A week later, Isobel peeked from behind a school bus to make sure the reporter who’d just accosted them was out of sight.
“I-I don’t understand,” she stuttered. “Why would that journalist think that I was a champion?”
Beside her, Briony grinned and lightly punched her shoulder. “Because you’re obviously your family’s best choice. You could probably teach our spellmaking course. You’d be better than Mr. Flannagan.”
“But the reporter didn’t make it sound like a rumor.” Dread churned in Isobel’s stomach as they hurried inside the building. The hallway seemed narrower than before, her classmates’ whispers rising to a fever pitch. “He said ‘announced as champion.’ Why would he—？”
She was cut off by the screech of the loudspeaker, requesting that Isobel Macaslan visit the dean of students. Immediately.
“Do you want to explain this?” the dean demanded, waving that morning’s edition of the Ilvernath Eclipse. “Or why every journalist in Kendalle is calling my office, asking the school for a quote?”
That was when Isobel saw the headline: “ISOBEL MACASLAN FIRST TO BE NAMED ‘CHAMPION’ IN ILVERNATH’S DEATH CURSE.” She snatched the paper and flipped through the six-page article, her chest so tight she could barely breathe. At first, she assumed it was a sadistic prank, fabricated by the city’s media to draw more tourists. But the research was sickeningly thorough. The photograph of her winning a gold ribbon at last year’s Spellmaking Fair. Her spring semester report card. An anonymous source detailing Isobel’s “high achiever” and “perfectionist” personality.
“I can’t go back to class,” she croaked, and when she looked back at the dean, she wanted to scream at the pity on his face.
An hour later, her mother picked her up from school. Isobel didn’t return for a week. She’d hoped in that time, the paparazzi who camped outside her parents’ houses would grow bored and move on.
But it only got worse.
Her classmates’ gossip, already emboldened from the book, grew increasingly vicious.
“The Blood Moon isn’t supposed to be until next year. She’s that excited.”
“No surprise from the Macaslans.”
“Attention-seeking bitch.”
The hate mail came next. Strangers across the city, the country, even the world had written to her to tell her that they thought she was brave. Or that her whole family was despicable. Or that they looked forward to the day she died.
“No, no. Listen to this,” Briony read to her one weekend, clutching a copy of the Glamour Inquirer and lying beside her on Isobel’s pink duvet. “‘With such an impressive list of accomplishments, we can’t help wondering if Macaslan is exactly the one to rival the future Lowe champion, whose family won the prior generation’s tournament.’”
“How am I supposed to be happy about that?” Isobel snapped, burying her face in her pillow.
“Don’t you see? Now that the world sees how amazing a champion you are, they don’t care about your family. They only care about you.”
“But I don’t want them to care about me! I’ve never even wanted to be champion!”
For several moments, Briony only stared at her—as though Isobel were a stranger.
“What do you mean you don’t want to be champion?” she asked carefully. “You’ve always wanted—”
“No, you’ve always wanted.” Isobel’s face burned. She’d never been brave enough to admit this to Briony, but after so many lies about her had circulated around the world, at least there would be no more lies in their friendship. “I don’t want to die! I certainly don’t want to hurt you. And now this…” She yanked the tabloid from Briony’s grasp and chucked it across the room. “This tournament has already ruined my life.”
Instead of consoling her, Briony swung her feet off the bed, backing away like Isobel was poison. “I can’t believe you right now.”
“You’re leaving? What’s so bad about what I said?”
“I—You…” Briony’s face contorted with anger. “You were going to be just another Macaslan champion, but now you’re not. Now you’re the first champion. Now you’re the Lowe’s rival. Now everyone is impressed by you—spellmakers, cursemakers, reporters. I saved you.”
Briony had been the anonymous source who’d contacted the newspapers. Isobel felt foolish for not realizing it before. Of course Briony, who had barely faced a tenth of the vitriol Isobel had, would decide that Isobel needed a hero to save her from her family.