“Saw some of them up ahead when we crested the slope,” Duncan said, “standing around the sanctuary entrance like they owned it.” His lip curled. “Which, knowing them, they probably think they do.”

  Hector took that information and filed it away. Nothing good ever came from noble house posturing—and if the Frostkeeps were involved, this was about to get complicated.

  “I’ll go see what’s going on.”

  Tyler fell into step beside him without being asked. But Hector didn’t tell him to stay back. If the boy wanted to come and see what was going on, who was Hector to stop him?

  When they reached the front of the convoy, they found Raquel.

  The noble stood there, back rigid, as Quiness waited at his side. Her grey robes fluttered slightly in the wind, the fabric snapping softly against itself. Raquel’s hand hovered near his sword hilt—not gripping it, not yet, but close enough that the intent was clear.

  “What is the meaning of this?” Raquel demanded.

  A Frostkeep man, one of five, stood opposite him, and the smile on his face suggested he was enjoying this little confrontation far too much. His hand moved to the hilt of his own sword—casual, almost lazy—as he regarded Raquel with the kind of condescension that only generations of privilege could breed.

  “As I have told you, Flamelight—you cannot use this entryway.” He jerked his head to the right, down a long line of tents that curved around the sanctuary. “Your kind has set up over there. If you want to get in, just use that entryway. Instead, you come here, blocking up Frostkeep footways.” His smile widened. “Have you no sense of propriety?”

  “Propriety?” Raquel spat the word, venom lacing his voice. He took a step forward.

  The Frostkeep raised that hand, the smile on his lips deepening. “Ah, ah, ah! You make a move against me, you make a move against the Frostkeeps.” His tone turned mockingly sweet. “Don’t think of dragging our houses into a petty scuffle simply because your honour’s a bit hurt. Is that how the Flamelights conduct themselves?” He looked to his side, meeting the gaze of another Frostkeep who stood nearby. “Quite poor, I must say.”

  The second man laughed and nodded along. “Quite right, Katran. Though I have heard things about the Flamelight family and their brash behaviour. More akin to barbarians, really.” He sniffed. “So I wouldn’t be too surprised if that is how they conduct themselves.”

  That earned another round of laughter from these people, who seemed quite stuck up their own backsides.

  It was crazy that Emela was even related to people like this. Hector didn’t want to imagine what it was like having to deal with them day in and day out.

  As he stepped over, the Frostkeeps turned and gave Hector the once-over. Clearly not impressed.

  Raquel, too, turned and nodded at him.

  “What’s going on?” Hector asked the Flamelight heir.

  “Nothing.” Raquel sighed. “Just a nuisance.”

  “Nuisance?” Katran’s voice pitched with theatrical offence. “I think you’ll find you’re the nuisance, Flamelight. Again—if you want entryway with—” His gaze moved to Hector, then past him to the convoy stretched out behind. “—your peasant army; go round that side. I’m sure your kind will be more than happy to let in these wretches.”

  “What are you doing?” Tyler stepped forward, his voice rising. “The Sanctuary’s for everyone. You can’t block it.”

  The boy’s heart was clearly in the right place.

  But on a social level, he’d overstepped himself. At least a little.

  And the consequence of that manifested a second later, with one of the Frostkeeps drawing their sword. Steel sang against the scabbard as the blade rose toward Tyler’s chest.

  “You dare speak to a noble in such a manner, peasant?” The Frostkeep’s eyes had gone cold. “I’ll run you through right where you stand. Don’t think just because you have somehow snuck your way into this realm that you deserve any of its rewards.” The blade didn’t waver. “I’ll put you right back where you deserve to be.”

  Well. That explained why people further away from the sanctuary looked rougher than those up here.

  The nobles had recreated their precious hierarchy within the trial realm and seemed to want to maintain it through force. After all, within the grounds of the sanctuary itself—violence would earn them several seconds of agonising burning. Maybe death, if they went too far.

