When Barclay’s name was called, he shakily climbed to his feet and walked to the center of the field. His opponent was a boy named Simon Specht, who had bushy brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses.
“Go on and shake hands,” Erhart told them hurriedly. It had already been a long day of matches, and there were still over fifty to go.
They did so, even though Barclay’s hands were clammy. Soren watched with a hungry gleam in his eyes. And almost equally nerve-racking, Barclay felt the stares of the crowd hot on his back, and he heard more than one voice call him a cheat.
He would prove them wrong.
But I won’t summon Root unless I have to,he told himself. It wasn’t that Root wasn’t healed—after being bandaged, Root had healed nearly overnight from his scratches he’d earned from Soren’s Nitney. It was that Barclay didn’t think he could face Root again and disappoint him a second time.
Simon, however, summoned his Beast immediately. It was a small squirrel-like thing, with greenish fur probably meant to blend into grass in the Spring and Summertime. Its eyes were red like cranberries.
The Beast sprang forward and darted across the field. It opened its mouth wide, exposing dozens of tiny jagged teeth.
Barclay dodged it easily and ran toward Simon. In one second, two, three, he’d made it across the field, his powers from Root making him especially quick. Simon didn’t even have time to react as Barclay snatched his flag. The crowd gasped.
“He was so fast!”
“I barely saw him!”
“It’s already over?”
Barclay squeezed the fabric in his fist, his heart pounding with a surge of excitement. He’d won. And he hadn’t even needed to summon Root.
Barclay, Viola, Abel, and Ethel celebrated their advancement that night with a round of pear cider. The number of students in the bracket had been halved, leaving one hundred competitors remaining.
The three days that followed went much like the first. Barclay faced Huan Yu, a boy from the Mountains, whose batlike Vampirwing let out a screech so piercing, it made Barclay dizzy… but it didn’t slow him down. Then there was Neela Das with her Arachadee, whose spidery silk web tangled up on Barclay’s legs but tore easily with a gust of wind. The Calamear gave Barclay a little trouble at first, until he’d kicked his way out of its slimy tentacles and nabbed Bryn Kelley’s flag.
By the end of the fourth day of the tournament, Barclay had managed to place within the top eight competitors, which included Barclay, Abel, Ethel, Tadg, and four others.All students with a Familiar class Beast had been eliminated. Barclay had been watching the fights for long enough to know the matches ahead would be far more challenging than any he’d faced before.
“Klara’s Beast is a Hocus,” Ethel said, referring to one of the other students. “She has illusion Lore. She can make you see things that aren’t real.”
“I think Emilie will be difficult,” Abel said. “She has a dragon!”
Viola nodded and scratched Mitzi’s head. “Never underestimate a dragon.”
“I’d like to see Tadg’s Beast,” Abel muttered. “I hope I face him next.”
“So you’ve figured out how he’s attacking people now, have you?” Barclay asked. All Tadg’s competitors, much like the first one, had collapsed within moments of the fight’s start.
“No, but I won’t be taken out that easily,” Abel said. He yawned and stretched out his arms, the picture of ease and confidence.
“What aboutyourBeast, Barclay?” Ethel asked. “It’s all anyone can talk about now. They don’t even mind that you got second twice, now that they know you’re powerful.”
“It’s better that I don’t summon him,” Barclay grumbled.
“Better? Oreasier?” Viola asked pointedly.
At this, Barclay’s Mark gave a sudden twitch. He didn’t even have to look at it to know what Root was doing—cocking his head, being snide and teasing like he normally was. But Barclay wasn’t playing a game. He couldn’t be a Lore Keeper. He needed to go home.
He barely slept at all that night, knowing only three more victories separated him from first place. And worse, it had only just occurred to him that those victories might be against his friends.
The next day, Abel got his wish. His match with Tadg was the first that morning. Even though it was raining, the final battles of the Exhibition had still managed to draw a large audience.
Abel barely waited for Erhart to begin the match. He quickly conjured a wall of mirrors and leaped inside.
Barclay cheered, expecting one of Abel’s usual quick victories. However, after Abel hurtled out to grasp at Tadg’s flag, he sprawled back in pain.
“What happened?” asked Viola.
