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“Only that it’s limited in scope.” Vesper pours me a glass of water. “She can’t immerse you in a different world and make you believe it’s real. It’s only small things like your plate. Maybe she could make you believe she’s someone else. I’m not entirely sure. All the High Priestess’s kills in the histories I read were done with weapons, not magic.”

I pick up a slab of meat and take a bite, my reluctance melting away as the taste explodes on my tongue. It’s almost enough to bypass the dangers Vesper implies. “If she can impersonate people, how will we know we’re talking to our real allies and not her in disguise?”

“I suppose we’ll need some kind of code.” Vesper taps their fingers on the table. “Or I’ll just call you by your name.”

I consider that and take another bite. “That works for now.” I glance in the direction Death disappeared. It occurs to me that Vesper might know more about him than I do—or at least have more recent information. “What do you know of Death? Beyond what you’ve already said.”

“That you have some kind of history with him. A vendetta, perhaps.” Vesper sighs when I shoot them a sharp look. “Keep eating while I talk. The dancing is about to start.” There’s something wistful in their tone.

I pick up a grilled vegetable of some kind and pop it in my mouth—only to make a sound I hope the music is too loud for anyone to hear. “This is so good.”

“Pentacles produce is premier.” The way Vesper chimes it in an almost singsong way makes me think this isn’t meant to be a compliment. Later, I’ll be mad all over again that the Pentacles keep this bounty for themselves. Later, I’ll wonder why this city lets their shit trickle downhill, right to the Dregs. Surely there are enough resources for everyone. Surely …

“Death and the Swords have history.” Vesper picks up their water and swirls it contemplatively. “During his years as part of the Cinque, Death and the Swords have been at odds several times. Occasionally, the arguments get heated. He’s…” They shudder delicately. “My mother is fearsomely ambitious and my father is the smartest man I know. Both of them are wary of crossing Death.”

“Do they think he’ll harm them?”

“No, nothing like that. He’s got more sway than the other members of the Cinque, despite not playing the popularity games the Star does. Everyone is afraid of Death. Even the Minor Court.” Vesper casually adds a few more items to the plate in front of me, which is how I register that I’ve cleared it entirely. They don’t comment on my appetite, and I don’t comment on them feeding me. There’s a strange warmth in my chest I sure as fuck have no time for.

Cato, the Tower, Vesper. They all attract me in slightly different ways. It’s a complication I never expected to arise in the Trials. Wanting to kill the other champions is to be expected. Wanting to spend more time with them? To figure out the puzzle they represent? To engage in a little harmless flirting? Dangerous impulses.

“Kestrel,” Vesper murmurs. “You have more hate for Death than any of the other Cinque—even the Star, who actively attempted to kill you. It seems personal.”

It is personal. I take a hasty sip of water while I weigh my words. I’ve lied by omitting, but Vesper is a Sword. I can’t lie to them directly. In the space of my hesitation, I actually consider telling them the truth. They’ve saved my life several times now. Maybe I can trust them.…

I give myself an internal shake. Not with this. “Don’t you think having Death in the Cinque for a second consecutive term would send the wrong message? If we’re aiming for a better Caelria, the Cinque should reflect that.”

They don’t blink. “It’s a nice thought, but you just dodged my question.” They hold up a hand before I can protest. “You aren’t ready to tell me. I respect that. We’ve only known each other a short time.” Vesper’s gaze sharpens. “But the argument we had earlier will be repeated tomorrow. The Chariot has to go, Kestrel. I don’t know your history with Death, and I won’t press you further on it, but I agree with Cato: the Chariot cannot survive the Trials.”

My throat threatens to go thick. “I understand.” I’m not even certain I disagree with them. The Chariot is a monster akin to Judgment. Only further harm will come of him reclaiming his position in the Cinque. But the thought of having to work next to Death—even just for voting—for the next two decades makes me want to scream. My mother was cut down before I had any solid memories of her, but he gets to live to a nice old age? Unforgivable.

I twist in my chair to survey the room. The dancing has started, but it’s different from last night. The Cups all but herded us onto the floor and then retreated to the perimeter to watch us like animals in a cage. The Pentacles and Rubies are in the midst of everyone, their distinctive colors mingling with our more dramatic clothing. The Star spins in the arms of a Ruby, the High Priestess dances with the Page of Pentacles. Cato speaks with Guild Master Fox—they are here. And the Tower? I look around slowly and stop short when I see him leaning against the wall across the room … staring at me.

I jerk my gaze away, which brings me to the Fool and the Hermit. I haven’t seen much of the Hermit since the Culling. She’s young, probably the youngest champion here. If she’s reached her majority—a requirement to be a champion—then it’s only barely. Her skin is almost sickly pale and even with the styling of whoever her priest is, her brown hair hangs lankly around her shoulders. She doesn’t look like Mara, not really, not beyond the same superficial coloring, but from behind, they could almost be sisters. It’s ridiculous to compare the two—Mara would have bolted by this point, and no one can catch her when she sets her mind to it—but I can’t stop myself. I can’t protect Mara, have never been able to protect Mara, but I’ll be damned before I stand by and allow the Fool to tower over the Hermit, his too-broad shoulders nearly cutting her off from the rest of the room.

I’m on my feet before I register an intention to move. Vesper grabs for my hand, but I pull away easily. “I’ve got this.”

“Kestrel, that girl is going to die.” Vesper’s voice is urgent and low. “Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow. The fact she’s made it this long is a miracle, even with her alliance.”

I hate what they’re saying. I hate even more that they’re right, but I recognize the way the Hermit’s shoulders bow as the Fool towers over her. “I don’t care. The Sun hasn’t set, and I’ll be damned before I sit by and watch someone be hurt.”

“People are hurt every day. You can’t save them all. No one can.”

That pulls me around to look at them, but only for a moment. I jerk my arm from their grasp. “Is that what you tell yourself up on the hill, wearing your fancy clothing and eating until your belly is full, while me and mine starve?”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” Vesper grabs for me again. Misses. “You almost got eliminated last night by attacking him. The Pentacles aren’t likely to be as forgiving.” Another failed grab. “We have our plan to think of. It’s vital the Fool doesn’t see us coming.”

“I don’t care.” I’m already moving, taking the most direct route to them through the dance floor. I nearly run into the Star and Guild Master Fox. The Star sneers. “Move, Moon.”

“Your ally is in danger,” I snap.

She follows my gaze and shrugs. “If she can’t navigate a difficult conversation, she’s of no use to me.” She smiles up at Guild Master Fox. “Now, about that trade agreement…”

I curse and veer around them. Maybe I’m as naive as Vesper believes me to be, because it didn’t occur to me that any of the champions would have unclean deaths. We all knew the potential cost when we volunteered and stepped onto that dais. From sunset to sunrise, we’d be engaged in a battle for our very lives. We’re not supposed to kill each other during the day, but yesterday more than proved that some harm is acceptable. Surely, not that kind of violence …

Damn it, I really am being naive.

It takes mere seconds to cross the dance floor and come up behind the Fool. He’s so focused on the Hermit, he doesn’t see me. Between the music and my now naturally silent steps, he doesn’t hear me. It would be the easiest thing in the world to slip a knife between his ribs. If I had a knife. If I couldn’t still feel the Sun in the sky, hanging on to the last little bit of daylight.