But even if it was inevitable, Isobel couldn’t bring herself to hurt Alistair. She knew the way he cared for her, and she never wanted him to see her as a villain.
She slid the Reaper’s Embrace back onto her necklace chain, and at the center of the spellboard, she placed a new stone—the one for the Truth and Treachery.
“I’ll stay, for now,” she murmured.
But their fantasy was gone.
BRIONY THORBURN
The most common look on the face of a dead champion—the ones that still have faces, anyway—is surprise.
A Tradition of Tragedy
Briony knew now how it felt to be held together by nothing but magick and stories.
How it felt to come apart.
Last night, she had lain awake for a long time, staring through the window at the weakened red sky, imagining a trail of bloody footprints that led to Carbry’s body. It was easy to think about it in absolutes: her life or his. No other choice, no other way.
But Briony could picture a dozen other paths the night could’ve taken, ones that could’ve led to peace, or ones that could have ended her life instead of his. She’d thought taking Innes’s place was worth it for something greater, but instead she had wound up scared and isolated, crouching like a mouse in the dark.
She must have passed out eventually, as she woke to muted daylight streaming through the window. The bedchamber she’d chosen was a love letter to ostentatious interior design; gold lacquer dripped down the walls and adorned every piece of furniture. Briony snorted back a laugh at a portrait of Gavin that hung on the wall beside her, wearing a crown. She wasn’t sure if the Castle had conjured it or if Gavin had spelled it himself.
“Subtle,” she muttered, hauling a blanket around her shoulders and padding out of bed.
Briony’s clothes from the night before were covered in bloodied grime, and they’d belonged to Elionor anyway. Briony wanted nothing more to do with them. She ransacked the wardrobe for an outfit that wasn’t completely ridiculous and wound up in a pair of jogging trousers that cinched at the ankles and a gray T-shirt clearly meant for Gavin’s physique, not hers. It would have to do.
She found Isobel in the dining hall, scowling at a spellstone in her hand. The Cloak was draped around her shoulders, the three clasps glowing with high magick.
“Good, you’re here,” she said brusquely. “I’ve just finished the Truth or Treachery.”
Briony winced. “Right. That.”
It hurt to know that Isobel couldn’t trust her unless she put her life on the line. As if she hadn’t put her life on the line just to take Innes’s place.
“Do you want to wait for everyone else?”
“I don’t care about the boys,” Isobel said tiredly.
Briony raised an eyebrow. “I find that very hard to believe. I saw the way Alistair looks at you.”
Isobel flinched, even though Briony had only meant to tease her, but her old friend’s voice came out surprisingly raw. “It isn’t like that.”
“I thought he was only here because of you.”
“Maybe he came here for me. But he stayed because of you. Your … idea. Breaking this tournament, for good.”
Her voice dripped with disdain. Clearly, she still didn’t believe anything Briony had told her. Not after everything that had happened between them.
Briony had only had good intentions when she’d called those journalists. When she’d sent them Isobel’s information. She’d only wanted to give her friend a fighting edge that previous Macaslan champions had lacked.
Briony wished she could tell Isobel that it had cost her, too. Her own family had come down hard on her once they’d realized Briony had created a paparazzi darling who wasn’t a Thorburn. They’d forced her to transfer schools and end all contact with Isobel—as if Isobel had any interest in talking to her anymore.
But words obviously weren’t enough for Isobel. This spell felt like the only chance she had left to win her over.
“Go on,” Briony said. “Cast it.”
Isobel clutched the Truth or Treachery in her hand. It pulsed as fast as Briony’s own heart, and she sucked in her breath when Isobel grabbed her hand, just like Finley had with the Silvertongue. But this felt different—Isobel’s gaze was hostile as her grip tightened. Their matching champion’s rings pressed painfully against each other, and Isobel paused for several moments, her gaze lingering on Briony’s pinky.
Briony knew, in a sudden, horrible rush, that Isobel wasn’t just going to ask her about her cursebreaking theories.