It makes me angry to see people afraid, because my father served with distinction as a spider scout in his first years in the Efean army. I squeeze Amaya’s hand. “People should remember how often spider scouts catch bandits trying to sneak into villages and towns! They should be thankful, not scared!”
“Denya says the king never calls them into the city unless he means to wield them against his most dangerous secret enemies,” she whispers. “Anyway, they’re creepy. Don’t you wonder how the priests use magic to wake up a metal body and make it live?”
“No. I have enough to think about,” I mutter, remembering that the biggest event of my life is about to happen.
The victory procession moves out of sight along the Avenue of Triumphs. As the crowd thins out, our carriage takes a side street up the Queen’s Hill to the City Fives Court. Mother’s eyes are still closed, as if she is seeing the parade again in her mind’s eye.
After what seems like forever, our carriage arrives at the plaza in front of the court.
A Fives court is the name we give the playing field on which the game of Fives is run. It is also what everyone calls the huge, round, roofless stone building, several stories high, that rings the playing field and where spectators sit to watch, gossip, bet, eat, drink, and cheer.
From all over the city people are streaming into the court to find seats. Trials are held every Fivesday but because of the victory procession today’s trial will be especially crowded.
Our carriage comes to rest in a fenced-off yard reserved solely for the Patron-born. We wait until Father arrives. He has changed out of his armor into formal attire, a waist-length fitted tunic and a draped ankle-length skirt called a keldi and worn only by men. Captain’s whip in hand, he escorts our party through a private entrance that leads past the tiered seating where Commoners cram together and up to the special section where only Patrons may sit. When we attend the games as a family, Father rents a box in this section with cushioned benches and attendants to hold umbrellas to block out the sun.
Today, however, he leads us to the private tiers where Patron lords enjoy the trials, cordoned off even from ordinary Patrons. At an archway flanked by guards, Father flashes an ivory token. The guards wave him through with formal congratulations on the great victory. They carefully do not glance at Amaya, but they eye me in my linen finery. I can tell they are wondering how I fit in.
Father ushers us toward a balcony box marked by a flag depicting a three-horned bull, the badge of Lord Ottonor’s clan. Lord Ottonor stands at the entrance greeting each of his guests. They are all men whose careers he has sponsored in the military, the administrative service, or mercantile ventures. He greets Father with the look of a man who cannot believe his great fortune at having discovered gold baked within a humble loaf of bread.