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To bludgeon me to death.

I still can’t fucking breathe. I’ve had my breath knocked from me before, but never like this. I don’t know how I landed just right to render me utterly helpless. It defies belief. I try to talk, but only a low groan escapes.

“It’s clever, really,” they say conversationally. “All things need balance. Just as Justice requires carefully weighted scales, when the Wheel turns one way, there are consequences on the other side.” They laugh again. “My good luck means your bad luck.” They hold up a hand when I groan again. “Oh, not you specifically. You in a generic kind of way. Here.” They grab my arm and haul me to my feet.

My lungs choose that moment to unclench. I stumble to my feet, reaching for my sickles. Too slow. Too damned slow. They could have killed me a dozen times over.

In fact, they’re just standing there, watching me with an amused expression on their face. “Are you done freaking out?”

“I’m not freaking out,” I rasp. “This is the Tarot Trials. You want me dead.”

“There are five winners. I want an alliance.”

“Fourteen people still need to die to reach those five winners.” I stagger another few steps away. If what they suggest about their magic is true, they have literal luck on their side. Death can take the smallest cut and turn it into a mortal wound. The Tower can disintegrate entire buildings. The Chariot becomes almost invulnerable as long as he’s moving. Facing down the other champions would be challenging even if I had offensive magic available. Now that I don’t? I’m … in over my head.

“You don’t trust me. That’s fair.” They straighten a little and tap their cane on the flagstones.

It’s only then that I register what they’re wearing. Loose white pants and a fitted crimson shirt with a strange design I can’t quite define despite how excellent my vision is in the dark now. Neither of those is what makes me raise my brows. No, that’s reserved for the spikes coming off their silver shoulder armor. Only shoulder armor. Typical Sword.

“I would be an absolute fool to trust you,” I say.

“You don’t have many options right now. It’s me or him.” They lunge forward. I truly am the fool I just claimed not to be, because I don’t reach for my sickles as they clasp my shoulder. I just stare. Vesper shakes me. “Move, Moon.”

A grunt behind me snaps my brain out of its strange shocked state. I spin around, as Vesper easily shifts their grip to allow the movement without letting go of me, to find the Tower only a few feet away. He’s beautiful in the way the gods are supposed to be—almost too perfect to be real—but there’s something uncanny in his dark eyes that doesn’t fit the sharp lines of his cheekbones, his sensual mouth. The blood painting his pale skin only adds to his otherworldliness. On instinct, I look behind him, searching for Death, but he appears to be alone. An attack dog sent to deal with two champions who wandered too close to the slaughter. He hefts his sword, considers the ground as if it betrayed him, and attacks. A flash of purple, and a pebble beneath his left boot sends his foot sliding and leaves him off-balance. Vesper’s luck in play.

I can’t trust them. I have to fight. Better the Tower die tonight before he has a chance to settle into his powers. I don’t know if I can make that happen, but running is out of the question. He’ll just chase me down and cut my head off like he did the Empress’s. “Let go,” I snap.

“That’s not a good idea.” Vesper’s voice is strained. “I don’t have a good handle on this yet. I can’t guarantee the bad luck won’t turn on you.”

I can’t fight with them hanging on to me. I’ve trained for a lot, but not that. “Then run.” I lunge forward and draw my sickles. From watching the fight earlier, I know the Tower is fast. My life depends on being faster.

“Dawn is coming!” Vesper’s voice grows softer as they retreat. “Don’t die, Moon.”

I’ll try not to.

The Tower dodges my strike, still moving carefully as if he doesn’t trust the ground beneath his feet. “You shouldn’t trust them.”

I spin the sickles experimentally, causing them to spark when they make contact with each other in front of my body. The faint light flickers over his face, only serving to make his beauty more otherworldly. “Oh? Should I trust you?”

“No.” He attacks with no warning, no telegraphing his move, not so much as a muscle twitch to convey his angle of approach.

Only sheer speed keeps me from ending up with a sword in my thigh. I dance back, catching the tip of the blade and flicking it away. The sickles felt absurdly large when I first picked them up, but against a longsword in the hands of someone who knows how to use it, I might very well be fucked.

The Tower barely loses momentum, reversing his strike and forcing me to dance back. He’s stronger than me. His reach is longer than mine. My only hope is to get close enough and snag a leg or his throat with the toothy, curved part of one of the sickles. They should cut through flesh easily.

But every time I dart forward, he drives me back. Back and back and back, forcing me to maintain the defensive, to work to divert his strikes. I’m fast in the way of someone who’s used to running for their life, but I’m hardly the best-fed person in the city and my strength and stamina reflect that. Within minutes, my arms are shaking and I’m sweating so much, it’s hard to see.

For the second time tonight, I wonder if this is going to be the person who kills me. I was so fucking confident going into the Trials, and if I die the first night …

Night.

There’s a feeling in the back of my mind, a pressure of the coming sunrise. It’s grown stronger as we fight. I was too focused on evading the Tower’s attacks to register just how intense the sensation is. Vesper’s right. It’s almost sunrise.

My distraction costs me.

The Tower hooks one sickle and spins, sending it flying away. It clatters on the rooftop overhead. I try to block with the second sickle, but he somehow pulls the same damn move, leaving me defenseless.

I almost turn and run, but the thought of him cutting me down as I flee for my life is too much to bear. Instead, I pull the shadows to me, an instinct more than intent. I have to do something. I’m going to die. I have to … One moment I’m balancing on the balls of my feet, ready to launch myself at the Tower. The next I am inches from him.