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I curse. “Fine. The truth is that I’m hopelessly outmatched by the few champions I’ve seen fight. Even the ones who don’t fight, like the Star, have outmaneuvered me easily. If we go down there, we’re just as likely to die terribly as to actually help the Sun.”

“His name is Cato,” they repeat gently.

“I know.” I grit my teeth and glance over the edge of the rooftop. The streets are deserted. It’s not particularly late, but no one wants to be caught in the crossfire of two champions fighting. According to Mouse, the whole city used to come out to watch the blood paint the flagstones. People died. A lot of people. When champions fight, they bring nearly as much destruction as the gods Themselves fighting. So, these days, during the Trials, the population retreats behind closed doors and barred windows at sundown. It doesn’t save everyone, but the casualties are significantly lower.

“We have a chance to win this, Kestrel. To really win this.”

“Stop trying to manipulate me. The Wheel didn’t win the last Trials.” The previous Wheel was executed by Judgment. It took him three attempts to take her head, but he managed it right before sunrise. Her luck ran out. “You might be knowledgeable and powerful, but your luck doesn’t make you immortal, and it sure as fuck doesn’t guarantee a win for me.”

“That’s true. There hasn’t been a Wheel of Fortune in the Cinque for the last sixty-six years.” They shrug. “Luck is powerful, but it only goes so far. You have to be clever with it, to leverage it to benefit you instead of just assuming it will take care of you without any effort. In addition to that, my predecessors chose the wrong allies. I don’t intend to make the same mistake, hence wanting Cato.”

I look out over Caelria. We’re not at the top of the hill—that privilege is only reserved for the Minor Court themselves, behind their pretty walls—but we’re high enough to see a number of lights atop the wall that surrounds the city. I’m not sure if they’re fires to keep the Wands on duty warm or if it’s just for light. In the Dregs, the height of the wall dwarfs everything around it, its shadow long and dark. Up here, I could almost convince myself I’m seeing stars hovering a little too close to the ground. The danger of the wall, the reminder of the certain death lying beyond it, doesn’t feel real in the way it normally does.

My chest aches with a strange sort of homesickness. I’ve spent my entire life plotting to enter the Trials and win, to change everything—not just for me, but for my entire family—and yet right now, I would give damn near anything to be back in that dingy apartment, clustered around a game of dice with Pika and Quoll and the littles. To have Mouse sitting in his customary chair with his old knitting needles and regaling us with stories of the last Trials. It had all seemed so manageable when looked at from his perspective. In his stories, my mother was never confused or afraid. She never felt like doubt was baked into her very bones.

“I don’t know what I’m doing.” I don’t mean to say it, to admit such weakness. The last two days have been entirely too much. “Nothing is like I thought it would be.” Not the Trials. Not Death.

“That’s the thing with the best-laid plans—the control you feel putting them together never lasts past the first brush with reality.” Vesper squeezes my hand. “Cato approached me for an alliance, the same way he approached you. He’s arrogant and ambitious and crass, but he can beat the Fool, especially if he’s working with both of us. Look at the fight he’s putting up by himself.”

I follow their gaze. Bright light blooms against the night, over and over again. It’s farther away than it was earlier, the booms barely audible. “He’s still alive.” The realization shouldn’t fill me with relief. Cato thinks I’m a key to a better alliance and nothing more. I think he’s an asshole.

But … I know his name.

Only five of us will survive, and Cato is likely battling one of the alliances right now. No matter how powerful he appears to be … “It would be dangerous to try to save him. We’ll make the other champions more likely to target us.”

Vesper gives me a long look and shakes their head. “I didn’t think you were a coward.”

“I’m not a coward. Fleeing is an important part of staying alive. You know that as well as anyone. I didn’t see you sticking around when the Tower’s sword was swinging at my neck last night.” Yes, technically, I told them to run, but I don’t care about being perfectly accurate right now.

“I know.” Vesper nods slowly. “Just like I know it’s a fight you didn’t win. Which brings us back to offensive magic.”

I’m already shaking my head. I don’t want to do this. Fear is thick in my throat. I can’t stop thinking about the way the Fool literally salivated while he hunted me by scent. “It’s too risky.”

“Then I’ll go alone.” Vesper starts to slip their hand from mine and I instinctively tighten my grip. They look down and their lips quirk. “Decide quickly—either come with me or let me go.”

It’s smarter to let them go. Even if I’m not able to fulfill my fantasies of seeing the life bleed out of Death’s cold eyes, at least I have a chance of surviving on my own. That’s the best I can hope for right now. What Vesper is asking for is borderline suicide. “Vesper, please.”

“It’s okay,” they say gently. In the two days I’ve known them, they’ve never looked kinder than they do right now. They pat my hand. “Hide, Kestrel. If things go well, I’ll see you in the morning. If they don’t, you can say I told you so to my grave.” They slip their hand from mine and limp back to the hatch.

I can’t go with them. I fucking can’t. What they’re asking for is impossible, the exact opposite of the way Mouse coached me to move through the Trials. What can I possibly bring to a fight against an alliance when I couldn’t even face down a single champion? If we go back …

Pressure builds inside me, stronger and stronger, until I can’t draw a full breath. Going back is suicide. Watching Vesper disappear down the hatch feels even worse. I can almost hear Mouse yelling at me to hide, to look out for myself, not to trust anyone. He’s right. It’s the best call.

But I take that first step away from the edge of the roof and toward the hatch. And then another, and another and another, until I’m sprinting after Vesper. “Wait. I’m coming.” I scramble down the ladder and nearly knock them over where they’re waiting at the bottom.

They grin. “Let’s go get ourselves an ally.”

Much like Death, the source of the Tower’s popularity in worship is fear. Sudden, catastrophic change is a terrifying prospect for any human, no matter their stature or privilege. The best way to combat this fear is to remind our citizens of fire’s warmth, of water’s bounty and generosity. Do not fear what the future holds at the expense of hearth and home.

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

CHAPTER TWELVE

WITH EVERY STEP spent retracing our path, Vesper’s hand once again in mine, I hear Mouse’s voice in my ear, demanding I do the exact opposite.

Hide!

Don’t be a hero, Kestrel. That’s how you get dead.