A Tradition of Tragedy
While alone on the open moors, Briony tilted her head back just as a crimson shooting star blazed a course across the moon. A Relic was falling, quicker than she’d ever heard of. It’d been barely an hour since the tournament began, and already, one of its powerful magickal artifacts would be in play.
She had to have it.
Between her confrontation with Innes and Gavin’s cursefire, nearly all of her protective spellrings were drained, leaving her effectively defenseless. She hadn’t brought any supplies with her—she hadn’t had the chance after she took the champion’s ring. No clothes but the ones on her back. No food. No extra magick. No shoes aside from the heels she’d abandoned.
A Relic could save her life. Not only that, but claiming it would be the first step toward testing Reid’s theory about using Landmarks and Relics to dismantle the tournament’s curse, if only she could figure out how. She hadn’t told Isobel about her plans because she’d known her old friend wouldn’t believe her without proof—none of the champions would.
She twisted the champion’s ring on her pinky finger. Guilt rushed through her at the thought of what she’d done to her sister, but she shoved it down as far as she could. It was done now. She was champion. And she needed to act like one if she wanted to survive the night.
The streak of crimson was truly falling now, heading deeper into the moorlands.
Briony bolted toward it, sprinting through the underbrush as fast as she could in a ripped gown and bare feet. She was running on too much adrenaline to care about any pain.
The terrain turned unpredictable, clumps of heather disguising loose earth and stones. She was on the true moorlands now, where they’d burned the terrain back hundreds of years ago to make hunting and foraging easier. The landscape that had sprung up since was partially heathlands and partially bog, a wide-open space perfect for tracking animals … or other champions.
The Relic crashed right in the center of it all, red light rippling outward in a neat circle. The force of its impact made Briony stumble back, squinting into a sudden flash of crimson. But she wouldn’t be deterred. Wildlife fled in all directions, squealing, as Briony sprinted the remaining distance to the artifact.
The Relic had cleaved a small crater into the earth about three meters wide. It lay in the center, glimmering, a massive weapon of enchanted steel.
The Sword.
Briony’s skin prickled as she stared at the three red spellstones embedded in the hilt. The Relic looked magnificent, like a prop right out of her family’s stories.
Triumphantly, she reached forward to claim it.
But then a voice barked out, “Not so fast.”
A clump of heather rustled across the crater. Finley emerged from the darkness, illuminated by the red light that radiated from the Relic.
He froze at the sight of her, the shock on his face so strong that it seemed to impede even his breathing. “Briony?” he choked. “How are you here?”
“Innes didn’t want this.” She needed to believe that wasn’t a lie. She raised her hand as if holding up a palm in surrender so that he could see the champion’s ring, gleaming in the crimson light.
“This isn’t possible,” he rasped.
“Admit it. You were surprised when I wasn’t champion.”
“I was … I thought…” Finley had always been the sort to choose his words carefully, but all he managed was to take in a shaky breath and mold his face back into neutrality.
Briony had known the others would be surprised to see her, but this ran deeper than even Isobel’s shock had. He looked rattled in a way she’d never seen before. And maybe that was good. Maybe that meant she could grab the Relic and get out of here.
Briony’s throat tightened as she remembered that, unlike her, Finley came with backup.
“Where are your friends?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder.
Finley hesitated. “They’re around.” Which was enough for Briony to know they weren’t exactly within shouting distance.
“So you came here alone.” She stepped forward and squared her shoulders. Maybe bravado would be enough to make him back off. “Do you really want to fight me for the Sword?”
He scanned her up and down, and Briony knew what he was seeing—the ruined dress, her bare feet. “Do you?”
Now it was Briony’s turn to hesitate. She’d let Isobel go back at the Castle, and she didn’t want to hurt Finley, either. She’d entered this tournament to destroy it. So that no one else would have to die.