“His death curse rebounded off my shield.” Her words called up the image of those arrows. The way his hand had gone limp in hers. She shuddered. “It isn’t the same.”
Finley hesitated, but then he shook his head. “He’s still dead because of you.”
Alistair had claimed Briony’s story was a good one. And Briony wanted to believe him, the same way she wanted to believe that Carbry’s death was because Elionor had betrayed her.
But Alistair didn’t know her. And the people who did had judged her differently.
Briony thought of the rage on Isobel’s face. You forced me to become champion.
Thought of Innes falling to the ground. Briony—no—
Of Carbry— I really thought I could trust you.
Finley tightened his grip on the Sword’s hilt and asked, “So is this why you wanted us to find each other? To see which of us is next?”
“No. No.” Her voice was so low it sounded like a moan. “Nothing has changed. I still…”
But that was a lie. Everything had changed. Two weeks had passed since the tournament began, and all Briony had to show for it was a death she hadn’t meant to happen. A friend who would forever hate her, a sister who would never forgive her. A theory held together by nothing except how desperately she wanted to be right.
No one in here is a hero, Isobel had snarled at her. Least of all you.
“I’m still prepared to win this tournament, whatever it takes,” Finley told her, and Briony could not help thinking of how far both of them had taken those words. This tournament had made the unimaginable their reality. “I was ready to kill—or die. But now what you’ve told me is in my head, and I can’t let it go. I can’t let you…” He swallowed. “I just need to know if there’s a chance of stopping this. I need to know what I’m supposed to do.”
Briony was taken aback by the vulnerability in his words. Finley had always defined himself by his family’s code, by clear standards of right and wrong. There was nobility in being a champion, in claiming victory no matter what violence or betrayal it took to get there. Her theory hadn’t given him hope—it had given him doubt.
In the tournament, the surest way to lose your life was to lose your conviction.
“I wish I had an answer for you, but I don’t.” Briony’s voice shook with guilt. “I—I thought I could change the tournament. Save everyone. But all I’ve really done is destroy people I care about. Innes should’ve been the champion, and I took it from her. I … I attacked her and cut her finger off. My own sister. And I really thought it would be worth it if I could fix things. But a part of me wasn’t doing it for her, or for any of you. I was doing it for myself. I thought I belonged in this story, but I never did. So maybe it’s time to take myself out of it.”
Giving Alistair a silent apology for the hope he’d mistakenly placed in her, she yanked off her spellrings one by one, letting them tumble to the ground. The Compass Rose. The Mirror Shards. The Healer’s Touch. The Deathly Slumber. Finley didn’t say a word, only watched, his face solemn. When only her stolen champion’s ring was left, she knelt on the ground before him, then tipped her head up to meet his eyes.
“I forfeit,” she whispered. “You need an answer, but I don’t have one. So I’m giving you a way out. You told me you changed your mind about whether you could kill me or not. Well. Here’s your chance.”
She bowed her head and closed her eyes.
The only sounds were her own breathing, shallow and quick as a rabbit’s, and the scrape of Finley drawing his sword. He knew the whole truth of her now. Every awful, guilty part.
The edge of the Sword brushed her exposed neck, the steel cool against her skin. It hovered there for a long, long moment, and Briony waited for him to pull it away and bring it down in one great strike. She tried not to think about how much it would hurt.
But when the steel moved away from her neck, so did Finley.
“Look at me.” His voice was gruff.
She opened her eyes to see him staring at her intently, his face silhouetted by the brightness of the red-stained sun. He had returned the Sword to its leather strap.
The air between them thickened, not with magick, but with something else. Something that felt both dangerous and important. Briony had never seen Finley look at her with that much emotion before, not even when they broke up. Like he was frustrated. Like he was furious.
At last, he spoke. “Do you know how the Blairs choose their champion?”