In a war between logic and wickedness, his wickedness always won. And so Alistair’s free hand slid down the small of her back, pulling her closer to him. There were no rules to the tournament, other than victory and death, but this still felt like breaking one.
Snap! A twig cracked somewhere behind them, and Alistair twisted around Isobel so she was protected behind him. The branches around them moved in an eerie, dreadful wind.
“Did you hear that?” he hissed.
Isobel nodded and put a finger to her lips.
The two of them stood there frozen for several moments. Footsteps came toward them, loud from the sound of dried leaves crushed beneath shoes. Alistair swallowed.
“We know you’re out there!” a voice called, one Alistair recognized as the Blair.
A light shone through the trees, dim and ghostly. Two silhouettes drew closer. Both carried a flashlight. The Blair also carried the Sword, which he swiped through the air as though slicing through thickets. Panic seized Alistair by the throat. This was exactly what he’d been afraid of. That he would—
The Sword struck his enchantments, and they shattered with a cacophonous crash. Alistair forced himself to lower his hands. Because of the Cloak, Isobel was camouflaged to anyone she wished. So he needed to look like he was alone.
“Look who finally emerged from hiding,” the Payne sneered at Alistair. “You should’ve accepted our offer when you had the chance. We’re far more powerful than you ever gave us credit for.”
“Why isn’t he wearing the Cloak?” the Blair asked, his voice low.
The Payne narrowed her eyes. She scanned the clearing, and Alistair heard Isobel suck in her breath beside him.
“So you took an ally after all,” she said.
The Blair’s eyes widened. “Isobel? Is she—”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alistair cut in, trying to keep his voice steady despite the panicked pace of his heart. “I work alone.”
The Blair shined his flashlight toward them, making Alistair squint. “The Cloak doesn’t camouflage your shadow, Isobel.”
Alistair cursed under his breath. He’d overlooked that detail.
The Payne smirked. “You’re not that scary,” she told Alistair. And to Isobel, sighting her shadow: “And you’re not that smart. Not smart enough to keep the reporters’ attention, anyway.”
Alistair didn’t want Isobel drawn into this fray. He leaned toward her and whispered, “I’ll distract them. You go after the Mirror once it touches down.”
Isobel dropped his hand, but she hesitated instead of racing off through the trees.
Alistair would not let her foil her one chance to get her sense for magick back, not for him. He shoved her out of the way and cast the Dragon’s Breath.
As the ravaging flames tore through the forest air, Isobel finally took off into the darkness.
Relief washed over him. Maybe she would reach the Mirror. Maybe she would hide. What mattered to him was that she was safe.
The Blair turned to follow her, but Alistair cast a Blockade spell. Bramble and roots erupted from the earth, obstructing the Blair’s path.
The Payne growled and shot another curse at Alistair. Alistair managed to deflect it with another Shark’s Skin, only for the Blair to shatter that as well.
“You’d let her escape?” The Payne girl advanced, shooting out new curses with every step. Alistair was rapidly running low on defensive spells. “How noble of you.”
It was not in Alistair’s nature to be noble. Three weeks ago, if he’d known how un-Alistair-like he would behave during the tournament, he would’ve been shocked. All his life, he’d thought Aunt Alphina had been overcome by the horror of the tournament, and so he’d vowed to be too cruel, too monstrous for guilt.
Now he understood. The greater horror was returning home, where your loved ones no longer waited for you.
Maybe that newfound nobility would be his downfall.
But he didn’t want to die here, not yet. Maybe Isobel would get her powers back tonight, and everything would change. But if the two of them did see this through to the end, if they were the last ones left standing, then they would also have time. It was all he had left to hope for. To fight for.
Alistair gritted his teeth as the Sword shattered his last defensive spell. Debris littered the ground from every curse Alistair had sent at them, yet both the Payne and the Blair still stood. Sweaty and scraped and burned, but standing.
“Face it,” the Blair said, moving forward. Behind him, the Payne smiled viciously. “You won’t win this. Our allies will reach the Relic before Isobel.”