Isobel ran her fingers over the stinging on her cheek, and her thumb came back coated in blood. A curse had struck her—but only grazed her, otherwise she’d certainly be feeling the effects by now. But that didn’t mean it couldn’t kill her, if it was a death curse. Her breath hitched in panic.
Briony’s eyes widened. “You can’t feel it, can you? You can’t even see the cursefire. What happened to you?”
“It doesn’t matter,” Isobel said tightly.
“Something happened to your powers, didn’t it?”
When Isobel didn’t answer, Briony pressed further—she was nothing if not persistent.
“How long ago did this happen? Before the tournament? Why would your family let you compete?”
“They don’t know,” Isobel growled, suddenly reminded that this was the first time that she and Briony had spoken in almost a year. Since Briony had betrayed her. The one silver lining of walking into a massacre had been that she’d never have to talk to Briony again. “And if you’re going to kill me, get it over with.”
“I’m not going to kill you,” Briony snapped. “You’re defenseless.”
Still suspicious, Isobel did not let her guard down. Not that there was anything she could really do to protect herself if Briony was lying.
“If I were you, I would go to whichever champion cursed you and find a way to undo it,” Briony said haughtily.
Isobel wanted to laugh. She’d done this all to herself.
“That’s not going to work for me,” Isobel told her grimly.
“Then make it work. You’re the daughter of a spellmaker, aren’t you?”
It was the optimism in Briony’s voice—not her words—that gave Isobel pause. Briony shouldn’t hope for Isobel’s survival. They weren’t any two girls, any two friends. They were two champions.
Just like Briony had always hoped they’d be.
When Isobel didn’t have a response, Briony lifted her hand to Isobel’s cheek. “At least let me heal you. Even if it only grazed you, it was probably a death curse. And you can’t treat it yourself.”
So Briony would save her life twice over, and even waste some of her magick to do it. Isobel wasn’t used to this kind of charity, especially from her, but it felt foolish not to accept.
“Thank you.”
Isobel didn’t feel the effects of the spell, no soothing coolness or sting of stitches. But it must’ve worked, because after a few moments, Briony said, “It’s done. But you’ll have a scar.”
As if Isobel cared about her vanity now.
“You can’t do this alone,” Briony told her. “You need someone to protect you until you get your magick back. I can do that, for old time’s sake. I can be your ally.”
Now Isobel did laugh. Oh, those words were rich after everything Briony had put her through. But rather than telling her so, Isobel’s thoughts returned to Reid’s words. Trying to repeat the recipe for the Reaper’s Embrace would be like playing with explosives blindfolded. Reid had also said there was another way, that if someone else cast a Null and Void spell, it would fix her.
But it had to be a spell of a higher class, and no spell crafted from common magick went beyond class ten.
Unless that person used high magick. It would double the spell’s power. It would work.
Which meant that Isobel did need an ally. And the more she thought about it, the more she realized who that ally had to be.
And that person wasn’t Briony.
“Are you listening?” Briony demanded. “We could—”
“I’m sorry. I need to fix it alone.”
Briony’s face fell, and Isobel felt a pang of guilt. It was still hard to say no to her. Isobel had always liked Briony’s rosy vision of the world, even if she didn’t share it.
“Well … good luck,” Briony said, and it sounded like she meant it. Then she turned and trudged north across the moors.
Isobel remained crouched in the trees, her heart hammering as she settled on her new plan.
The only people in Ilvernath who possessed high magick were the winners of the last tournament, and now that the tournament had begun, Alistair Lowe didn’t have any access to it. But he knew more about it than any other champion. If anyone could help her, it was him.
Even if he had every reason to kill her.
She looked up to the scarlet sky. The Cave Landmark was on the opposite side of Ilvernath, isolated and menacing and carved into a mountain. Isobel had only gotten the one glimpse into Alistair’s mind, but he seemed the sort of person to lurk in such a place.