Javhonna was one year old, and she had ten minutes to win a crown from the gods. No mortal child had ever entered their festival of joy. She sat on the marble floor of the great mansion, in a lace dress her mother had ironed twice. Above her, the gods lounged on high chairs and watched. They did not smile. One of them, a tall woman with silver hair, tapped her fingers and sighed. "She cannot walk," the silver-haired god said. "She cannot speak. Send the baby home." Javhonna's mother pulled her close. "Please. Give her one chance." But the gods were already turning away. The golden crown sat on a velvet cushion near the tall windows, and it was slipping out of reach. Javhonna understood more than the gods knew. She could not say words, but she could see the problem. They wanted proof she belonged here. Crying would not work. She needed to charm them before they left the room. So she reached for the only thing near her. A small golden butterfly rested on the windowsill, its wings painted with soft blue swirls. It was her pet, tame and gentle, and it landed on her open hand when she lifted it. Javhonna held her breath and pushed herself up onto her wobbly legs. The silver-haired god paused at the door. Javhonna took one shaking step. Then another. She did not fall. She walked straight across the wide floor, the butterfly balanced on her tiny fingers, and she smiled the whole way. It was the biggest smile in the room. The gods stopped. They stared. A one-year-old was walking toward them, offering them her own pet, and grinning like she had already won. "She gives us a gift," a younger god whispered. "She chose us over her own treasure." Javhonna reached the silver-haired god's feet. She lifted the butterfly up high. The creature spread its wings and rose into the air, circling the god's head like a crown of light. The whole hall gasped. Then, from Javhonna's mouth, came a single clear word she had never spoken before. "Joy." The silver-haired god knelt. She looked at the baby for a long moment. Then she smiled, and every god in the mansion smiled with her. "The mortal child stays," the god announced. "She has earned her place in the festival." Javhonna's mother wept and clapped. The gods lifted Javhonna onto a cushion of their own, and the butterfly settled back on her shoulder. She had won her seat. But the crown still waited on its velvet pillow across the room, and now the other festival champions were arriving through the tall doors, each one bigger, older, and hungry to take it. The contest for the golden crown had only just begun.

The gods carried Javhonna into a bright performance hall, its stage lit for the contest. The golden crown waited on a stand at center stage, its jewels flashing. Javhonna sat on a cushion, her butterfly on her shoulder, smiling at the tall doors. The other champions filed in. Then one of them saw her and laughed. He was a broad champion with a booming voice, twice as tall as any man. He pointed a thick finger at Javhonna and turned to the watching gods. "That? A baby? She cannot sing. She cannot dance. She wets her own dress." He laughed again, and other champions joined him. "Send the little thing back to her cradle. She wastes our time." The gods stirred. Their smiles faded. The silver-haired god frowned and glanced at the doors, as if ready to send Javhonna away for good. Her mother reached for her, but the guards held the crowd back. The mocking champion crossed his arms and grinned, certain he had already won the room. Down the front row sat the man who chose the winner. Judge Hanson wore a purple robe and a heavy gold chain. His white beard hung to his chest, and his blue eyes were sharp and cold. He did not laugh with the others. He watched the baby, tapping one gloved finger on his knee. "Let the child have her turn," he said. His voice cut the laughter dead. "I decide who wins here. Not him." Javhonna understood. The big champion wanted the gods to forget her before she moved. She could not sing. She could not dance. But she could do one thing no one expected. She pushed herself up onto her wobbly legs and toddled toward the mocking champion. The hall went silent. She stopped at his boots and looked up the whole long way to his angry face. Then she raised both arms and gave him the biggest smile in the room. "Up," she said, clear and sweet. She wanted the giant to lift the baby he had mocked. The champion froze. If he refused a smiling baby, the gods would see a bully. If he lifted her, he became her helper, not her judge. Sweat shone on his brow. The gods leaned forward. Slowly, hating it, he bent and lifted Javhonna high. She laughed and clapped, and the whole hall burst into cheers. The giant had made her the star of his own show. Judge Hanson stood and raised his gloved hand. "The child stays in the contest," he ruled. "And this one"—he pointed at the red-faced champion—"has shown me his heart. I will remember it." The gods nodded and smiled at Javhonna again. Javhonna had won back the room. But now she stood in the giant's arms with every champion glaring at her. She had made an enemy, and the true talent contest had not even begun.