And so she made her decision. She would be the princess to walk willingly into the dragon’s lair, and she would beg the dragon to save her.
GAVIN GRIEVE
The most popular Landmark has always been the Castle. Claiming it is a valuable intimidation tactic.
A Tradition of Tragedy
The Castle was the largest Landmark in the tournament, with nearly impenetrable defensive enchantments and, more importantly, a significant amount of status attached to it.
And now Gavin Grieve was its king.
This was the first step to winning the tournament. To proving everyone wrong. He had handled the surprise of Briony Thorburn suddenly appearing as champion. He’d defeated Isobel Macaslan in combat. These were not small achievements, and together, they were intoxicating.
No wonder Alistair Lowe was such an arrogant bastard all the time.
Power felt good.
Gavin had always wondered how it would feel to claim a Landmark. Now he knew it was like being inside a great, slumbering creature that was slowly waking up. Every moment he spent there attuned him to the building. He could feel the defensive wards activating at the edges of the great stone walls; the drawbridge closing, locking him safely inside. He wouldn’t even need the Perilous Pitfall spell to defend him now. If anyone was foolish enough to try to break in, he’d be able to fight them back in an instant.
He whistled a soft, jaunty tune as he explored the Castle room by room. The sound bounced off the lofted ceilings and echoed through the hallways, following him through a swanky bedchamber, a well-stocked kitchen complete with a bunch of survival spellstones and a liquor cabinet, and even a home gym, outfitted with exercise equipment that looked brand new.
It was as if the Landmark had been customized to his exact specifications. High magick was strong enough that perhaps it had been.
In the back of the Castle, behind the grand staircase, was a throne room.
It was elegant and regal—lofted ceilings, a marble tiled floor, and banners that hung beside the darkened windows, each emblazoned with a golden crown. The crown Gavin deserved.
He smiled at the ornate throne in the center of the room.
His throne.
Behind it stood a pillar identical to the one he’d carved his name into earlier that evening. The pillars were the center of every Landmark—the objects that fueled their high magick like giant spellstones. Grinning, Gavin prowled around it like a hyena. On its opposite side, also matching the Champions Pillar, was a symbol: seven stars arranged in a circle. Gavin—like all the other champions—knew the symbol represented the Relics, and he knew which star represented which one. When a Relic was about to fall, its corresponding star would glow red on each of the Landmarks’ pillars.
For several minutes Gavin simply stood there, savoring his success. But then he spotted something on the pillar that hadn’t been there before. A crack beneath Briony Thorburn’s name. It pulsed red with high magick, as though it bled.
Interesting. Perhaps it was there because of her last-minute addition—he’d never heard of a champion taking another’s place after their name had been carved into the Pillar.
But he was getting distracted. Even though he’d claimed the Castle, he didn’t have time to rest.
The throne room would serve as his base of operations, which meant it was the perfect place to take stock of his weapon situation. He settled himself on the ornate seat and pulled out a pouch of spellstones. Other champions would’ve entered this tournament with dozens of enchantments; Gavin only had about fifteen viable options, so he needed to keep them charged.
He shook one out into his palm—the Golden Guard. His arm twinged as his life magick collected in his palm, purple and green, before coiling beneath the yellow crystal of the stone. He ignored the pain, placed it in the pocket of his rucksack, and pulled out another stone. Shrouded from Sight was next. Then Hold in Place. The Perilous Pitfall. Somewhere around the fifth stone, he realized he’d pushed himself too far.
He was panting and woozy, his arm ablaze with agony. He tried to stand and stumbled, spellstones scattering everywhere.
The walls darkened around him, and Gavin tumbled off his throne. He blacked out before he even hit the floor.
* * *
In his dream, it was two weeks after the Blood Moon, the night he’d formally been named champion. His family had told him over a bland sausage dinner, with the same bored tone they used to discuss the weather.
Later, determined to commemorate the occasion with or without his family, he’d snuck out to a pub downtown, the Magpie, a place where the bartenders didn’t care about his last name and he had a high score on the pinball machine.