Briony slumped against a nearby cabinet, crossing her arms in frustration. “It’s like it’s punishing us for trying to break it.”
Reid’s gaze was intensely focused. A thistle plant on a shelf above him caught the light, casting a strange, many-pronged shadow across his cheek like a grotesque cursemark. “I think that’s exactly what it’s doing.”
“How many cracks until it’s destroyed?” she asked.
“Probably seven. Same as the Landmarks and the Relics.”
“Okay,” Finley murmured. He kept turning a spellstone in his hand, over and over. Briony recognized it as one of Elionor’s. “So we have to pair up the rest of the Relics and Landmarks as fast as we can. We need to figure out what happened to the Mirror. And we’ll need to learn the other families’ stories, starting with Isobel’s, of course…”
He was making his own rules. A new plan. Just like he’d said he would. Briony inhaled a deep, shaky breath. It had only been two weeks of the tournament—they still had two and a half months for other Relics to fall. But at the rate the tournament was already collapsing, it wouldn’t last that long.
Still, she couldn’t let the odds break her. They were already closer than any champion had been before.
“We need to figure out which pairings are right,” she said firmly. “So we can do this as quickly as possible once they fall. Reid, would you be willing to help us with that?”
“Of course,” Reid said. “You’ll need me. I know more about curses than any of you.”
Briony felt a twinge of unease at the eagerness in his voice. After all this time, all her questions, she’d never actually asked him why he wanted to be part of this, if there was a reason other than his own fascination with his trade. But before she could get the words out, a noise sounded from outside the shop. Briony jerked her head up. Paparazzi crowded the windows, peeking through the cracks in the shades, mumbling to one another. And they didn’t have broken cameras.
“Damn it,” she muttered. “They found us already.”
Finley’s shoulders locked, braced for another battle. “The wards ran out already?”
“They must be stronger than I thought,” Reid said, waving his hand dismissively. Then he gestured toward the velvet curtains behind him. “Don’t worry. You go to the back. I’ll handle it. There’s a fire exit behind one of the cabinets that you can take to avoid them.”
He strolled confidently to the door. Briony and Finley hastily retreated behind the black velvet curtains to the back room.
To Briony’s surprise, Isobel was awake again. She was sitting up on her cot, shivering a little, gazing around her cluttered surroundings with wide eyes. At the sight of Briony, she sighed in relief.
“Where are we?” she asked, at the same time that Briony gasped, “You’re alive.”
“We’re at Reid MacTavish’s curseshop,” Finley told her. “We figured you needed help.”
Isobel took a breath so deep Briony could practically hear her bones creak. “I feel okay, actually. Just a bit strange. But … I guess that’s to be expected. I survived a death curse.”
“Which Alistair cast on you,” Briony pointed out. Then, unable to contain her curiosity, she added, “Right before you … kissed him.”
Isobel’s voice trembled. “I didn’t just kiss him, Briony. I cursed him.”
Briony jolted back in shock. She didn’t have to ask what kind of curse. She remembered the way Alistair had pulled away from Isobel. The horror on his face. “But we’re going to break the tournament. You shouldn’t have—”
“You saw the state he was in when his brother showed up. You know how powerful he is. He’ll do everything he can to stop us from breaking the tournament. And so … I had to make a decision.”
Isobel had chosen her side. Even after betrayals, and fights, and a year estranged. Briony swallowed down a grateful lump in her throat. This was no time to cry.
“So he’s already dead?” Briony whispered.
“Not yet. It’s a very slow death, but he won’t be able to stop it. And I don’t regret it. It was what I had to do.”
Even if Isobel’s words sounded resolute, the expression on her face told Briony otherwise. She bit her lip, red splotches breaking out over her cheeks. Casting that curse on Alistair must’ve ripped her apart.
“I’m sorry,” Briony said. She’d apologized before, at the Castle, but it felt different now. “For everything you’ve had to do. If I hadn’t made you become champion, you wouldn’t need to deal with this at all.”