“No, I don’t. I’ve been checking my research ever since Agent Yoo chose me. There’s so many curses that have been broken. I … I thought maybe…” She shook her head. “But our curse isn’t like the others. Most of them have loopholes, or end conditions. Ours exists as long as the high magick that binds it together does, high magick that has been feeding on itself and getting stronger with every champion it claims.”
Innes wrung her hands.
“And now it’s going to claim me, too,” Innes murmured.
Briony’s resolve to support her sister suddenly felt a lot more complicated. If Innes didn’t want this then it wasn’t right. It wasn’t fair that anyone would make her compete.
The story wasn’t supposed to go like this. Briony and Innes shouldn’t be crying in the ruins of a Landmark. They should be celebrating. Preparing. Innes drilling her on research while Briony selected the perfect arsenal of offensive and defensive spells.
But the wrong story was already unfolding. And both of them knew Innes wasn’t strong enough to survive it.
“There’s got to be a way,” Briony said fiercely.
“Please,” Innes whispered. “Don’t lie to me.”
Briony, rarely lost for words, had nothing left to say. Instead she tucked an arm around Innes’s shoulder and pulled her little sister into an embrace. They stayed like that for a while, Innes sobbing into her shoulder, Briony staring at the ancient pillar in front of them.
“Let’s go home, okay?” Innes said at last, breaking away from her. Her skin was blotchy, her mascara smeared in messy rivulets below her eyes.
“Okay.” Briony returned the books to her backpack, even the one she’d chucked into a puddle, and swung it over her shoulder.
No sooner had they turned to leave the ruins behind than Briony heard voices. A moment later, three people clambered over the hill, their faces lit by the setting sun.
“What’s this?” called the boy at the front of the group. His skin was dark brown, his tight black curls cropped close to his skull. “I see we’re not the only ones scoping out the terrain before the tournament starts.”
Briony knew that handsome, serious face far too well. Finley Blair: her ex-boyfriend. They’d only dated for a few months, but it had been intense, even volatile. It was hard for her to look at him without remembering their fight after A Tradition of Tragedy was published, the one that had led to their breakup.
Would you kill me to win the tournament? Finley had asked.
Maybe Briony had been a fool to answer honestly, but she and Finley had understood the reality of their relationship. Thorburns and Blairs were both loyal to their families; they wouldn’t forsake them, no matter what they felt for each other.
Of course, she’d answered.
She hadn’t expected the hurt that crossed Finley’s face, the awful, villainous feeling that writhed in her stomach when he told her, I guess we’re not as similar as I thought.
They hadn’t spoken since. And now he was champion, and she was nothing at all. Briony wondered if he was relieved that she hadn’t been chosen—or if a part of him had wanted to see what would really happen if they faced each other beneath the Blood Veil.
“Plotting to take the Tower tomorrow?” Briony asked him. “A bold move.”
“We don’t need this Landmark to win,” said the girl standing beside Finley. Briony recognized her, too—Elionor Payne, a goth with an attitude as nasty as her scowl. The third member of their little clique was Carbry Darrow, the youngest of the champions, with fair skin, dark blond ringlets, and weak blue eyes. Based on the way both Elionor and Carbry were looking at Finley—Elionor as if asking for permission to strike, Carbry simply with awe—Briony could tell he was the one in charge. As per usual. He’d been class president for as long as she could remember.
Beside her, Innes hurriedly wiped the tears from her cheeks. Briony knew exactly what she was thinking. The tournament hadn’t started yet, but this felt an awful lot like an ambush.
“What is this?” Innes asked. “You didn’t just show up here at the same time as us by accident.”
“Perceptive, aren’t we?” Elionor’s dark bangs framed her forehead in a harsh line, the spellstone gauges in her earlobes stretching halfway down her neck. She’d clearly gone to great lengths to look as threatening as possible. “We’re here with an invitation for you, Thorburn.”
“The Lowes won the last tournament,” said Carbry. “Ilvernath is ready for a new victor. And we’ve agreed it should be one of the four of us.”