Page 58

“You’ve never known me under the best of circumstances. No one has.” Whatever challenges Vesper has faced in their life—and I’m not naive enough to think they became Page of Swords without trials and tribulations—they grew up in the Swords District. They’ve had easy access to fresh produce and water and whatever they could possibly want or need. If they’ve ever gone hungry, it must have been the exception and not the rule.

“You’re right, of course.” Vesper sighs. “My attempt at a joke clearly fell flat. I’m sorry. I know you’ve had more than your fair share of struggles.”

“I don’t want your pity.” I speak too harshly, but I can’t stand the knowledge they see right through me in this moment. “Cato had the right idea. We should move.”

I take a lurching step forward. The muscles in my legs feel strange and too loose. Now that I’m walking, the impact of each footstep against the ground makes my shoulder ache fiercely. It’s a manageable pain, but it’s present and unavoidable.

Vesper limps forward, leaning heavily on their cane. They’re clearly trying to put as little weight on their right side as possible. “Of course.”

I don’t know if it’s considered rude to comment on their disability, but I have to know how close they are to their limits, and they were candid enough about dancing the first night. “How much longer before you’re not able to walk at all?”

They sigh. “You need to learn to be less blunt. The novelty wears off quickly, and that particular trait won’t serve you well in the Concilium.”

“Or maybe you need to learn to talk in fewer circles.” I stagger forward another step, struggling to keep pace with them, even as slow as they’re moving. “Did you try to keep up with Cato all night?”

“Yes and no.” They take a few more steps. “He matched my pace when we had the option.”

“Surprising,” I mutter. Except it’s not, is it? For all his brashness, arrogance, and ill-advised flirting, Cato has shown evidence of being considerate, both to me and Vesper.

“Like I said—sometimes you can be an asshole.” But they don’t sound mad; they just seem tired. “I suppose your question is fair enough, considering we’re allies. I’ve pushed myself hard the last three nights. I had planned on hiding for a good portion of the Trials, but that hasn’t worked out.”

“Yeah. Me, too.” We’ve moved half a block and I’m already breathing hard. I don’t know why I’m struggling so intensely. It’s as if I spent all night running alongside Cato and Vesper instead of being safely cradled … Nope, not going to think about that right now. Or ever, frankly.

“To put a finer point on it: I don’t know. I’ve pushed myself past my limits before, so I know I’m not quite in danger of collapse, but I’m close enough that it’s a problem.”

I’m feeling pretty close to my limits right now, too. I concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other until we reach the corner and the bridge to the champions’ island comes into view. “Cato might finish healing before the end of the day, but I don’t think I will. And you aren’t experiencing accelerated healing at all.”

“I’m aware,” they grind out.

“He’s going to want to go after the Chariot tonight, but we barely survived the Fool when we were at full health, and he has—had—significantly less experience with his power than the Chariot does. We need time to recover and come up with a proper plan.”

“There’s a decent chance we won’t have a choice.”

Our schedule might not be specifically designed to wear us down, but it’s doing a damned good job of ensuring no one gets quite enough rest to recover from injuries or exhaustion. Even with the Moon assisting in my healing, my shoulder and jaw feel wrong. I’ve broken bones before, and while the recovery was long enough to have me nearly climbing the walls despite Mouse’s best efforts, once healed, I felt fine.

I don’t feel fine right now. Everything is brittle in a way that makes me worry my body will buckle when I need it the most. Or that my bones will shatter under a blow that would previously only bruise. That maybe, next time, they won’t heal at all. But Vesper is right; no matter how thoroughly we plan, there’s a decent chance it won’t matter. “Yeah, that’s fair.”

Vesper stumbles and I automatically reach to cup their elbow. They snarl at me. “Don’t touch me.”

I jerk my hand back. “I’m sorry.”

For the first time since we met, I can actually see their thoughts flickering over their face. Embarrassment, anger, a deep pain that must be at least partially physical. They take a breath, and then another. “I don’t need your help.”

“Okay.” When they don’t immediately continue in motion or word, I can’t stop myself from filling in the blanks. “It’s like me walking to the courtyard, yeah? You have to do it on your own strength.”

“Yeah.” The word is barely more than an exhale. “Yeah, it’s exactly that.”

We stagger on a few more steps in awkward silence. Again, I think about all the things I don’t know about Vesper, how different their life has been from mine … and how similar in other completely unexpected ways. My breath is fire in my lungs, my muscles shaking and my bones shatterable. But those things are new to me, at least in part. Yes, I’ve always been hungry, but aside from my injuries over the years, I’ve always been able to run from danger, to climb, to fight and play. I’ve never had to worry about my body’s limits in the way Vesper must.

“You can go on without me,” they say. “I’ll be there before the sixth strike.”

We have plenty of time and only the bridge to cross. I could follow in Cato’s footsteps, if at a slower pace, and leave them behind. I’m already shaking my head. “We go together.”

I try very hard not to think about how slow we’re moving or what that means for tonight, both the event and the ensuing slaughter. How many champions remain? We killed the Hermit and the Fool, and the scream we heard seems to indicate someone else died, but who?

The answer finds us as we finally finish crossing the bridge and step into the circle of temples. I skim over the old banners before landing on the new additions.

The Chariot killed Temperance, and for the life of me, I can’t remember a single thing about the fallen champion. The Tower added another to his number, Justice this time. I seem to remember a tall man with light brown skin who favored the Swords style of clothing with robes and rigid shoulder armor. A quick glance at Vesper’s face shows no emotion there; whether it’s because they’re so locked down or because they didn’t know Justice doesn’t really matter, I suppose.