“We can’t trust her,” Elionor complained. “She’s your ex-girlfriend. She has better reason to want you dead than anyone.”
“I’m right here.” Briony was sitting on a harsh slab of stone the monks had apparently used as a bed, her back pressed against the wall. She’d hardly gotten any sleep, her head hurt, and her bare feet were disgusting. She was dying for a glass of water and a change of clothes. She was also resentful at the implication that she was a bitter ex-girlfriend—she’d never even tried to curse Finley after they broke up. “I let you imprison me. I surrendered my spellrings willingly. What more do you want me to do? Swear a Solemn Vow?”
“That wouldn’t even work,” Elionor said disdainfully. “The Cloak nullifies all oath spells—alliances can’t rely on them.”
“Well, fine,” Briony grumbled. “Do you want me to beg? Plead?”
Even dehydrated, exhausted, and aching, she wasn’t that desperate. Not yet.
“It would be a good start.” The spellstones in Elionor’s stretched-out earlobes shone threateningly, charged and ready.
They could suspect her all they liked. Her motives were pure. She wasn’t just here to save her own skin; she was here to save them all. But she knew how ridiculous that sounded. Like the words of a desperate prisoner. Even if her intentions were good, even if her story was true, the truth wasn’t how she would earn their trust.
She could worry about saving them all once she’d saved herself.
“Now wait a moment,” said Finley sternly, looking between the two of them with moderate alarm. Since returning here, he had strapped the Sword across his back. “Briony’s telling the truth. She let me have the Relic. She came here of her own volition.”
“And you never asked her why,” said Elionor, scowling at him. Briony tried not to be affronted at her tone. “It was your idea for us to throw ourselves at everyone in this tournament, asking for their help, and now someone who wasn’t in the tournament twelve hours ago is claiming they want to join us?”
Finley sounded calm, controlled. “You and Carbry signed on to my plan. Briony joining us doesn’t change our strategy.”
“We’re still supposed to be a team, Finley. You never should’ve brought her here without asking us first. You let your desperation for the Sword cloud your head—you chose yourself over our alliance.”
Briony heard the doubt in Elionor’s voice. It worried her more than the girl’s anger did. If she broke up the alliance entirely, this could all go horribly wrong.
Finley sighed and rubbed his temples, then gestured toward the door. “Let’s talk about this outside, okay? Just you and me.”
Elionor’s mouth twisted, but she nodded. They disappeared through the exit, leaving Briony and Carbry alone.
She met the other champion’s watery blue eyes.
“When did you all decide to team up?” Briony asked, her voice raspy from thirst. Maybe if she could charm him, he would give her something to drink.
Carbry’s tone was soft and reedy. “After Finley was chosen. He called me and Elionor that morning and asked us to join him.” Briony already knew that Finley had engineered their group, but his choice of allies still struck her as strange. “You look surprised,” Carbry accused.
“None of you have much in common.”
“Which makes us stronger together. That’s what Finley said. That my family’s knowledge, his casting, and Elionor’s crafting abilities would be hard to beat.” He gave her a look that Briony understood. Where did she fit in with this group?
She was a strong caster, but they already had Finley for that. Which made his reasons for agreeing to her terms even more suspicious. She thought about what he’d said about changing his mind and tried to suppress a shudder.
“I’d make you stronger,” she said finally, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt.
“Maybe. But it’s also a numbers game.” Carbry fidgeted uncomfortably, playing with a surprisingly fancy-looking spellring on his left forefinger. Briony hadn’t realized the Darrows, a family of modest means and influence, could secure that level of spellmaker sponsorship. “Alliances of more than three are historically quite risky. I told Finley this before, when he was seeking others out—four or more makes it hard to work together for very long. I could only find a few accounts of such alliances proving fruitful.”
“Accounts?” Briony echoed. He sounded like Innes. “You did your research, huh?”