It wasn’t long before the barrier that divided the tournament grounds and the rest of Ilvernath appeared in his line of sight, shooting up through the trees. A translucent wall that pulsed red with high magick—the inner Blood Veil. Up close, it was almost beautiful, specks of crimson swirling together like shimmering oil paint.
Gavin cast the Shrouded from Sight spell, and his body vanished from view, same as at the Monastery. A moment later, his arm ached as the spellring refilled.
Feeling foolish, Gavin stretched his hand toward the inner Blood Veil. But as his fingers brushed against the high magick, he found it strangely tactile, like clay. He closed a hand around it experimentally, and the high magick let him grab it, let him tug it to the side.
For the first time in a week, he felt powerful again.
He clawed at the barrier until it tore open, then—one arm and leg at a time—he clambered through it. He stumbled as he regained his balance on the sidewalk on the other side. He’d barely had a chance to take in the city that he never thought he’d see again when he spotted a group of people gathered at the edge of the barrier. A camera flash confirmed his suspicions—reporters.
Panic surged through him, but thanks to his Shrouded from Sight spell, the reporters looked right through him. They continued their gawking, unaware that a champion watched from only half a dozen meters away.
“I’m on location in the infamous Ilvernath,” one journalist said to a video camera. “I know our viewers are eager for updates, but so far, a week has passed without change or news of the tournament. The Blood Veil remains as red as ever, and our Champions Pillar correspondent tells us none of the names of the Slaughter Seven have been crossed out yet.”
Vultures. Gavin tuned them out and faced the gash he had torn in the barrier. With two hands, he gripped its edges and yanked them shut, and the high magick knitted itself back together. He couldn’t risk leaving an entrance for them to go through. The last thing he wanted were reporters on the front lines of the tournament.
This shouldn’t have been possible. But if he could mess with the very fabric of the tournament itself—well, it made Gavin wonder what else he could do.
He took a deep breath and started resolutely down the road into Ilvernath proper, the buildings etched like silhouettes against the scarlet gloom of the sky. It was evening now, and most of Ilvernath had retired to their homes or hotel rooms. The few faces he passed didn’t notice him thanks to his spell, although it never stopped being unnerving watching people come toward him.
He wove through the cobbled streets until he found MacTavish Cursemakers. Though the shop was closed, he peered through the window to spot Reid inside, hunched over a spellboard and focused on his work.
Gavin released his spell and pounded on the door.
Reid glanced up and locked eyes with Gavin, but he didn’t look as shocked to see him as he should have. It was unnerving.
“Grieve,” Reid purred as he let him in.
Gavin frowned. “We need to talk.”
“The tattoo must be working, if you can come into town.”
“So you knew. What else can I do?” His voice grew sharp with pent-up frustration. “My magick is out of control, and it’s going to get me killed.”
“You asked for my help,” said Reid, looking moderately bored. “I gave it to you. We were both there.”
“You didn’t tell me it would do this,” snapped Gavin, yanking up his sleeve.
His entire arm now pulsed with a sickly purple and green light. The magick twined through his veins from wrist to shoulder, his muscles and tendons bulging, and the sand piled at the bottom of the hourglass was about a quarter full. Healing the curses that Elionor Payne had cast on him had cost him more magick—more life—than he wanted to think about.
Reid froze for a moment, staring intently at Gavin’s arm. “I turned your body into a vessel to siphon out powerful raw magick. Did you think using it would be fun? There’s a reason it’s taboo.”
“I don’t care about that,” Gavin said brusquely. “You said my life magick would automatically refill my spellrings, but you didn’t mention I wouldn’t be able to stop it. I can’t use more than a few at a time without basically passing out.”
“I wondered if that would happen. I guess that once you start to draw on your own life force to fuel spells, it’s hard to turn it off.”
“Well, you’d better tell me there’s a way.”
Reid fixed him with a pitying look. “Have you tried just … not wearing spellrings?”