  But outside those walls, they could do as they pleased with their strength.

  Disgusting.

  And quite fitting for how this world turned out.

  It wasn’t really a surprise; if anything, it was only a matter of course. In this system, one had to kiss up to one of the three noble houses to do what they could do a few days ago without worry.

  Hector glanced at Raquel.

  Had the man’s family also done the same? Could he really stand here and judge?

  “I’m not going to go round with all these people behind me.” Raquel threw his hand to the side, gesturing at the convoy. “I’ve got several injured with me. If they don’t get in there, I could have dead people.” His jaw tightened. “It’d go against my honour to put their lives at risk simply because you want to follow some protocol that you made up.”

  “Made up?” Katran took a step forward. Dust scattered across his pristine blue boots. “This is our right. It’s only the natural order.”

  His eyes narrowed at Raquel, and his mouth opened to continue—

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  To be honest, if the words he was about to say had made it past his lips, Hector wouldn’t have lost any sleep over it.

  And thankfully, they didn’t.

  A blur of red streaked from the left.

  CRACK.

  Boot connected with skull. Katran’s head snapped sideways, his body following a half-second later as momentum carried him off his feet entirely. He tumbled—head over heels, limbs flailing—and planted face-first into the dirt with a heavy thud that sent dust billowing outward. His body skidded several feet before coming to a stop, leaving a shallow furrow in the packed earth.

  Standing where Katran had been a moment before was a girl.

  Fiery red hair—wild, untamed, practically crackling with the same energy that had propelled her kick—fell around her shoulders in tangled waves. Her robes were cut short at the sleeves, ending just below the elbow, and the fabric was torn in places. Frayed edges. Scorch marks. Nothing like how a noble would wear them.

  She planted her hands on her hips and let out a laugh that rang across the stunned silence.

  “Stop yapping!” Her voice carried the easy confidence of someone who’d never once questioned whether she belonged somewhere. “If you want to fight, just do it. Do away with all these blighted pretexts.”

  Then she turned.

  And her grin—sharp, delighted, utterly unrepentant—landed on Raquel.

  “Brother.” She spread her arms wide. “It’s good to see you back.”

  Sighing with a weight that hadn’t been there moments before, Raquel lowered his head.

  “Elena. Did you seriously need to do that?”

  The insane girl—Elena, in this case—laughed again. She stepped forward, kicking up dust as she did, before clasping a hand onto her brother’s shoulder.

  “Oh, come on. You were just building up to it, anyway.” She gave him a shake. “I was just speeding up the process.” Her gaze darted to Quiness, whose face was as blank as ever. “Besides, Quiness agrees with me. Don’t you?”

  The grey-robed woman simply bowed, then raised her head to meet the girl’s eyes. “While your methods are questionable, young miss, I do not exactly see a flaw within your logic.”

  “See?”

  Elena’s smile was that of someone who’d been almost absolutely vindicated. She shook Raquel again, and he raised his head to meet her crazed blue eyes. “Now that Quiness has agreed, I say we finish kicking these guys’ arses and get inside.” Her voice dropped conspiratorially. “I’ve got some news for you, actually. You remember the tournament you were agonising over before? I’ve got some information about it.”

  That seemed to perk Raquel up quite a bit. The man’s lips peeled into a soft smile, and he shook his head.

  “What am I going to do with you?” He paused. “Has Cordex returned yet?”

  “No, brother’s still out there.” Elena waved a dismissive hand. “Probably flirting with some commoner. Not that I mean anything by that—” She turned to Hector, scratching at the back of her wild hair. “He’s just a person who likes everyone from any social class, let’s say.”

  Though she didn’t seem as if she’d found the words she was looking for. But in the end, she didn’t care too much and simply shrugged, turning away.

  A strange girl, to say the least.

  Not one that Hector could exactly put into a box. But if he was going to, that box would be labelled crazy and uncaring. Her brashness was almost like Jodie’s—if Jodie also didn’t care about anyone else apart from herself.

