“Could you do both?”
“Only if I could make two of me.”
He makes a ‘hmm’ sound. “If you don’t take the seat, Bartanz will put someone he wants on the council. He’ll replace your mother with one of his puppets.”
“I know, and I’ve thought about that. I can’t let it happen.”
He smirks, his dark eyes following Lana even more closely than Tilda can. “I suppose you have a plan for this?”
“Definitely.”
“Whatever it is, I like it.”
“Good, because things might get ugly.”
“The more trouble, the better.”
Tilda darts into seemingly empty space, but Lana yells and reappears with Tilda’s hand around her wrist. “Gotcha.” Tilda releases her and dances back. “Jeren’s right. I can feel you. We’ll have to work on it.”
Lana kicks at the mat. “The second I think I’m getting good at something, one of you comes along and rains all over my parade.”
“I hope you’re ready for tomorrow.” Tarvan walks by, his dick nose in the air.
Jeren and I exchange a look.
“Why what happens tomorrow?” Gavros calls. “Other than Ilwen getting the shit stomped out of her in the dueling ring?”
“We really don’t need that guy’s help.” Jeren bristles.
“We need all the help we can get.” Ceredes strides up, Gavros at his elbow. “The Sentients don’t care about cliques. They’ll kill us all.”
“Always so dark.” Lana frowns over at him.
Tarvan puts his hands on his hips. “The only one getting stomped is your profligate who—”
My barrier is up before I even think. It binds him in a blue coffin, the edges shrinking against him, molding to him as if something’s sucking all the air out.
Ilwen stomps up with her two sidekicks—Justa and Unar—right behind her. “Let him go.”
“Can’t do it. Not until he apologizes.” I give a bored sigh.
Justa cocks her head. “How can he apologize when you’ve got him wrapped in—”
“Shut up,” Ilwen cuts her off. “Let him go or I’m going to tell Master Harlan that you’re dangerous and don’t belong here.”
“You’ve already done that.” Lana crosses her arms. “You think we don’t know what you’re up to? We’re themotherfuckingcircle, Ilwen.”
I try to think back through Lana’s memories of that word, and when I place it, I nod with appreciation. Well-used profanity is always a plus.
“I know what you are.” Ilwen steps toward her.
I want to pound her into the mat with my fists, but Lana can hold her own against this twit. The three of us stand our ground.
“And I know you intend to cheat tomorrow. To use whatever vile skills the circle granted you.” She looks around at the crowd of cadets and raises her voice. “Granted to her by the Sentients. Because that’s what this circle really is, Sentient spies.”
Lana tosses her hair, confidence rippling through her. “I don’t need special powers to beat you.”
“Then you won’t be using them tomorrow? I have your word?” Ilwen simpers.
