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“It’s mine to carry.” He moves in a rush, crossing the distance between them and swinging that big-ass sword at her head. She’s staring at him with wide eyes; there’s no way she’ll react in time to save herself.

Except he doesn’t make contact. As he tries to strike her, roots burst from the flagstones beneath his feet. The Tower stumbles and catches himself, but it’s too late. The roots have wound around his legs, all the way up to his thighs, and hold him immobile. A quick glance at the Empress shows her to be the culprit, her hands held out, sweat pouring down her face. The garden is no small distance away. She must have pressed hard to get the roots this far. “Kill him,” she gasps. “Hurry.”

The Lovers pulls a knife, still crying as she approaches the Tower. “It will be over soon.”

I don’t want to look away, but it defies belief that Judgment and Death are both standing behind their respective allies, letting this fight happen without interference. What is the goal there? Culling the weak? Testing the other champions to ensure they’re worthy? They could sweep in right now and kill all three of them, but neither makes a move. I thought for certain the Cinque would create an alliance again to ensure they survived the Trials, but from Judgment’s earlier statement, there’s clear animosity. Hatred, even. I didn’t expect that. It might be something I can leverage to get answers about my mother.

The roots around the Tower’s thighs climb a few inches higher, but that seems to be the extent of the Empress’s ability right now. If they were closer to the gardens, she could have the Tower wrapped up for the Lovers to cut his throat, but the distance works against her. With his hands still free, he’s hardly helpless, and the Lovers’ reluctance to approach him is pretty reasonable from where I’m crouching.

“Now, Lovers,” the Empress snaps.

The Lovers jerks as if she’s been slapped and darts forward. She’s quick on her feet, and clearly knows her way around the knife. Whether that’s something she’s trained for or a new gift from her god I’ll never know. Not when the Tower leans back at the last moment, easily dodging her strike despite his legs being immobilized. He drops his sword and grabs her wrist. I actually hear the bone break all the way on the roof and have to press my hand to my mouth to keep an involuntary sound internal. He snatches the falling dagger and buries it in her throat. “It’s over now.”

I wish I couldn’t see the look of pained surprise on her face as she stumbles back and falls, her lifeblood blending in with the crimson of her dress, but I do. She’s dead before she hits the ground.

The Tower tenses and magic courses from him with a boom I feel in the very center of my chest. The roots clasping him dissolve into nothing. The stone beneath his feet cracks and turns to dust. The wave of power doesn’t stop there, either. It courses out, leaving destruction in its wake, and sends the Empress tumbling to the ground. He scoops up his sword and crosses the distance between them in a single leap. One vicious strike later and her head goes bouncing across the flagstones.

He starts to turn to Death, but pale blue magic clamps around him before he can complete the motion. Unlike with the Lovers, this draws forth a response. He grunts and falls to his knees in a jerky movement. He manages to keep hold of his sword, but only barely.

Judgment moves closer, an expression of intense concentration on his face. “If your pain isn’t enough to cripple you, then your guilt will be.” He twists his fist and the Tower groans. Judgment tsks. “So many deaths to carry.” His voice lowers, but I can still hear him clearly. “All your fault. If only you’d been there. If only you hadn’t been so selfish.”

“Selfish,” the Tower repeats faintly.

Closer and closer yet. Judgment pulls out a spike. In the last Trials, he had a habit of stabbing people in the eyes with it—a violence he refined even further after becoming a member of the Cinque. “Incredibly so.” He’s almost within arm’s distance now. “It will feel good to finally release your guilt. I can help you.” He stops in front of the Tower and raises the spike. “You will not be absolved, but you will feel no further pain.” He brings the spike down with all his might.

I blink, not quite understanding what I’m seeing. The spike hits the Tower’s shoulder instead of his eye. And Judgment has a strange look on his face, surprised and almost hurt. He looks down and there is the Tower’s sword, penetrating his chest just below his rib cage.

The Tower rises, bringing Judgment up with him, and then uses his free hand to shove the man off his blade. “The pain is necessary,” he says softly. His voice is so empty, it leaves me cold. He doesn’t seem to feel anything at all as Judgment, one of the scariest members of the Cinque, slides off his sword to die at his feet.

He just killed three champions in the space of minutes—and one of them was Judgment.

“Holy fuck,” I breathe.

Death’s head snaps up, turning in my direction. I press back against the greenhouse, willing myself to manifest the invisibility I couldn’t earlier. It doesn’t happen … but the shadows at my feet and back thicken and shift, slicking over me, deepening around where I stand. After a moment, Death shakes his head slowly. “You did well.”

The Tower turns away from the bodies on the ground without hesitation. “An alliance, then?”

“I have one condition.” Death is still watching the rooftop I crouch on, eyes narrowed and body tense.

I’m nearly certain he can’t see me, but a little doubt remains. I have to get out of here. I back away slowly, maintaining my crouched position, until I put the greenhouse between me and them. It’s not enough. If they even suspect there’s another champion lurking about, they’ll chase me down and my dreams will end right here and now.

I reach the edge of the roof and consider my options. The street below is narrow enough that I can make the leap to the one across the walkway below, but it won’t be as easy or stealthy as I’d like. I’ll have to run like my life depends on it—because it will. I back up slowly, thanking the Moon for my silent footsteps. Then I sprint to the edge of the roof. My brain maps out the distance, easily crossable at my current pace.

Or it should be.

In reality, on my last step as I launch out over the road below, a piece of the rooftop inexplicably shifts under my foot. Even that shouldn’t have made a difference in my trajectory. But my ankle turns at the same time. My knee buckles and I topple from the roof, landing on the ground on my back. The breath whooshes from my lungs and every muscle in my body locks up. My mouth moves, my body trying to bring in air and failing.

“Sorry about that,” a familiar voice says. “I’m still getting the hang of things.” A musical laugh. “But now I have you right where I want you.”

Fuck. I’m dead.

The Wheel of Fortune is perhaps the most difficult to completely remove from public consciousness. The concept of worshipping fate is a strange and foolish one, but luck? Luck is something everyone can understand—and pray for.

—EXCERPT FROM THE MAJOR ARCANA: A TREATISE ON THE HISTORY OF THE OLD GODS

CHAPTER SEVEN

VESPER LEANS OVER me, blocking out the moonlight, their handsome face bathed in shadows that don’t feel like friends. Not even a little. They have both hands clasped on a cane with a sphere at the top that looks large enough to bludgeon someone to death.