Villains. All of them.
A noise rang out through the room, and Briony turned to see the door opening. Gavin Grieve stood there, looking pleased.
“Well hello,” he said, licking his lips. “Are we turning on each other already?”
GAVIN GRIEVE
When high magick was plentiful, and the world was ruled by grand, violent gestures, this tournament must not have seemed so horrifying.
A Tradition of Tragedy
When Gavin stumbled on Briony and Isobel’s argument, he was relieved. This—betrayal, threats, secrets—was a language he understood. And it signified an end to the bizarre events of the past twelve hours, where he’d let three other champions talk him into an alliance that went against all his instincts of self-preservation.
“You were spying on us!” Briony said, brows drawn with indignation.
“It’s fair game,” Gavin said calmly. “If you wanted to have a private conversation, you should’ve used a soundproofing spell.”
Gavin had expected this alliance to turn on him at any moment—the only reason it hadn’t, he’d assumed, was because they were inside his Landmark. But drinking last night with Alistair, things had gotten all muddled.
He could’ve tried to kill Alistair Lowe a dozen times. When he was drunk. When he buried the ring. When Gavin woke up this morning and found Alistair curled up on the leather couch in the study, a throw draped over him, an embroidered pillow beneath his head. His expression was cruel even in his sleep.
But Gavin hadn’t. He told himself that he was just being practical, that it had nothing to do with their conversation. He couldn’t believe the Lowes killed their own, and yet, at the same time, he could. It was all there, in the rumors, in their tiny numbers, in the way they kept their secrets locked up tight.
Knowing the truth about Alistair should’ve made him believe he was even more of a monster.
But he had seen Alistair and his brother that night in the Magpie. He’d watched him carefully when he’d buried the ring. And he’d believed his grief. This morning, Gavin had woken up to the feeling of life magick seeping from the ground, from the place where Hendry Lowe had been laid to rest. It had been a grim reminder of the night before.
After Gavin had learned the truth of the Lowes, he’d decided to let Alistair live, for as long as this alliance lasted. But since Isobel and Briony had started arguing, he had a feeling that wasn’t going to be long.
“What did you hear?” Briony demanded.
“It doesn’t matter what he heard,” Isobel said to Briony. “The entire town must know what you did by now.”
“They won’t care when I fix everything.”
“I don’t think you will.” Isobel turned toward Gavin, assessing him as if she was truly looking at him for the first time. “Do you believe her, Gavin? Do you think she can end the tournament?”
Gavin saw the opportunity in Isobel’s question. Briony had broken the pattern of their alliance. Proven herself to be the weakest link in their chain. And with that sort of destabilization came a chance to take control of the situation.
“The tournament has existed far longer than we have,” Gavin said. “If there really was a way to end it, it would’ve happened already.”
Briony scowled at him, but Isobel looked gratified.
“Don’t you want to end this?” Briony asked.
The idea in and of itself was, of course, appealing. But even if the possibility of breaking the tournament didn’t strike Gavin as utterly ludicrous, then it wouldn’t be his win. He knew Isobel had seen that, too—that Briony wasn’t trying to work with them as allies. She was trying to use them to further her own glory, just as she had at Callista’s wedding.
“Not really, not when you’d just take all the credit for it,” Gavin said. “I won’t be the sidekick in your story.”
“You’d rather perish than help me?” Briony’s voice shook. “Don’t you understand that this is life or death?”
“Oh, I understand.” Gavin mentally sorted through his carefully selected spellrings. “I think you’re the only person here who doesn’t.”
Briony’s eyes widened, and an enchantment shimmered around her outstretched fingers. “Do you really want to fight here?”
“It’s my Landmark.” Gavin waved a hand, and the wards around the room tightened; everywhere, from the rafters to the doors, would be impermeable to her. If she wanted to leave this room, she’d have to go through him. “I like my chances.”