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There is an argument to be made that the Sun is as much a primordial element as fire or water. They rise and fall, day in and day out. Even Xivians, with their barbaric ways, honor the Sun. But to allow one of the old gods to flourish is to allow them all to flourish. It cannot be condoned.

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

CHAPTER ELEVEN

I FULLY INTEND TO sprint down the street to put as much distance between us and the champions at our back, but Vesper has other ideas. They veer around the first corner and then another, taking us deeper into the Cups District. They move faster than I expected, but still significantly slower than I could at a light jog, let alone the sprint my racing heart is demanding. “We’re going the wrong way,” I hiss. “If we head back toward the island, we can—”

“They’ll anticipate that.”

There’s no way the Minor Courts will allow champions to trespass on their inner sanctums. Indeed, there’s an intricate iron gate stretching across the street in the distance, tall and with the look of water, for all that those waves are spiked to prevent people from attempting to climb over. It’s the most hostile piece of architecture I’ve seen in my short time up on the hill, and there’s something strangely comforting in that. This, at least, is familiar. “We’ll be trapped.”

“Trust me.” They have a look of intense concentration on their face. “Keep moving and be quiet. Hopefully the rest of the champions will instinctively head back the way they came because it’s familiar.”

Hopefully? “That doesn’t sound like much of a plan.”

“That’s what you wanted to do.”

I sputter, but they’re right. The first instinct I had was to retreat to more familiar grounds. Vesper glances over their shoulder and flinches. “Now would be a wonderful time to use some of the magic the Moon gave you.”

I know better than to look back. In a flight for your life, panic can kill you as easily as a loose shingle or stone. If I were stronger, had spent my life with three meals a day and plenty of sunlight, maybe I’d be able to carry Vesper and sprint to safety. I’m not.

Just like I’m not strong enough to keep from looking back the way we came. I curse at the sight of a familiar figure bearing down on us. The Fool has lost his shirt somewhere along the way. Blood spatters his pale chest, arms, and hands. He moves at an almost leisurely pace, his long legs eating up the distance in deceptively productive strides. “I owe you some pain, Moon,” he calls. I hate how conversational he sounds while my heart is trying to beat its way out of my chest. He’s without his alliance—if it still exists—but that doesn’t change the fact that he could take me in a fight without magic. He clearly killed someone already tonight. The last Fool had the ability to shift his form, to create claws from his hands. If this one does …

“Down.” Vesper doesn’t wait for me to follow their instruction, tugging me down a spare few inches as the Fool lobs a knife at my head, flinging it across the shrinking distance between us.

A flash of purple. A bird dives down, seemingly from nowhere, intersecting the path of the knife. Both bird and knife fall to the ground and roll, leaving a trail of blood behind them. Vesper’s luck in play again.

They hold on to me so tightly I swear I feel their bones imprinted against mine. “Luck is catching as long as we’re touching. At least I’m pretty sure that’s how it works. Now, run!”

Vesper jerks me forward into what, at first, appears to be a shallow entranceway to a shop. They palm the door open without hesitation and tug me in after them. The door slams with a clang behind us, and even over the rushing in my ears, I can hear the lock engage again. I doubt it will hold against a determined Fool, but it should slow him down a little.

“This way.”

I have no choice but to follow them. They still haven’t released me and I make no effort to unlace our entwined fingers. If luck truly is catching, I can’t risk it turning on me the moment we stop touching.

It’s difficult to parse out the details of the narrow space we hurry through, but it’s missing a lot of the intricate wealth that seems steeped into every element of the Cups District. There aren’t even any windows, for gods’ sakes. “What is this place?”

“Servants’ pathway. It would be unbecoming to have normal people wandering around where anyone can see them. This pathway connects with dozens of others in the Cups District. They don’t connect to the other courts, though, so we’ll have to return to the street to leave.” They glance over my shoulder and frown. “At least it’s the Fool chasing us. It would be unfortunate if it was a champion capable of destroying the passage.”

Unfortunate. That’s one way to put it. I have to say, I’m also glad the Tower isn’t chasing us right now; the Fool is scary enough on his own. I survey the ceiling as best I can while we hurry along. It’s a bare six inches overhead—too short, surely, for taller servants?—and made of the same thick brick the walls are.

I try to picture where these passageways fit into the overall layout of the Cups District. I haven’t seen alleyways, but there were plenty of alcoves and doors peppered along the blocks. The rooftops are more uniform here than they are in the Dregs. Every one of them touches the Sun when They’re high in the sky. They don’t stack buildings up here, either, though plenty of them are tall enough to house multiple families or businesses. Are we in one of those?

Vesper turns abruptly, leading me through a narrow doorway I hadn’t even noted. Another turn and another. I’m not lost, exactly, but I’d be hard-pressed to find my way back as we weave our way through the passageways, led by Vesper’s apparently pristine memory.

“Where are we going?” I whisper.

They slow, their limp more pronounced than it was earlier. If dancing hurts them, surely running for their life has amplified their pain? If not for the limp, I wouldn’t know it from their expression. They maintain what I’m beginning to think is their customary serene … mask?

I tug on their hand until they stop. The walls press in, so close my shoulders brush the rough brick, dark enough that I shouldn’t be able to see the way Vesper’s chest rises and falls a little too quickly. “Vesper, where are we going?”

For a moment, I think they won’t answer me. They exhale slowly, almost as if trying to control their breathing. “The first priority was to escape the Fool, which we’re still in the process of doing. The second priority is to get a look at the playing field. You had the same idea last night, and it was a good one. Information is power.” They glance at our joined hands and smile tightly. “We should—”

Footsteps in the distance, closing fast. We both freeze. The Fool. He isn’t running; his steps are just as long and steady as they were on the street. I find myself holding my breath, trying to track his path. Does it shadow ours?

“Mooooooon,” calls the Fool somewhere behind us. “I can smell your fear. Keep running. I’m enjoying the chase.”

Well, that’s terrifying.