“Hello, Grieve,” said Finley Blair.
“You’ve caught me in a bad mood,” added Elionor venomously. “Killing you will cheer me up.”
Gavin hadn’t come here expecting to deal with high magick. But he wasn’t going to run. He would show them what a Grieve could do. “I’m not the one who’s dying today,” Gavin said evenly.
One of the spellstones in Elionor’s earlobes shimmered and she faded out of sight. A moment later, Gavin heard cursefire whistle through the air behind him. He blocked the magick just in time and whirled around to see her standing before him, looking smug. Before she could move again, he cast the Trapdoor on the flagstones beneath Elionor’s feet. The ground in the courtyard was already unstable, and it caved in easily, as if it had been waiting for the opportunity. Elionor let out a surprised shout as she fell into a pit.
Thunder boomed from the exposed corridors above them, and Gavin tipped his head back to see Carbry Darrow casting a spell. Rain began to fall in the courtyard, wetting Gavin’s shoulders. But Gavin had bigger things to worry about than a little bad weather. Finley was charging across the courtyard, brandishing his Sword.
“You want a fight?” Gavin murmured, summoning the Golden Guard on his right hand. It was another spellstone he’d painstakingly created himself. “You got it.”
A moment later, a shield spun into the air in front of him.
Gavin’s arm burned as he caught Finley’s blade on the edge of his shield, but he ignored it. This was no time for weakness.
And it was all Gavin could do to stave off the might of Finley’s blows. Although he was on par with Finley’s physical strength, he lacked the Blairs’ extensive combat training. He cursed himself silently—he’d known Finley was the captain of the fencing team. This had been a foolish idea. He blocked the Sword to the best of his ability, but he could tell he wouldn’t last long.
He had to find another way to win this fight.
The last time he’d tried two spells at once, one had broken. But he had to take the risk.
Gavin parried a particularly vicious blow, then stumbled back, trying valiantly to summon Hold in Place. The shield in his hand flickered, and Finley smiled, bringing his blade down in a killing blow—only to have it freeze in midair.
Gavin seized the other boy’s brief moment of confusion. He swung his failing shield to the side and knocked Finley’s blade out of his hands, then tackled him, sending them both skidding across the flagstones.
Finley’s head hit the ground hard as he fell, and he lolled to the side, groaning, a trickle of blood running from his mouth. Gavin knelt beside the fallen champion and clutched the cursering on his right pinky, his heart pumping in his chest.
He only had one death curse: the Revenge of the Forsaken. He’d found it in what passed for the Grieves’ family heirloom storage, a single lockbox his parents kept under their bed. It caused a nasty death that split an enemy’s body open from the inside out. He’d practiced it on a plum and been both revolted and delighted by the way the pink, ripe flesh had burst out from beneath the skin.
He summoned the magick in the cursestone, staring down at Finley’s slack face—but nothing happened.
“Shit,” Gavin murmured, clutching the cursering harder and trying again to cast it. But the pain in his arm spread up his chest and around his spine. His nerves were screaming in agony. He knew the cursering wasn’t empty, but he’d spent too much magick refilling his other spellstones. He needed to learn a way to prevent his spellrings from constantly stealing his life force.
Lightning scorched the earth beside him as he scrambled away from the champion’s body. His throat went dry at the sight of Carbry crouched beside the hole Gavin had carved in the courtyard floor, hoisting Elionor out.
“Get ready to die, Grieve,” Elionor snarled, stepping in front of Carbry as if to shield him.
Gavin’s vision began to blur around the edges. He stumbled frantically to his feet as Elionor brandished a seemingly never-ending supply of curserings, the wares of a champion popular with Ilvernath spellmakers.
It didn’t matter how much time and energy he’d spent preparing for this, or what horrible things he’d done to gain extra power. He didn’t have the magickal arsenals the other champions did. Their training came from their families, not just from independent study.
And their talent—
Gavin swallowed hard. He’d always known he was talented for his age. But that wasn’t enough in a fight like this, against the combined might of three champions.