The grand wooden doors opened to the chilly September evening, and the champions were immediately greeted by shouts.
“ARE THESE NOT YOUR SONS AND DAUGHTERS?
YOU HAVE RAISED THEM FOR THE SLAUGHTER!”
A hoard of protestors surrounded the mossy stone square, sectioned off by ropes and the Ilvernath police. Many carried picket signs with words and images, enchanted so that splotches of bloodred paint splattered across them, then faded, on repeat. Others wielded posters of each of the champions’ faces from their headshots in the newspaper.
As Isobel spotted her picture in the hands of a stranger, a wave of nausea crashed over her. She only had to suffer through these theatrics for a bit longer. Once the sun set and the Blood Veil fell, magickal safeguards within the tournament itself would automatically prevent outside interference or trespassing on tournament grounds. Champions could only be affected by spells cast by one another, and they couldn’t speak to anyone other than fellow champions or venture within the city limits. Nothing these protestors did or said would change that.
Alistair leaned closer to Isobel. “Let the show begin,” he whispered, sending chills up her neck. She swatted him away, worried she’d be sick again.
Mayor Anand shouted something Isobel couldn’t hear over the commotion of the protestors. Then, clearly flustered, he cast a Loudspeaker spell and called, so thunderously Isobel nearly leapt out of her skin, “GAVIN GRIEVE! Oh—Sorry—If you would all quiet down…”
Gavin strode down the steps into the courtyard while Mayor Anand read out Gavin’s embarrassingly short list of accomplishments.
“Gavin is the oldest son of Boyd and Ailis Grieve. His accomplishments include skipping a grade and…” Mayor Anand cleared his throat awkwardly. “Well. He is seventeen years of age and in his final year at Ilvernath South Public Secondary School.”
Gavin might as well have been invisible, as no one but the protestors paid him the least bit of attention. Even his family was somewhere else, crowding the bar inside.
She felt an unexpected pang of sadness for him. At least the Macaslans thought Isobel would win.
Gavin approached the massive stone that jutted out from the center of the square. In all the times that Isobel had seen the Champions Pillar, the veins of red crystals woven through it had never looked so much like blood.
When Gavin took the knife Mayor Anand offered and climbed the ladder to carve his name into the stone, the protestors only grew more raucous.
“JUST BECAUSE YOU WIN A PRIZE!”
From where she stood, Isobel could only see the Pillar’s back, where a symbol was engraved—seven stars arranged in a circle. But even from here, she could spot the ring that appeared around Gavin’s pinky finger when he was finished. The champion’s ring, binding him to the tournament’s power.
“YOU’RE NOT ABSOLVED FOR THOSE WHO DIED!”
“Finley Blair!” Mayor Anand continued, ignoring the jeers. “Finley is eighteen years old and the only child of Pamela and Abigail Blair. He has been the class president of Ilvernath Preparatory Academy for four straight years, as well as the captain of the school’s fencing team. His interests include— OH, WILL YOU STOP THAT?” Mayor Anand shouted again, though it did nothing to quiet the upheaval.
Those in the courtyard clapped for Finley as he carved his name into the Champions Pillar, as they hadn’t done for Gavin. After all, he was Finley Blair. Dedicated, charming, proud of his family in a way that Isobel could never be. But she’d come to know Finley rather well during the months he’d dated her former best friend, and she could see the stiffness in his walk and the careful calculation in his smile.
“Carbry Darrow!”
Isobel didn’t pay much attention as Carbry descended the steps, tripping halfway down. All she could think was that she was next. And with the protestors’ continued chants and Alistair Lowe practically breathing down her neck, she was sweating. She blotted at her forehead with the back of her hand, careful not to smudge her makeup.
“Isobel Macaslan!” Mayor Anand called.
Isobel graced the square, her gown trailing after her as she walked. The clapping grew louder and, for a moment, she could almost pretend everything was normal. She was wearing the dress she’d chosen. Her lipstick was flawless. Her impressive number of spellrings showed exactly how much power she commanded.…
Had commanded.
“ARE THESE NOT YOUR SONS AND DAUGHTERS?
YOU HAVE RAISED THEM FOR THE SLAUGHTER!”
Her stomach clenched. I can’t do this, she thought with panic.