She preferred to focus on the possibilities high magick promised. She’d understood why the families had kept it secret before, but now that it wasn’t, what was to stop them from using it? The Thorburns could do so much good with that power, not just for Ilvernath, but for everyone. When she won the tournament, she would make sure of that.
“Thorburns,” called out a crisp, clear voice, and Briony blinked back into the amphitheater, where the elder council filed in one by one. The Thorburns were the only family big enough for such a governing body, which was part of why Ilvernath relied on them so much to assist with their problems. Elder Malvina, older than dust, was supported by her wife, Jasmit, as she shuffled to the podium. “We have an announcement to make.”
Briony’s heartbeat sped up with anticipation. Her moment had finally arrived.
“We’ve made the decision,” Elder Jasmit announced, her voice quavering a little, “to hold the final champion’s trial in private.”
The crowd rumbled, confused. Briony whipped her head around to see Innes looking just as shocked as everyone else.
“Has this ever happened before?” Briony hissed.
“I doubt it. Our last trial has always been public.”
“Why would they change it?” The Thorburns were loath to update even the most trivial traditions, let alone this one.
“I don’t know.” The admission that she didn’t know something appeared to cause Innes physical discomfort, which would’ve been funny to Briony under different circumstances.
“We will present your champion when the trial is complete,” said Elder Malvina. “For now, we request that our contenders come with us.”
The elders shuffled away without another word. Their cousin Emmett coughed uncomfortably behind them, while Innes shifted in her seat. As always, Briony was the first to stand, the first to beckon for them both to follow her.
It didn’t matter where they held the trial. The end result would be the same.
The elders led them across the grounds into a gazebo, where they held more intimate tribunals—or gossiped about their many relatives. The space was small, knotted artfully with vines in the last vestiges of their summer bloom, lined with a bench made of stone. Silencing spells cloaked the area in a suffocating net.
On a table in the gazebo’s center sat a gleaming hand mirror with a spellstone embedded at the top of its frame. The mirror was the Thorburns’ most prized magickal artifact. It was a replica of one of the Relics—the seven objects that fell from the sky randomly throughout the tournament, each granting the champion who claimed it three unique high magick enchantments. In the tournament, the Mirror let you spy on your opponents, answered any three questions, and cast a powerful reflecting spell to fling curses back at your enemies.
The mirror in the gazebo, although not the Mirror Relic, was both an homage to Thorburn family heritage and the final obstacle between Briony and her future. It was meant to test the Thorburns’ fortitude and reveal their true souls. Once the tournament began, the terms of the curse forbade anyone—even the families—from interfering with the champions or entering the tournament grounds. But it was still expected that the Thorburn champion act in accordance with their values when cut off from their kin.
Briony was unconcerned. She saw no reason why her reflection in the mirror would show anything but a champion. A hero.
With her chin high, Briony slid onto the bench beside Innes, who looked lost in thought. Across from them, Emmett’s skin was slick with sweat.
“Um,” he whispered, the noise loud as a scream in the silence of the gazebo. “Who is she?”
Briony’s head snapped up. She’d been so distracted by the mirror, she hadn’t even noticed there was someone else here. The newcomer sat in the center of the elder council as if she belonged there, wearing a navy pantsuit and a thin smile. She looked to be around her mid-forties, with fair skin, black hair cinched into a perfect knot at the base of her skull, and lips stained the same crimson as the Blood Moon.
“Hello, everyone,” the woman said smoothly, clutching some kind of dossier in her lap. In her other hand, she held a steaming cup of coffee. “Thank you for being so accommodating on such short notice. For those of you who may not know, I am Agent Helen Yoo of the Kendalle Parliament’s Curse Division. I’m here as a government representative to observe this year’s tournament.”
Briony’s stomach coiled. Before that ridiculous book was published, the government hardly paid attention to a small, remote city like Ilvernath. But since its release, they’d interrogated every single one of the tournament families. Under the Curse Clause, they were protected from legal retribution for any crimes committed while bound by ancient enchantments. But the government could certainly ask questions. Briony had thought they were finished interfering, but apparently they had other ideas.