship drifts across a bed of fluffs of pure white. Pressed against the glass is a cushioned window bench, alluring with its inflated throw pillows that demand to be snuggled.

Captain Eelfort saunters ahead of us both, nearing the bookcase on my left. “This is my private study. As you can see, I have a few books here. Primus Kelan thought you would enjoy a good read.”

A smile steals across my face.

“Primus Kelan?” Solaris looks back at me with squinted eyes, nearly invisible. “Why and what—” a look of remembrance dawns on his face. “Uh, is it because you are a Valwa, assuming you are a bibliophile by nature?”

I thwart a snort and nod my head. “All Valwas are knowledge seekers, my dear friend.” Desperate to hide my face, I walk forward and swat down to my haunches to inspect the books kept from me behind the glass, my eyes trailing down their spines. The languages are completely foreign to me, the binding of the book is incredible, something of it encapsulates an aged splendour despite its time worn outlook.

“Uh,” Eelfort says with a distinct note of pride in his voice. “That is not just any book collection but artefacts, relics of time itself. Books authored in the era of sovereignty.”

I whip my head off my shoulder. Solaris gapes at him with a hanging jaw.

“These books….” I lift a hand to tap my finger on the glass. “They are from the time the Sanctum still reigned? But that was… thousands of cycles back. How have they survived this long in mint condition, and why do you have it?”

Eelfort clasps his hands in front of him. “Because they have not been touched since then, only relocated from place to place, apparently found buried away in the catacombs where the rulers of old were laid to rest. But I stole them from an exhibition hall in Begara.”

In unison, Solaris and I glare back at him contemptuously.

“Did I say stole?” He waves a casual hand, fingers adorned with ruby rings. “I meant bought, my Arkian can be not so good, good.”

Solaris makes a mock agreeing sound.

“Unfortunately, those books, remnants of history, are invaluable and will remain unread, untouched.” He shifts his torso and points at the other bookshelf. “Feel free to read any of those.”

I rise and nod gratefully.

Captain Eelfort turns to walk out of the study, but then stops abruptly. He swivels back around to face us and his eyes dart between Solaris and I uneasily with an apprehensive frown.

“This is my respectable study.” His nose wrinkles faintly. “Do not turn it into a whorehouse.”

My eyes clench close, and Solaris snorts a laugh.

Eelfort wafts out the door and closes it with a heavy thud.

Solaris and I stare at each other for a while, something between us thaws. I release a pent-up breath and I turn from him to stalk after the one accessible bookshelf. I examine the spines, reading only the titles that I can comprehend.

“Aurora. Can we talk about what happened at dinner?”

I falter for a microsecond. “What is there to talk about?”

“Much,” he says, tone coated with concern. “Let us begin with your berserk outburst, and what triggered it.”

Incensed, I pluck out a random book and march to the window bench.

“Aurora,” he mutters my name with raw exasperation.

I seat myself on the one corner, lifting my legs to fold them, dropping the book in my lap. Solaris heaves out a hefty sigh and moves to sit at the other end of the bench, leaning back against the narrow wooden board, raising only one leg to settle it on the edge.

I open the book to the first page and I pretend to read a language that I recognise but do not know.

“I spoke with Treyton a few hours back, he told me of rumours spawned when we were still at Cistern, spun by—”

“Do not say his name,” I say icily. I look back at him with a glare to match.

He compresses his lips and visibly thinks on an alternative. “How much of is it true?”

I bristle at the question. “Enough.”

“So he…attacked you.”

I slam the book shut. “Well, I did not invite him.”

A painful look deforms his face, and he conceals it with his hands. “Aurora, I—I—”

“I do not wish to speak of it,” I say it steadily. “It happened, I lived, and he did not, and that is that,” I say it as is that simple. But it is far from it.

He removes his hands from his face. “Why?”

“Why what?” I ask and shift over to lean my head and shoulder against the glass.

The warm, bright light illuminates his empyrean eyes that shines with a mystic blue.

“Why did you spare him? At first.”

I do not answer him at first. Not for a lengthy period, and he waits good-naturedly until I am ready to answer, until I myself know the answer.

“I suppose.” Creases form between my brows. “I suppose, I felt that I needed to prove something to both myself and to him.”

“And what is that?”

I shake my head. “No. No, you ask far too many questions.” I close my eyes and fully absorb the warm beams of the sun.

“One more,” he pleads.

My eyes still closed; I nod my approval.

“What is between you and Vince?”

My eyes implode back open. “I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me,” he says with a small laugh. “What is between you and Vince?”

