“Leave it, Luc,” the woman mutters.
But Luc doesn’t back down. She wonders how long ago he volunteered—because he definitely has volunteer energy. “Should I be reporting you, the girl in the flame mask? Got a thing for fire dragons, do you? Because there’s plenty of Arach worshippers at my camp. You’d fit right in, I’m sure.”
She steps up to him, heat coursing through her veins. He is nothing. Muscle and meanness, carved into him on the streets, refinedin the army. She’s grateful, in that moment, that Cam is not in his camp.
“You know,” she murmurs just for him, “you really ought to make sure you know who you’re talking to, before you start issuing threats.” He scoffs again, but behind his mask, his eyes flash.
“Come on,” Gray Mask says firmly. “Like you said, we have rounds to make, and a party to enjoy.” He grabs one of Luc’s arms, pulls him away. The other two follow, the woman in the blue mask giving Skylar a little wave goodbye, seemingly unbothered by the encounter.
She watches them. Her heart is beating fast, blood and moonflower flooding her system in a way that makes her head spin. They know something, she’s sure of it. Or, at least, one of them does. She watches as the group of four splinters, Luc moving through the iron door and into the lunar section.
She follows him. There are no floating lights on the other side of the door. Candlelight flickers and smoke billows from one corner, where people lounge on outdoor beds, inhaling fumca. A sultry dancer performs in another corner, black scarves whispering around a near-naked body. Skylar moves farther in, trying to spot Luc in the shadows, and hears moans from one corner. People losing themselves, under cover of darkness.
She finds him in among the crowd and reaches for her pin as she marches over to him. Then she stops herself. She doesn’t need a fucking pin.
Luc frowns at her, opening his mouth to say something as she approaches. But she grabs his arm, twists it violently. And although he’s got to be stronger than her, she’s fast and he’s unprepared. He buckles, falling halfway to his knees.
His breath hisses through his teeth, and she senses his power rise to meet her own. “What do you think you’re—?”
“I want to know where they take the Champions,” she says, trying to ignore the way her magic is humming.
His eyes narrow behind his mask. “You don’t want to test me, flame princess.”
She laughs, loud and unrestrained, at the irony. That seems to set him off. She feels the muscles in his arm start to expand, rightunder her hand. His shoulders are broadening out as he grows taller. A Physick. She wonders just how big, exactly, he can get. Just how strong.
She doesn’t give him the chance to show her. Instead she lets her body do what it is craving to do—lets it absorb the power she senses, closing her eyes briefly as the first rush of it hits her, a feeling of pure ecstasy.
“What are you—?” His voice is different now, and he tries to back away from her, but she only smiles.
“Stop,” he pleads. “Whatever you’re doing, stop.”
She could kill him, if she wanted to. Right here, among the shadows, while music thrums and people dance. Who would stop her? No one. No one can do anything to her—not until the duel. Maybe not even after.
The lower part of his face, not hidden by a mask, is draining of color, and his mouth is parting in horror, staring at her like she is some kind of demon. Maybe she is.
Cam. She needs to remember Cam.
She loosens her grip, just a little. But not enough that he risks escaping.
“Tell me where the Champions are taken,” she repeats. She doesn’t say what she’ll do if he doesn’t—she reckons he can figure that out.
He swallows. “It used to be that the Primes were taken there. Just a few, to keep it safe. I haven’t heard of anyone being taken there in a while, but—” She tightens her grip again, sends a trickle of her magic out to meet his, and he shudders at the feel of it. His eyes find hers, and although he balks at whatever he sees there, he straightens.
“The Heart,” he whispers. “They take them to the Heart.”
35Astrid
The cold hits her like ocean spray.
She shivers and welcomes the sensation of the chill on her skin, the crisp air filling her lungs and bringing a sense of peace. It feels like home.
“Let’s get a drink.” Astrid grips Fionn’s arm and pulls them over to a table with a glass sculpture of an ice kraken, a creature only found in the Horven Ocean at the north-east of Arturea. They’re the reason ships aren’t safe out in that part of the world. “Isn’t this incredible? We could be back in Isfjell.” She picks up a mug of hot chocolate and takes a long drink.
“It’s quite something,” Fionn agrees, sipping mulled cider. Arboria bats her tail on the ground and sniffs the air.
Astrid wanders over to watch as Vatrans try their hand—well, feet—at ice-skating, a sport she is sure none of them have ever even heard of before, let alone tried. There are more bums on the ice than skates, and a lot of cursing.
Astrid grins at Fionn. “Shall we show them how it’s done?”
