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If I’d had to wager on why he wanted to talk to me, I couldn’t have begun to guess he’d start with this. He sounds almost … concerned. I blink. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I mean.” He narrows those deep-set dark eyes. “Attacking the Knight of Wands is a foolish move in the dead of night, let alone in the middle of the Trials. They executed your mother for treason. Are you so eager to join her in the afterworld?”

“You executed my mother. I want to know why. The real reason, not the bullshit the Minor Court spread afterward.”

He flinches. It’s so slight, I would have missed it if not for how closely I watch him. “Yes,” he finally says. “I did kill her. Because I had no other choice. My life was not my own from the moment I entered the Trials—and neither was hers. She made her decisions, and the rest of us were left to deal with the consequences.”

Logically, when he says us, he should be talking about the Cinque, their band of allies that saw them through the Trials and into positions of power. But I can’t escape the feeling that he’s talking about me and him. “I’m not committing treason if I attack a member of the Minor Court.” At least I’m pretty sure I’m not.

“Treason or not, the consequences are the same.” His thin lips twist. “You show all evidence of being clever, so start acting like it. The Wands have a vested interest in ensuring the new Cinque will not attempt to disrupt the order of things in Caelria. Swords are their natural enemy, stretching back to the founding of the city. The Dregs is their playground, where they can operate without as much oversight and test out methods to use against the rest of the population. The rest of us are to be cowed as well.”

I shudder. He’s not saying anything I don’t already know, both from experience and from speaking with Vesper and Cato earlier. Even still, I don’t know why he’s telling me this. “They can’t kill a champion during the Trials. They’d be executed themselves.”

“You’re right.” He doesn’t blink. “But there are other ways to establish their dominance without killing you. And if you attack first, they’ll be more than justified in ending your life.”

My skin prickles again, just like it did when the king and queen arrived in the arena. A warning. I don’t understand why it’s coming from Death, but I’m not fool enough to ignore it. “You think they’ll try to execute me for shoving the Knight of Wands.”

“That was barely more than a scuffle and without witnesses to verify any exaggerated account Nonnie might share. The other courts wouldn’t allow such an overreach and the Wands know it.” He shakes his head. “No, they’ll attempt to provoke you—all of us—this afternoon. Repeatedly. Don’t let them.”

“Why are you telling me this? I’m your competition in the Trials. You killed my mother. Isn’t it in your best interest to see me dead?”

“No, Kestrel, it’s not.” Suddenly, he doesn’t look scary at all. He looks exhausted, a man at the end of his rope with no hope in sight. “I failed her once. I won’t do it again by letting you die.”

Suddenly, I can’t breathe. The way he speaks, there’s a deeper knowing there than I realized. As if they weren’t just survivors of the Trials who happened to be in a mutually beneficial alliance. As if she wasn’t an ally he willingly turned his back on. As if he cared about her. I take a step back. “Who was my mother to you?”

“Ask me that question after you’ve become one of the Cinque. I’ll answer then.”

The lack of answer is almost confirmation enough. Whenever Mouse talked about Death and the others, it was with derision. This is a man who was my mother’s ally and then turned on her and became the sword of the Minor Court that took her head. That was it.

The rest of what Death said finally registers. After you’ve become one of the Cinque. I can only do that if I’m alive—if we both are. For the first time, I allow myself to really consider what it would look like if Death survived the Trials. I wasn’t willing to listen to Cato and Vesper when they spoke about him before, too consumed with the need for answers and vengeance for my mother. Maybe I should have.

I hate this. Everything I thought I knew has been dismantled, piece by piece, from the moment I stood up to enter into the Culling to become the Moon’s champion. My plans, my assumptions about the other champions, my beliefs about Death himself. “You really mean it, don’t you? You don’t want me dead.” There’s no denying the evidence that I’ve been compiling throughout the Trials. He called the Tower off. He pulled his strike when he realized it would hit me. He interfered to ensure Nonnie couldn’t call for my head.

“I really mean it.” He straightens, and he’s Death again, cold and untouchable. He’s still watching me too closely, almost as if weighing every feature on my face. “At sunset, you must run, even if you have to leave your allies behind. The Chariot decided the Sun is too large a threat to leave at his back. He’ll come for the boy tonight—and you and the Wheel by extension.”

“How could you possibly know that? Are you in some kind of secret alliance?” I sputter. “And why should I believe you?”

“Death doesn’t lie. I told you that already.” He starts to turn away. “And I have my word to keep. You’ll see no harm from me.”

Instead of clarifying, his statement just raises more questions. “Why did you give your word? If you really can’t lie, shouldn’t you have put a qualifier on that statement? If I commit treason, they’ll have you swing the sword that takes my head.” And why would he give his word to Vesper? They’re nothing to him. Unless … “Did you make that promise to my mother? About no harm coming to me?” But why would he do that? And if he did, he’s done a shit job of protecting me. I’ve been harmed plenty of times over the years.

He stares at me for long enough that I have to fight not to squirm. “Run, Kestrel. As soon as the sun sets. Run fast and run far. Your very life depends on it.”

One of the superstitions that lingers despite the Minor Court’s best efforts is creating a small offering of a drop of blood on a flower. Supposedly this minuscule sacrifice is enough to turn away Death’s gaze.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I’M STILL SHAKING when I return to our table. Vesper appears as poised and collected as ever, as if they weren’t attacked by the Knight of Wands only a short time ago. I don’t understand how they can do that. I might act quickly in the moment, but after the rushing in my head slows, all I can see is the danger we barely avoided. If I hadn’t followed them. If Death hadn’t followed me.

Vesper looks up at me with concern. “Did Death threaten you?”

“The opposite, actually.” I quickly detail everything he said. It doesn’t make any more sense in the repeating, though it does calm my racing heart a little to recount it. He’s arguably the most dangerous champion left, and he killed my mother. There’s no reason for him to give me advice or to want me to stay alive. It has to be a trick … but his actions say otherwise. “You win, Cato. We already agreed to go after the Chariot tonight, though it doesn’t seem like we’d have a choice one way or another.”

To his credit, he doesn’t gloat. “I don’t know what Death’s aims are, but clearly you two have some kind of connection.” He glances at Vesper and then back to me. “You don’t have to see him as an ally, and he hasn’t offered that, exactly, but fuck, he could be a dangerous weapon pointed at your enemies if he’s invested in protecting you.”

I already know what Vesper is going to say before they speak. “We’re in the endgame. It would be foolish to discard a tool.”