I haul myself upright and lean back against the wooden board. “There is nothing but our rivalry for one throne that has wedged an immoveable force between us,” I say with an unwavering gaze. “I feel nothing for him but feeble fondness.”

Solaris nods back at me dubiously, eyes simmering with suspicion. “How foolish of me. How could a benevolent Hera like yourself ever take a liking to a barbaric, Ethane like himself?”

“He is not barbaric,” I say automatically, unthought, but my voice is resolute.

“He is an Ethane, they are the epitome of barbarism,” he says with a wry smile.

His words only seems to irk me further, more than it should and more than I would ever care to admit.

“A being can be more than their family, their upbringing. I am not saying he is flawless or anything, but what I am saying is that you cannot judge him simply because of what he was born into. Something that he did not choose.”

Solaris snaps his fingers like he found a discrepancy in my statement. His lips pull into a taut line and he shakes his pinched fingers at me. “There it is, again and again.”

I look back at him confounded, hoping to inspire a more comprehensive explanation.

“Your instinctive inclination to defend him at every turn,” he says with tone bashed by frustration. “I have noticed this, every time I speak ill of him, you are quick to absolve him of any indiscretion.”

I shrug innocently. “Because I dislike indulging in gossip, it does not mean I desire him.”

Solaris frees a short, bitter laugh. “Your words may say one thing, but your actions say another.”

Every fibre of me tensed at the phrase. “Actions,” I repeat pensively. “My actions speak differently?”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “You two seem extremely fond of each other and when we were still in Sorcia, he was glued to your side. With free rein to your bedchambers.”

“Whilst I was recovering, mainly to deliver me soup,” I add factually. “He was just being a…decent person. Just like you are, as friendly as rivals can be.”

He bellows his disbelief with a sharp scoff. “Not the way that it appears. Not the way he looks at you.

I dodge his eye and my gaze leaps out of the window. “And how does he look at me?”

“The way I wished that the one I desire would look at me,” he says tenderly. He clears his throat, expelling emotion. “As if he’s not looking at what makes him happy, but what is his happiness.”

I haul my gaze back and I stare back at him, fixated. “He… looks at me like that?”

Solaris’s chest inflates with a deep breath. “The King Trials have put us all in a complex predicament. Some of us may despise each other, but we need one another. But we cannot become to close because at one point we might have to kill each other. For the reason that there can only be one who is worthy, one Ruler.”

I bop my head. “Oh, I did not realise that at all,” I say with unapologetic sarcasm.

He clicks his tongue at me in reproach. “It is complicated, how we all need each other but cannot become too attached. The Blood Games proved this to us. We are stronger when we work together, but that will change when instead of us versus gladiators or monsters. At one point it will be the purebloods against the purebloods.”

I tug my lips to one side and nod in accord. “I think that was made clear from the moment the High King sent his decree.”

“Do not worry, when you and I have to face off.” He pauses to look straight into my eyes, transferring his truth. “Your death will be painless.”

A heartfelt laugh explodes from me. “My death? You are fortunate that my sister is taken with you or you would be dead already.”

Solaris’s eyes bulge from his sockets. Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.

He scoots forward until he is right in front of me. “Taken, by me?”

“Yes, I—”

“Yes!” A boyish grin brightens his face. “Did she speak of me during the respite, the recess interval? What did she say? No, how did she say it?” His words running a mile a second.

My flattened hand pumps up and down like I’m physically trying to halt the speed of his words.

“Solaris. Breathe.” I make a calming motion with the hand.

Solaris deflates from the released verve, shoulders slumping.

“She would kill me herself if she knew I betrayed her confidence,” I say, recalling our conversation, playing her words in my mind. “What she kept babbling about was why. She refused to believe it, even if a part of her wanted to. Why would an entitled, noble, fair-skinned Herem take interest in her?”

Solaris’s face fouls, skin rumpling like my repeated question offended him. “Because she is a beautiful, kind-hearted being, and that is all I saw, all I see.”

He shuffles a few inches closer. “Three cycles ago, at the annual solstice ball. Everyone who is anyone was there, as always, and at one point. One of the servants lost her footing and dropped an entire platter of entrées, most, did not even see her, and the ones that did chided her clumsiness.”

A dreamy, far-off look enters his eyes, face softening with a sweet smile caressing his lips, encouraging growth. “Before other servants came to clean the scene, or even myself. A magnificent, noble woman drifted by and without hesitation she picked up her turquoise gown and aided the servant girl. I saw not only the beauty of her appearance but the beauty of her heart.”

I give him a goofy smile for Seliah.

