A year had passed since Briony had last spoken to either of them. Since she’d messed up, and her family had made her transfer schools. She’d complied, of course. Her family was more important than anything.
Now, she realized she’d given it all up for a position she hadn’t even been chosen for. And some of the most important people in her life were about to kill one another.
It didn’t matter that she’d had a lifetime to get used to the idea. Now that the tournament was almost here, she simply couldn’t comprehend it.
She was sniffling on a mossy bench tucked beside a fountain when a couple stumbled out of the hedges, giggling. At the sight of her, they both paused uncomfortably. Briony saw her smeared mascara and red nose through their eyes. She felt a rush of embarrassment—and fury.
She didn’t think. She summoned the Helping Hand spell from the ring on her left middle finger—generally used for basic household maintenance tasks—and felt a rush of corresponding magick. A moment later, the spout unscrewed all the way. Water splashed over the sides of the fountain, dousing the couple. They shrieked and rushed away.
“Sorry,” Briony muttered half-heartedly under her breath. That hadn’t been a very Thorburn thing to do, even if it had only been a class two spell.
Then again, she didn’t have to be a perfect Thorburn. Not anymore.
A chuckle emerged from the hedges behind her. “Does your family have a rule about PDA?”
Briony turned. A shape detached itself from the hedge and walked her way. He looked a few years older than her, with fair skin and dark hair that hung down past his ears. A collection of cracked spellrings dangled around his neck, and studded bracelets adorned his bony wrists.
Briony didn’t like the way he was looking at her. It reminded her of the hawks that hunted the sparrows in their garden—how they wouldn’t show themselves until it was too late for their prey to escape. “Who are you?”
He grinned, wide enough for her to see the glimmer of a tongue piercing. “Reid MacTavish.” Briony recognized the name. A cursemaker. An important one. He should’ve been back in the main courtyard, one of the many offering Innes sponsorship, instead of lurking in the shadows like a goth ghost.
“Got any curses that would make everyone leave me alone?” she grumbled.
“That kind of magick doesn’t seem like your family’s style.”
“Neither am I, apparently,” Briony snapped, and immediately regretted it. Gossip spread faster in Ilvernath than an out-of-control curse—especially with journalists and cursechasers crawling out of every city gutter.
Sure enough, Reid looked at her curiously.
“My family always told me the ones closest to the champions took it hardest,” he said. “You’re her sister, aren’t you? That must be difficult.”
Briony tried to regain control of her voice. “You have no idea.”
“You’re right. I don’t. But aren’t you proud of her? I read Thorburns have to fight pretty hard for that champion spot. She must’ve really deserved it.”
Not like I did. Briony forced the thought away, knowing if she clung to her resentment, it would fester. She tried to focus on anything else. The damp flagstones below her feet. The soft rustling of the garden hedges. The clear blue sky, which would soon be stained red.
“Read?” Briony repeated quietly. “You read that book didn’t you?”
“Maybe. But even before that, well … A good cursemaker wants to know everything they possibly can about a curse like Ilvernath’s. It’s fascinating. A complex machine that keeps itself running with every cycle of the Blood Moon.”
A machine. Briony had never thought about the tournament that way before—like each family was combined in seven interlocking mechanisms, twining together to play out the same story generation after generation.
“But that’s all in the past now,” Reid mused, licking his lips. “The future is subject to change—the book made sure of that.”
“Curses don’t change,” Briony told him, then realized she hardly needed to explain that to a cursemaker. “Or at least this one doesn’t.”
“No, Ilvernath’s curse hasn’t changed. But the context has. Think about it—all the publicity, all the meddling. I wonder how it will alter the champions’ strategies, or if all the journalists and cursechasers grappling for their photos will make the curse’s magick have to work harder, or break, or … Well, I’m sure you’ve thought about that, too.”