My throat tightened, and for a moment I couldn’t swallow the wine I’d been drinking. The glass trembled in my grip before I managed to set it down. There was a threat of exposure laced in Kat’s casual words, not of my nature, of course, but in the fact that Tor and I were like family. And I was here to block every path to her.
“Makes you wonder what might have been done differently,” Katarina continued, her hand resting briefly on my shoulder in what looked like a show of comfort but felt like a brand. “If we’d known who we could really trust.”
She straightened up, her voice brightening to the level of normal dinner conversation. “Well, I should get back to my table before they serve the next course then lock me away. Good luck tomorrow, Syneca. I have a feeling we’ll all get exactly what we deserve.”
I stared at my plate. She knew I wasn’t a noble volunteer. She knew Vitoria was like a sister to me. And she knew Calder and I would do anything to sabotage the hunt. She was only waiting for the right moment—as soon as she stood to gain the most, she’d spill all she knew to save herself.
“Old friend of yours?” Wickett asked, sending my heart straight into my stomach.
The words came out steadily, though my throat felt like it was closing. “Something like that. We have history.”
“Seems like acomplicatedhistory.”
I reached for my wine again, doing everything I could to mask the fear of her implied threat.
“Is there any other kind?”
He made a noncommittal sound, but I could still feel the weight of his attention on my skin. Across the room, Katarina had settled at her table, wearing a satisfied smile that made my stomach twist into knots.
She had me trapped as surely as any magical binding, and we both knew it. The Oracle’s Guardian stood perched next to her with the kind of casual authority only those born to power could truly understand.
He’d traded his dragon form again, now appearing as the man Eda Mire had been questioning us about, dragon mark on his neck and all. Though power still radiated from him like heat from a fire. His silver and black hair was a tousled mess, but when it caught the light, I could see the hints of purple hue, just enough to give away the color of the beast within him.
He moved between tables without fanfare, each step deliberate and unassuming. When he reached the contestants’ section of the hall, he didn’t try to command attention at all. He simply waited—with all the stillness of a dragon—until our conversation died naturally.
Patient. Inevitable, even.
His voice was pitched low, but it carried to every corner of the hall all the same. Not through magic or projection, just the quiet confidence of someone who never needed to raise his voice to be heard. “The second trial begins at dawn. Teams will navigate a maze built specifically for this hunt. You’ll be tested on more than just raw ability.”
Another fucking maze. The Magistrate had absolutelynoimagination.
From the head table, Tiberius’s fingers drummed once against his goblet, perhaps a tiny tell that suggested he wasn’t entirely pleased with how his carefully orchestrated event was being reshaped.
But he said nothing. Even Tiberius Veyne knew better than to interrupt a Guardian at work.
The Guardian pulled a crystal from his robes. There was no flourish, no theater; he was merely retrieving a tool for a job. “Three artifacts wait within the maze. Which you choose will determine your role in what is to come.” He paused to look at Wickett and me. “Because you won today’s challenge, your team will get a head start.”
He extended the crystal pulled from his robes toward me. “Before we begin, I’ll need witch magic to reveal the artifacts you are all aiming for.”
The attention of the entire hall settled on me. I reached for the crystal, letting my fingers trail through the condensation on my wine goblet. “Manifestus,” I whispered.
Water answered my call like it always had. Three objects materialized in shimmering light within the outstretched crystal. A crown of gold with black thorns that moved with a slow, hypnotic malice. A chalice that filled and emptied itself in endless sequence. The third was a blade whose form cast no shadow, the space beneath it remaining bright.
“You must choose only one,” the Guardian said, pocketing the crystal with the same understated efficiency he’d shown throughout. “But choose carefully.”
Around us, dozens of whispered conversations started up all at once as people recalculated their odds.
“Well,” Lucette said quietly, “thatwas illuminating.”
Wickett studied the space where the artifacts had appeared, his expression clinical. “The crown leads. The blade kills. The chalice...” He paused. “The chalice is something else entirely.”
The binding around my wrist pulsed, reminding me that whatever we chose, we’d face it together. Three paths. Three destinies. Three ways for tomorrow to end.
Dawn couldn’t come fast enough, and yet, I dreaded its arrival all the same. I felt Wickett’s attention shift. He was already determining which of us would prove useful and which would become liabilities. The hunter’s mind worked like a machine designed for efficient, merciless killing.
Wickett planted his hands on the table. “Pass the wine.”
I reached for the bottle. Heat gathered in my chest, begging for release, demanding I burn away the magical chains that bound me to him.
