“I’ve been to the Monastery before,” Gavin boasted. “I know its weak points.”
“Do you think they’ll hide?” Isobel asked.
“It’ll be more fun if they do.”
Isobel cringed. They were doing what had to be done, but there was no fun in it.
“Our only problem is their two Relics,” Gavin continued. “We’ll need to be quick on the offensive. We can’t give Finley time to counterattack.”
His words made Isobel’s chest tighten. Ever since she had been named champion, she’d imagined what it would look like, what it would feel like, to strike down her friends. Because with friends like Briony, golden child of the Thorburn family, and Finley, the obvious Blair favorite, she’d always known it would be asked of her.
But even the months of anticipation hadn’t prepared her for how it would feel to lose everyone she cared about in the span of hours. Finley, unsuspecting of their attack. Alistair, who wanted a version of her that had never been real to begin with. Briony, who’d fashioned herself into some sort of hero when she had more blood on her hands than any of them.
It all left Isobel with rage and bitterness so strong that, even without the Blood Veil, her vision would still be colored red.
Though the Monastery was also located on the moorlands, it was a long journey, made longer by the silence draped over the group. The only sounds were their footsteps and the hem of the Cloak brushing against the brittle heather. Isobel mentally recited her curses and spells, trying to decide if any of her enchantments would be weakened by the Cloak’s magick, which hindered her from casting strong offensive spells. Strategizing distracted her from her nerves. From Alistair’s cool presence behind her, not beside her.
“There it is,” Gavin said, indicating a gothic stone structure swathed in vines. Its spires stretched like daggers toward the crimson sun. “They must’ve fixed the doors. But I made easy work of them last time.”
Isobel stepped aside so that Gavin could cast his spell. His brows knitted in concentration, and the door quivered on its iron hinges. Isobel and Alistair backed farther away, braced for a blast. But after several moments of struggling, Gavin dropped his hands, flushed.
“They’ve changed the wards since last time.” He shot a furious look at Alistair. “Just going to stand there, are you?”
Wordlessly, Alistair cast a spell of his own. A white blade of wind sliced through the air and struck the door’s padlock. Rather than cutting it, the blade snapped. It wasn’t strong enough.
After that, all three of them tried for several minutes—without success. Gavin cursed and dropped his arms.
“It’s impossible!” He seethed. “Is this you?” he shot at Alistair.
Isobel gritted her teeth. Her Skeleton Key spell had been a higher class than the Scythe’s Fall Alistair had used. Contrary to what Gavin believed, Alistair was not the only formidable champion here.
“How could it be me?” Alistair answered flatly.
“You don’t want this. I can tell.”
“If I hadn’t wanted to come, I wouldn’t have.”
Gavin advanced toward Alistair. He was so much bigger than him in comparison, taller, broader. Alistair might’ve been a Lowe, but Gavin cast a shadow twice as long and twice as dark. Though Gavin was on their side—for now—Isobel wondered if it’d been a mistake to bring him along.
“Don’t waste your magick,” she warned him, knowing Gavin wouldn’t listen to simple reason. Her words earned her a scathing look from Alistair. And even she knew how they sounded—raspy and cold, like her father.
“Prove it, then,” Gavin spat at Alistair, ignoring her. “You do it.”
“How do you expect me to do that when both of us couldn’t open it together?” he asked.
“I didn’t say to open it. All we need is for Elionor and Finley to come out.” Gavin took a last step forward so that they stood chest to chest, as though determined to intimidate him. But judging from the cool disdain in Alistair’s eyes, it wasn’t working. “Elionor nearly killed you. Don’t you want revenge?”
Isobel considered casting a curse to stop Gavin, and her hand even reached for the Reaper’s Embrace dangling from her necklace. But then she stopped. Gavin was the only other one among them not spouting nonsense about breaking the curse. No matter how resentful or furious she felt, she didn’t know if she could face the rest of the tournament if she was the only one with the sense to fight in it.