“Are you worried about the scraver?”
“Yes. If I use any magic, it will sense me.” He hesitates. “It’s possible it already has.”
“Can it recognize you, the way you can recognize them?”
He grimaces. “I’m not sure. But maybe— especially if it’s one of the ones I fought before.”
Another cold breeze swirls through the crowd, and this time it seems to linger. People around us shiver and look around in wonder, because the motionless heat was stifling.
“Is it looking for you?” I say.
“I don’t know. Maybe.”
I scan the surrounding people, looking for any sign of the other soldiers, but Malin, Sephran, and Leo aren’t anywhere in sight. I wish I knew if that was good or bad or simply irrelevant. Could they have been captured by the Truthbringers already? Or are they just among the crowd somewhere else in the tourney?
But then I realize I might be asking the wrong questions.
“What happens if the scraver finds you?” I say, and my tone is grim.
“They want to kill anyone with magic, so it probably wouldn’t be a joyful interaction. At the Crystal Palace, Grey and I could barely hold them off, even with Malin’s help.”
And right now, he’s only got me by his side. I wonder if he’s regretting that.
“Should we leave?” I say. “Wait for the others and regroup?”
He considers that, then winces. “I don’t want to run when we’re so close. Whatever we find, we can report to Grey . . . or to Lia Mara. If we leave now, we might not get another chance.” He gestures ahead. “There can’t be much tourney left. The crowds are thinner here. We have to be close.”
My pulse skips a little bit, and I nod. But then Tycho looks over sharply. “Jax, ifyouwant to leave, you can—”
“Oh, stop,” I say. “I’m not leaving you.” It’s my turn to wince. “I’m just sorry I’m not one of the soldiers.”
He bumps me with his shoulder. “Could’ve fooled me.”
The warmth in his voice makes me look up, and I’m startled by the sudden glow in my heart. I nudge him back. “Focus,” I say with a grin. “We might be dead in five minutes.”
“That’sthe spirit,” he says.
But then we turn a corner and realize we’ve reached the end of the tourney. There’s nothing here. Just a wide-open door that leads to thegrounds behind the massive arena. We’re greeted by nothing more than starlight and tree trunks. Over in the shadows, a man is urinating against the side of the building.
Tycho lets out a breath. “I don’t understand.”
As soon as he says it, another cold breeze slips through the warm night air, winding around us before whistling along the edge of the building.
I inhale sharply. “The wind. It has to be close—”
Tycho slaps a hand over my mouth, then shakes his head fiercely. He taps his ear, then makes a revolving gesture with his hand, indicating the air around us. Finally, he taps a finger over his lips and mimes,Shh.
For a moment, I don’t understand, but then I remember all the story books I used to read with Callyn when we were children. Every story featuring a scraver talked about their ability to wield the wind and sky with magic— but also their preternatural hearing.
I nod, and he drops his hand, letting me go.
The man finishes his business against the wall, and he yanks at the cord on his trousers. Tycho and I are rigid and silent, and I have no idea what the man thinks, but he barely gives us a passing glance as he heads back into the tourney.
“Windy tonight,” he mutters as he goes by. Tycho just nods.
Once the man is gone, Tycho gestures toward the woods, but before he moves, he reaches out and tugs at the bow strung over my shoulder, then raises his eyebrows.
Oh. Yes.I suppose it would help to remember I’m armed. I grab my bow and yank it over my head, then tuck a few arrows against my palm for good measure. Then we head into the cloaking darkness of the trees.
