“What does it look like I’m doing?” she repeated his words from earlier. “I’m threatening you.”
He cleared his throat. “Is that what this is?” Alistair was a master of threats, but even he had yet to employ this technique.
“I saw all I needed to know about you. Rivals.” She snorted. “I have nothing to fear from you.”
Alistair glanced down at his rings, cataloging what curses he had left now that he’d drained his Shatter and Break stone.
“What else did you see?” he asked her.
“Everything.”
The thought of someone peering into his psyche was a terrifying notion. His grief already felt hopelessly transparent.
“And what do you see now?” he challenged, fighting to keep his voice steady. He knew that, to replicate the Divining Kiss from before, she would need to use her stores of magick. And she would need to touch him again. Those were dangerous propositions for both of them, though almost certainly more pleasantly dangerous for him.
But rather than reach for his hand again, she stepped back, putting distance between them. “A waste of magick,” she said haughtily. “Besides, I’d already guessed you were arrogant and self-destructive. Our conversation only proved it.”
And then she left, leaving Alistair still drunk, still irritated, still grieving, still alone. The cold inside him rushed back all at once. Nothing ever went the way he’d envisioned it.
In the banquet hall, the music stopped, and Alistair knew what that meant. The introduction of the champions was about to begin.
ISOBEL MACASLAN
If no victor emerges after three months, then every champion dies and no family gets high magick for twenty years. That is the inherent joke in it all—if the families compete in the tournament to win magick and glory, why, then, does it feel like a punishment?
A Tradition of Tragedy
The seven champions lined up near the exit at the back of the banquet hall, heels clicking and shoes scuffing on the ancient marble floor. Isobel’s heart pounded as the mayor, Vikram Anand, directed them in the proper order. Public displays of any kind made her nervous, and here she was shoulder to shoulder with the champions of every other family, preparing for a deadly tournament, and she couldn’t sense a lick of magick.
Isobel examined the other champions, curious how they compared to their newspaper write-ups. Perfect, dutiful Finley Blair, of course, Isobel knew from school.… Gavin Grieve was larger and more muscular than she’d realized.…
Elionor Payne cast shifty glances behind her, then met Isobel’s eyes with a sneer.…
Isobel averted her gaze and focused on maintaining her illusion of confidence, just as she’d done in front of Alistair. Even though she was in no danger at the banquet, she couldn’t let any of the champions suspect that she’d lost her power. Otherwise, she would be the one they targeted first.
Innes Thorburn stood behind her. Her brown hair was styled in an updo that looked intricate and elegant for a girl Isobel had most often seen hunched behind the covers of a book.
“Hi, Isobel,” Innes said. “How have you been?”
This seemed a bizarrely mundane question for their situation. In only a few minutes, the mayor would announce each of their names and families, and the spectators would celebrate as if six of them wouldn’t die sometime in the next three months.
“I’m good,” Isobel answered blandly.
Innes smiled warmly. “I always knew you’d be champion.”
Isobel couldn’t say the same. But she didn’t have the mental energy to think about Briony—not tonight.
Innes gave Isobel a pointed look. “You don’t have to pretend. Everyone thought it would be my sister.”
Isobel didn’t bother to correct her. But she didn’t pity Innes, either. Isobel didn’t know what the final Thorburn trial was, but for Innes to defeat her sister, she must’ve been far more capable than Ilvernath had given her credit for.
“Ah,” Mayor Anand said, “the last champion is here.”
Alistair Lowe staggered over, his face flushed.
The mayor pointed to the spot between Isobel and Innes, and Isobel stiffened. She’d managed to forget that, traditionally, the Macaslans directly preceded the Lowes, though she doubted any of the families remembered why.
Alistair shot her an impish smile.
He’s dangerous, troubled, her mother had told her. What that boy did today … it was horrible.
Maintaining her facade of confidence, she rolled her eyes and turned away from the boy her mother thought would murder her.