Amphie descended the ramp, crossed the stage, and came to stand in the center. A slow melody filled the arena, quiet at first, but growing louder. Amphie opened her mouth and sang, her voice surging through the music. Behind her a glowing vine with two shoots, one emerald and the other silver, emerged from the edge of the stage. They wove around each other, spiraling, growing leaves, sprouting buds, branching and twisting, as if nourished by her song.

Super subtle. She couldn’t have made it more obvious unless she finished it off with a neon sign that said Kosandion and Amphie sitting in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g. Gaston and Tony had rehearsed with the candidates yesterday, and now I understood why Tony called her a simple soul afterward.

The song reached a crescendo. Amphie delivered the final ringing note and fell silent. The vine behind her bloomed with golden flowers.

“Lovely,” Kosandion said.

It sounded like a genuine compliment. Maybe with all the conflicts and crises he had to resolve, raising a child with Amphie was beginning to look appealing. She clearly adored him, they were both from the Dominion, and it promised to be uncomplicated.

The arena offered applause, and Gaston reappeared to cordially escort Amphie back to her seat.

I bounced the light again. Prysen Ol was next. He came down dressed in another blue robe, looking humble and handsome.

He cleared his throat and announced. “I’ve composed a poem to celebrate this once-in-a-lifetime occasion. I humbly offer it to you.”

He took a deep breath and began. “The darkness is vast. The universe is cold…”

The poem lasted five minutes. It was beautiful, and it spoke of every star being a sun to someone. At the end of it the Holy Ecclesiarch teared up, and the First Scholar rested his wing on his chest over his heart and had to take a moment.

Oond was next. He performed a dance, and by the end of it I needed a moment from the sensory overload.

Cyanide sang the song of her people, which was long and very yowling. The Higgra delegation were overcome and joined in toward the end.

“I can’t take it,” Sean whispered into my earpiece. “It’s like a room full of cats being slowly strangled.”

“Be nice.”

“She’s an expert weaver. Why didn’t she make something?”

“Because she doesn’t give away her secrets to the enemy.”

My poor werewolf. I could practically feel his eyes twitching.

By the time Cyanide finished, most of the audience had reached a breaking point. Bouncing the light again was a relief. I settled on Unessa. We needed something to wake us up, and she was unlikely to sing. Somehow, I just didn’t feel that Dushegubs put the same value on fine arts as we did.

Unessa practically ran down the ramp with a bounce in each step. Hmmm.