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The moment I appeared before Death and saved Cato, how his surprise and anger flickered in those deep-set eyes. How Cato shivered against my palms, passing out from the overuse of his powers.

Vesper going down, their death written on the Hermit’s face as she raised her staff to bludgeon them.

The fight with the Fool. Punching Cato. Knocking Vesper aside as if they weighed nothing. Pinning me down and grinning as he brought devastating pain to my body.

I spin to Cato. “You know I’m right.”

“Oh, do I get a vote now?” His trademark arrogant grin is firmly in place, none of the earlier rapport present. “How charming.”

“Cato.”

“Kestrel.” He matches my exasperated tone perfectly. “Vesper is right.” When I start to protest, he holds up a hand. “We don’t have the time to play with running and hiding. There are only nine champions left. It’s in no one’s best interest for the Trials to extend longer than absolutely necessary, so the violence will increase dramatically tonight. Of the last five Trials, only one has gone more than five days, and that was over a hundred years ago.”

I have the presence of mind to be deeply irritated that apparently everyone has access to the full history of the Tarot Trials except me. “But—”

“Besides,” he says right over me. “Vesper isn’t going to magically recover after one night. They know their body better than you do, and every day the Trials extends will be an added burden on them because they won’t be able to rest properly.”

I turn to Vesper, but they don’t speak. They merely place both their hands on the giant gemstone at the top of their cane and watch me. Silently agreeing with Cato, though what they think of his words is anyone’s guess.

“I don’t like this,” I finally say.

“Your opinion is noted.” Vesper sighs. “I understand you’re not coming from a place meant to undermine me, but we’re allies. Equal allies. The moment that balance ceases to be even, we are no longer allies.”

Cato crosses his arms over his chest. “The Chariot’s alliance has been picking off the single champions. He’ll go for the Magician tonight. It will be easier to shadow the Magician than the Chariot—and we’ll have a better chance of surprising them both.”

Four more deaths. Four more banners rolling out over the doorways of the gods’ temples. With the Chariot—and potentially the Magician—gone, that leaves the Star, the High Priestess, the Tower … and Death. Who among them can I live with as members of the new Cinque? The Tower, obviously, but he won’t abandon his alliance with Death. Who else would I rather survive? The Star is a monster, if a prettier one than her counterparts. The High Priestess seems to be cut from the same cloth. There are no good answers. I hate this. I hate this so fucking much.

Cato and Vesper are right—the Chariot has to die first. “Fine,” I snap. “The sooner this is over, the better.”

But Vesper isn’t looking at me any longer. Their attention has shifted to the other side of the courtyard. A pair of people walk up, their body language unnecessarily aggressive. My stomach drops as I register the familiar purple and black. “Wands,” I whisper.

“Wands,” Cato echoes, disgust evident in the single word. “Higher-up ones, too.”

I see what he means immediately. In the Dregs, the Wands adhere to their court’s colors, but they don’t wear metal on their bodies. These two do, their belts and bracers both bronze. The belts are significantly more ornate, too, the thick pieces wrapping around their middles. They must be heavy as fuck.

“Nonnie, Knight of Wands. Beatriz, Page of Wands.”

I glance at Vesper. “You didn’t give us the Page of Pentacles’ name when he escorted us to the party yesterday. Are you friends with these two?”

“Absolutely not.” They wrinkle their nose. “As stodgy as the Pentacles Court is, I’d take them over the Wands any day.”

“That’s only because the Wands and Swords like to get in pissing matches over jurisdiction,” Cato says and throws a casual arm over Vesper’s shoulders. “You have more court baggage with them than the others.”

“Bold of you to assume the Swords don’t have court baggage with everyone.” Vesper rolls their eyes, looking more at ease. “But you’re not wrong; the Wands are grasping, petty dictators who think because some fool back in the founding of Caelria gave them the ability to police the population and they have an affinity with primordial fire, they should be able to make the final call on every issue without oversight.” They sniff. “They’re sloppy and dangerous.”

Now it’s my turn to snort. “Right. Because the Swords have never made a bad call when it comes to a trial before. Just because you can tell when people are lying doesn’t mean you’re infallible. You don’t even bother to conduct trials in a large portion of the city.”

“Sorry, Vesper, but I’m with Kestrel on this one.” Cato gives Vesper a squeeze and drops his arm. “Swords and Wands are two sides to the same coin. You just keep your hands cleaner than they do.”

Vesper opens their mouth, seems to reconsider what they’re about to say, and finally shrugs. “It’s hardly a perfect system, no matter what the rest of the Minor Court believes.”

That’s the first I’ve heard anyone from the Minor Court admit it, but it’s not as if I’ve spent much time with them or even the guilds before the Trials. Part of me assumed they were happy enough with the way things operate because it benefits them. “Pentacles sent their page to their event. Wands sent their page and knight. Why didn’t the Cups send a court member?”

“They have the Star in their pocket as their pet Cinque.” Vesper catches my shocked look and shakes their head. “You must have noticed how she wears their fashion the same way I honor the Swords with mine. It’s not because she’s from their court; it’s because she’s been an ally since the last Trials.”

“It still seems shortsighted. Aren’t they putting a lot of confidence in her surviving?”

“Maybe. Maybe not. She’s savvy in how she plays the game—both the Trials and politics. There’s no reason to think she won’t make her way into the Cinque for a second time.”