But since the appearance of the Blood Moon three weeks prior, the amphitheater had been used for something entirely different than mediation. The Thorburn family had come together to declare a champion.
At first, eighteen cousins and one sibling had stood between Briony Thorburn and the honor of competing in the tournament. A series of physical and magickal tests had whittled them down one by one. Now her only remaining obstacles were her younger sister and a distant cousin—the former on the bench beside her, engrossed in a book, the latter behind them, looking deeply apathetic.
Today was their final test.
Briony drummed her fingers against her thighs. “Do you think this is the true test?” she asked Innes, her voice low. “Keep us all waiting here until we die?”
What felt like hours had passed since they’d sat down, but the council of elders, who presided over the Thorburns’ preliminary contest for the title of champion, had yet to arrive. Behind the cousins, the rows of Thorburns had also grown restless, chittering nervously among themselves. Some tournament families looked alike, but hers was far too big for that. The only qualities they all shared were a love for the spotlight and a wide, charming smile.
“I told you to bring something to entertain yourself,” said her younger sister.
“I did,” said Briony, elbowing her. “You’re here, aren’t you?”
Innes smiled from behind her book. “I’m reading.”
“Fine then, I’ll read with you.” Briony moved to peer over her sister’s shoulder, but Innes twisted away. “What? Did you cast some kind of glamour spell on a romance novel again?”
“No.” Innes snapped the book shut, but it was too late. Briony had glimpsed the chapter header. Hidden behind the drab-looking cover was actually A Tradition of Tragedy.
“You’re reading that thing?” Briony couldn’t believe it. She’d never bothered with the book herself, but she’d heard it was a mockery of everything their family cared about, a salacious, tawdry tell-all that relied on cheap shock value to entertain its audience. By publishing it, the Grieves had somehow found a way to sink even lower.
“There’s a lot here about our history,” Innes said. “The author might not care for any of us very much, but they did their research.”
Briony personally had no interest in research or books. She placed far more stock in leadership and an instinct for battle, which was why she was captain of the girls’ volleyball and rugby teams—the latter of which had a real shot at going to the international conference in Furugawa in November. Briony was a little disappointed that she’d be missing out on their season this fall because of the tournament. But only a little.
“It’s not like all that research has helped the Grieves win anything,” she pointed out.
Innes shrugged. “The Grieves aren’t the only family who cares about that stuff. And the best way to build a strategy is to study what happened before.”
“Or by being too strong for any of them to stand a chance against you.”
Innes stared at Briony intently. Their family might not have looked alike, but the two of them did—the brown hair they’d inherited from their father, who’d died when Briony was three and Innes was two; the fair, freckled skin they got from their mother, who, in her grief, had left Ilvernath behind. She didn’t take her daughters with her, and she had never come back for them.
The sisters were raised in the Thornburns’ prized historic estate by a rotating cast of aunts and uncles and cousins; but mostly, they were raised on stories of the Thorburns’ noble history. The ways they’d used high magick to better Ilvernath whenever they won the tournament. In these tales, the Thorburns were legends. Heroes.
Innes seemed perfectly content to live out those stories in the pages of her books. But Briony couldn’t wait to carve her name into the illustrious Champions Pillar. To receive her champion’s ring. She had the physical endurance and magickal training to dominate this tournament. And after she emerged victorious, the whole town—no, the whole world—would tell stories about her.
“There’s more to every tournament than just who wins, Bri,” Innes said seriously. “Every champion had a reason to compete, and they deserve to be remembered. Even if they didn’t make it out alive.”
Briony wasn’t so sure she agreed with her. Dwelling on the generations of failed champions before her felt dangerous, a reminder that her pathway to greatness would be paved with six difficult but necessary sacrifices.