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He’s likely right about that. The Minor Court has gone this long without considering the Dregs. Surely they’ll be resistant to any pressure to allocate even the smallest sliver of resources to the shadow of the wall. And how much more will they fight against damaging their profit margins by giving fair prices on trade with the river settlements? “Death has been one of the Concilium for twenty-two years. He did nothing to help your community in that time. Why ally with him?”

“Because he’ll win.” He shrugs. “I’m well aware of my strength, but with him as an ally, we’re all but guaranteed to make it to the end.”

I shiver. It’s nothing more than I’ve considered, but … “I can’t let that happen.”

The Tower spins me, more carefully this time. “He’s not so bad. Of the champions left, he’s one of the better options.”

“So everyone keeps saying,” I snap. I’m so bloody tired of being told to accept the reality of Death becoming Cinque again. Cato, Vesper, now the Tower; they all make it sound so fucking inevitable. “He killed someone very dear to me. If I have a chance to end him, I will.” I don’t mean to say it. Not to him. Not at all. It’s not a full confession of who my mother was, but it’s more than I’ve offered my own allies by way of explanation.

Surprise flickers over the Tower’s handsome face. “Does he know that?”

Of course he does. He’s the only damned champion who knows the truth, and he hasn’t told his ally. I know why I’m keeping my connection with the last Moon secret. He has no motivation to do so. If anything, sharing the truth would potentially isolate me entirely; Cato and Vesper might decide I’m more risk than they’re willing to deal with. It would make me easier to eliminate.

It might be time to admit that Death doesn’t want me dead. I don’t know what other conclusion to draw from his actions. He’s keeping my secret. He called the Tower off a beat before the Sun rose. He pulled his strike on his own, without Vesper’s luck in play, once he saw me appear.

Could he feel guilty for killing my mother?

“Does it matter?” I finally say. “We’re in the Tarot Trials. We have to kill each other.”

“Not all of us. There are five winners.” He draws me closer, his fresh winter scent rolling over me again. “You interest me.”

I know better than to be tempted by his frankness, by his strength, by his beauty. I would know better even if we weren’t in a death match. “You have terrible taste.”

He lets loose a sudden laugh. It’s a wild sound, free and almost shocking. “Surely you don’t have such a low opinion of yourself.” I can feel his fingertips through the thin fabric of my bodysuit. The intimacy makes me want to pull away. It makes me want to step closer, a sheltered plant desperately seeking the Sun. Gods, I like his laugh. A lot.

In an effort to remember why this is a terrible idea, I blurt, “We are enemies.”

“We don’t have to be.”

“Stop flirting with me!”

He gives me that damned crooked grin. “Only if you stop staring at my mouth first.”

I jerk my attention back to his eyes, but they’re no better. He’s amused and interested and so attractive, I’m in danger of melting on the spot. I can do better than this. I must. “I have to go.”

He slows to a stop at the edge of the dance floor. “I like you, Kestrel. I think you like me, too.”

Suddenly, I’m not thinking about how good he smells or how lovely he looks or how my body goes deliciously warm when he laughs. “How do you know my name?” Vesper wouldn’t have told him. Cato, either, for that matter. No one else among the champions knows it—or at least I thought they didn’t. Another mystery that almost certainly leads back to Death, but how would he know my name?

“Does it matter?” He echoes my question right back at me.

“Of course it matters. Tell me how.”

Instead of answering, he says, “I’ll put us on even ground, then. My name is Nero.”

A bolt of something hot and complicated goes through me. “Nero,” I whisper. I shouldn’t know his name. It’s too intimate, too complicated.

“Say it again, Kestrel.” His attention is so intense, it’s like …

When I was fourteen or fifteen, I went through a rebellious streak. I was determined to escape Caelria and the fate Mouse and my mother had set on my shoulders when I was too young to make a choice for myself. A future I suddenly didn’t want. I fell in with a sailor and a few months in, I convinced him to row me out to one of the great ships that come from Xiv across the Coeruleus Sea. I wanted to stow away. I was sure if I could get out of this damned city, I would have a chance at freedom in a way I could barely conceptualize at the time. The sailor, on the other hand, wanted me to stay. I understood that after.

He rowed me past the section of the wall that bridges the bay, slipping right in with the other smaller boats eager to transfer goods into Caelria for trade. The moment we left the gate, I could see the massive Xivian ship anchored just out of reach, so large it boggled my mind. Instead of following the stream of smaller craft toward it, the sailor edged our little boat close to the shore. That’s when I got my first look at the wilds.

There wasn’t much to see at first, not when the tree line comes right to the edge of the sea, the massive branches reaching over the water as if attempting to conquer such a primal force. It was … beautiful. I was enraptured.

Until I realized the small hairs on the back of my neck stood on end. Until I caught sight of something huge flickering through the tree line. Until I realized it mirrored our path perfectly, pacing itself to the sailor’s rowing. Until I understood we were being hunted.

It scared me badly enough to let the sailor convince me to return to the city. He rowed me back into the port and things fizzled out between us a few weeks later. I never tried to leave again.