And then Fergus did something Gavin was not expecting. He smiled.
“You haven’t heard. Alistair Lowe attacked a spellmaker at a meeting. Everyone who was there hates the Lowes even more now. Word is, they’ll do almost anything to make sure the Lowe champion dies.”
A sudden, desperate hope surged through Gavin. Never had he been more grateful that his brother was an insufferable gossip.
“Tell me which spellmakers were there,” he said, a plan already churning through his mind.
If Alistair had been foolish enough to make such powerful enemies, if they were angry enough to want him dead … they’d want it to be a humiliating death. One that would ruin Alistair’s legacy. A Grieve slaying a Lowe would be perfect.
Gavin could see how his story would end now. He just needed to make one spellmaker see it, too.
BRIONY THORBURN
The Relics—weapons powered by high magick—fall at random throughout the tournament’s three-month duration. They are the Cloak, the Hammer, the Mirror, the Sword, the Medallion, the Shoes, and the Crown.
A Tradition of Tragedy
After the Thorburns’ preliminary contest ended, there was traditionally a champion-crowning ceremony. It was a blowout bash in the gardens on the Thorburn estate with every possible branch of the family in attendance—and, this time around, with half of Ilvernath to boot. Tables in the main courtyard groaned with food and drink, and the afternoon sunlight shone down brightly upon the seemingly endless swarm of guests who’d come to congratulate Innes.
Briony had always loved parties, and she’d dreamed of this particular party for years. But now that it was here, she was miserable. There were two days left until the tournament, and she and Innes had barely spoken since the trial that wasn’t a trial. Briony had spent every day since replaying the way the elders hadn’t protested when Agent Yoo had named Innes as the champion, her own outburst, the hurt on her sister’s face. The entire event had been utterly humiliating; even more so when the elders had lied to the rest of their family and declared that the mirror had deemed Briony unworthy.
All these people thought she’d failed, but really, her story had been stolen from her. And she had no idea how to get it back.
“There’s been much speculation, you know. About the favorite to win this tournament.”
Startled at the voice, Briony whipped around and saw a ruddy-cheeked man in a purple suit.
“I’m Osmand Walsh,” he introduced. “Walsh Spellmaking.”
“Briony Thorburn,” Briony said automatically, shaking his clammy hand. She didn’t understand why a spellmaker would bother talking to her when the new Thorburn golden child was holding court only a few steps away.
“As I was saying—this is the third tournament I’ve seen, and I think your family’s champion could win it all.” Osmand Walsh swirled his gin and tonic as he looked her up and down. “You must be proud. Did you always know it would be Innes? I hear the Thorburn family is fiercely competitive.”
“Yes,” Briony gritted out. “I’m very proud.”
He was far from the last to approach her. Next on the gauntlet were two of her school friends, Liam and Kwame, who found her after growing bored with the garden’s magickal photo booth.
“We know you really wanted to be chosen,” Kwame said. “But after everything they talk about in that book, maybe it’s better that you’re not … you know…”
Liam gave his boyfriend’s hand a warning squeeze.
“We’re just glad you’ll be around for fifth year,” Liam said firmly. “Georgia said the rugby team has a real shot at Internationals now.”
For the thousandth time, Briony mentally cursed A Tradition of Tragedy for letting all the world pry into where they didn’t belong. As if she cared about the volleyball and rugby seasons in comparison to the true competition she’d been raised for.
“Excuse me,” she told them as they began speculating about the odds of which champion would die first—both settling on Gavin Grieve. “I need to find a restroom.”
She fled through the crowd and ducked behind the hedges at the edge of the yard, leaving the cheerful ruckus of the party behind her.
She wished she could confide in someone, but thanks to the Sworn to Secrecy, she couldn’t tell the truth. And besides, the only people who would have understood wouldn’t talk to her, anyway.
Isobel Macaslan, her best friend. Finley Blair, her boyfriend. Both different kinds of exes now. Both champions, as of Finley’s announcement in the paper this morning.