  The two would probably make quite a pair.

  Coupled with the fact that they were both gingers, though the Flamelight’s hair skewed more toward red than the actual ginger of Jodie’s.

  On the ground, Katran groaned.

  He then got shakily to his feet a moment later, dusting himself off as several of the Frostkeeps that were guarding the temple entrance rushed over and helped him. Blue robes clustered around him like worried hens, hands steadying his shoulders, brushing dirt from his sleeves.

  “You witch,” Katran spat.

  Murmurs broke out around him. The blue-robed Frostkeeps exchanged glances, their voices dropping to hurried whispers that nonetheless carried on the wind.

  “—the crazed demon, that’s what they call her—”

  “—killed her fiancé, I heard. Broad daylight in the market district—”

  “—made news for weeks. Weeks. Are we sure we should be—”

  “—someone that unhinged, I don’t know if—”

  “Well,” Elena said, resting a hand on her hip. Her stance was loose, easy—the posture of someone who’d heard every whisper and found them all amusing. “If we’re going to fight, let’s do it already. No point in humming and hawing, trying to make all these considerations now.” Her grin peeled thin. “You weren’t doing so a minute ago when you were pestering my brother. What’s the fuss?”

  Katran stammered.

  Clearly searching for words that were not going to come. He probably wanted to take a more formal approach; use honour, pride, and family to dissuade from any conflict, that it was clear—and growing clearer—he would lose.

  In the end, after the tense silence stretched thin enough to snap, he straightened.

  And stepped away from the temple entryway.

  “You may have your convoy pass through now.” His voice had gone cold yet maintained that formal air. The wounded dignity of someone retreating while pretending they weren’t. “But know this, Flamelight: Drion will hear of the actions today. Noelle too. And they will not allow this trespass against the Frostkeep family to go unchallenged.” His eyes narrowed. “Our satisfaction is due.”

  “Again!” Elena shouted, throwing her hands up. “If you want to fight, just say so! I’ll come over there and start it for you, if you really need me to.”

  A hand clasped the girl’s shoulder, and she turned to find Raquel shaking his head. “Sister. Leave it.” His tone brooked no argument. “We’ve got what we wanted.”

  He then turned to Hector.

  “I’m sorry for the inconvenience, my friend. As you can see, things aren’t exactly harmonious amongst the nobles.”

  “That’s just how I like it,” Elena said, stepping over. She seemed incapable of staying still for more than a few seconds. “Keeps things more interesting that way. Keeps them on their toes, I think.” Her grin returned, wolfish and eager. “Besides, if they send Drion over—sure, he might be Gravity Forging Eight—but I think I could plant a good hit on his face before anything gets too serious. And if it does, when our brother comes back, he’ll just put the icy bastard in his place, anyway.”

  “Elena.” Raquel’s voice was laced with warning.

  The girl rolled her eyes.

  “Who are they, by the way?” She jerked her chin toward Hector and Tyler. “You seem rather close to a commoner, brother. That’s not very much like you.” She tilted her head. “I mean, unless they’re a mercenary, but I didn’t think you’d just play with the rabble.” A smile, somehow both apologetic and utterly unapologetic at once. “No offence, of course.”

  Hector struggled to find it annoying, even with the frank jab at his social standing. There was something almost refreshing about someone who just said what they thought without the layers of noble double-speak.

  “This here is the captain of the Tin Mail Mercenaries, Tyler Alcard.”

  Elena shook her head. “Haven’t heard of him.”

  “And this one—” Raquel raised his hand toward Hector. “—is Hector Jacaranda. A friend of mine, and hopefully a firm ally going forward. You shall be seeing more of him in the future.”

  “Oh, okay.”

  Elena nodded, her wild hair flashing as she moved her head from side to side. Sizing up Hector. Her gaze travelled from his boots to his face with the same casual assessment a butcher might give a cut of meat.

  “A friend, you say?”