The Iron-Jawed Boy and the Hand of the Moon (Book 2, Sky Guardian Chronicles) by Nikolas Lee Page A

my nerves. Can we not get to the inevitable solution already?”
    “And what might that be?” Vasheer asked coldly.
    “A contest,” Eos said simply. “A godly tournament unlike any other. To find the next true Hand of the Moon.”

CHAPTER SIX
    OF TIME AND DEATH
     
    The three brothers considered one another as they sat back down in their thrones.
    “That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” said Esereez.
    “It could work,” said Vasheer.
    “A battle for the Throne?” said Thoman, three of his lenses magnifying upon the Unseparated Ones. “But...it wouldn’t be very Illyrian of us. We aren’t the Old Gods—no disrespect, Lady Borea.”
    “None taken,” said Lady Borea. “There wasn’t a single law we passed back in the day that hadn’t been literally fought for.”
    “Well, it wouldn’t have to be just a battle,” said Soldune, bits of cake hanging from his pouty lips. “There could be other events...three, let’s say. Where the competitors are tested on a multitude of levels.”
    “Yes!” Ezra cried, eyes bright with ideas. Ion stood there, marveling at the concept of how complex and quick the mind of a goddess of knowledge could possibly be. “A fight...a retrieval ...and a...a race !”
    “A retrieval ?” Vasheer asked, narrowing his eyes upon his sisters. “And what would entail a retrieval, exactly?”
    Eos and Ezra thought for a moment as they scanned the flaming leaves of the tree above, a finger to each of their chins. “The competitors will need to find an item—an item of Lady Vinya’s,” they said together.
    “Interesting,” said Vasheer, pausing to think. “And what of this race , you spoke of?”
    “Well, that would just be a race,” they replied, shrugging.
    “How would the winner be chosen?” asked Esereez. “You better not be trying to pull a fast one on us, ladies—we all know you want another Throne to add to your already full pot.”
    “Hah!” Eos and Ezra threw their heads back with a laugh. They smiled at Esereez and said, “Oh, brother, always so cynical. If we wanted another Throne, we’d wait for the right moment to seize yours—we always liked the idea of being called the Inventors.”
    Esereez looked appalled by this confession and angrily readjusted himself in his throne.
    “ But ,” the Unseperated Ones continued, “it’s our personal belief that the High Illyrians should be the judges.” They directed their attention to Othum and the three goddesses on his left and right.
    Othum gauged the faces of the females at his side. “We would be honored to judge,” he replied, the other High Illyrians nodding in agreement—Onyxia, messily so. “But first, I think a vote should be held. Gods of Illyria, all in favor of a tournament being held to decide the successor of the Moon Throne, raise your hand.”
    The air quickly became cluttered with the raised hands of all the Illyrian gods.
    “Very well then,” said Othum, sounding impressed. “A tournament it is!”
    “Further fleshing out of the competition details will be done this afternoon,” said Lady Borea, “after brunch. I’m starving, honestly, and a feast in the Sanctum of the Deep is calling my name.”
    Othum rose from his throne, arms out and goofy smile wide. “You heard the woman! Let’s all transition to the Sanctum of the Deep. When we reconvene tomorrow, the guidelines will be set, competitors formally announced, and the tournament will begin. I can sense the Balance being on its way to restoration already.”
    The Illyrians applauded, and the crowd of elves, dwarves, and giants in the balcony above did the same.
    “Guardians,” Othum continued, the applause dying, “might you be so kind as to open the doors and take your place beside one of the Illyrians for your very first Procession?”
    At the far end of the hall, Oceanus, Lillian and Theo heaved open the hundred-foot doors behind them.
    The sound of crystal grinding on stone filled the hall, and the circle of thrones