“Then the following spring, Duke Lembke was hosting a party, and he had a collection of musical instruments that awaited a renown musical orchestra that travelled all the way from Mela to play at his soiree.”

He chuckles to himself and shakes his head. “I was nearly nodding off, bored to death by a conversation with another Viscount, but then I was suddenly livened by a wonderful melody. I followed the sounds, as did everyone else, to the same noble woman playing a qualem so proficiently like it was an additional limb, an extension of herself. And I suppose, in a way, it is.”

I remember that. How could I not, the entire party flocked to the sound of her irresistible tune. From when I saw that her musical gift quelled even my mother’s resentment towards her, I knew then and there that she can charm anyone, her gift can calm even the most tempered of beasts.

I grin at the memory. “My sister is one of many talents. But the one thing I envy about her is her certainty.” I express my feelings through indecipherable hand gestures since words are failing me. “Her…confidence. She is sure of herself, of who she is, and it exceeds every ill thing spoken of her. She is a bastard, she is illegitimate, she is a worthless Autherine, a mere product of my father’s lust. And she does not care.”

Solaris looks at me with his face aglow. “How is she, you and her both so different from the other Heras? We all were raised with the same affluence of sorts, yet you and her share a rare humility, selflessness. Different.”

I lift a shoulder. “As are you. The other Herems, most of them, are… well… awful. But you are well-mannered, sweet, and thoughtful. Traits of a kind soul that I saw long before the King Trials. So why are you?”

Solaris imitates my shrug. “My grandmother told me this when I was a child, and I remember it still. We are all born with both good and evil, then it is up to us to choose which one we become.”

At nightfall, a few hours before the midnight hour. I embarked on a miniature tour of the ship, only keeping to the exterior, rounding the circumference. And I will only return once all the Herems are transported to dreamland. Besides, I love the cool feeling of night air, the environ of the world at this altitude.

Thoughts clamour in my mind, worries gnawing. So many worries, too much has happened, and even more is still to occur.

I breeze through the Skydeck, past the three pits and to the triangular peak of the ship where the figurehead is. Up the two wide steps on the wooden platform is a hooded figure hunched over an on open book, wearing the same faded red cloak as the Hitsches.

Her hand hovers over the book, slender fingers fluttering. A luminous pink light emanates from the weather pages, projecting out motion symbols with the same mystical radiance. With each tiny movement of her fingers, the symbol changes and shifts over to another.

I survey her. Though she appears to be so occupied she does not even acknowledge my presence, the rational side of me suggests that I should leave her in peace, but of course I do not heed the sound suggestion. Even if it’s indirectly, another female will join phase two, my excitement is merely getting the best of me.

“I just wanted to welcome you, officially on this excursion out of Urium. Well, part of the King Trials as a whole.”

She continues nonchalantly, like I am not even here.

“Frankly, I think it’s a welcomed add-on to have another woman aboard,” I try again.

Nothing. She ignores me so well; I even begin to question my own existence.

“My apologies.”

My stomach shoots to my throat. I turn my head and my gaze follows the other figure dressed in an identical cloak. He moves and takes one step up and seats himself on the top stair, a few spaces away from his sister intensely reading her tome.

“My sister becomes absorbed when she reads,” he says, his voice smoky, like a deep voice whispering. “She does not like being disturbed.”

“Forgive my intrusion, I did not mean to interrupt either of you.”

“Well, this is a disturbance that I welcome,” he says and draws his hood back. “My name is Aries, and this is my sister, Anthia.”

Aries’s hair is a platinum silver, cropped short and brushed all the way to the front. He has a black tattoo on the centre of the forehead, shaped like a spearhead, the tip pointed downwards, its outline sieved with a bright red. He has exotic facial features, an angular jaw with extraordinarily whetted features; recessed cheeks and lunar shaped eyes, gateways to something ethereal.

“My name is Aurora,” I say with an uncomfortable smile.

“We know who you are,” his sister says in broken Arkian, a peregrine accent chopping her words. “All know who you are, warrior. Those who do not, will.”

I assume she’s speaking of the Blood Games.

She clenches her hovering hand and the glowing projections melt into the pages, the book closes itself with a dramatic thud. Anthia finally looks up at me, coils of silver beside her neck with a twin tattoo on her forehead. Cold, grey eyes stare back at me with a tangibly unreceptive feeling.

She drags her gaze down and her eyes freeze on a spot on my chest, then it flies up to my forehead and she repeats this twice. Observing me unsettlingly like I have a vexing stain on my garment, like she sees something in me that only she can.

She smiles at me without friendship. “I suggest you go and rest, Hera. You will need your strength.”