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“Kestrel.” The command in the Tower’s voice drags my attention back to him despite myself. “Get ready to run.”

I’ve been so distracted by everything going on, I haven’t been paying as close attention to the Sun’s descent as I have on previous days. We have so little time—minutes, if that. I glance at the other champions again. The Magician is slumped in their seat, their head in their hands. The High Priestess is visibly shaking. The Star picks at something on her lace gloves with a bored expression on her face, as if that’s the most interesting thing going on. Death and the Chariot are tense and still, their heads cocked to the side as if listening to something no one else can hear. Tracking the Sun’s descent to the moment when the slaughter begins.

“Kestrel,” the Tower says. “Give me your word that you’ll run. Promise me.”

As if my words mean anything beyond the breath it takes to create them. I don’t trust him and he sure as fuck shouldn’t trust me. But as I look up into his intense eyes, I don’t see the Tower staring back. I see Nero. Because he’s not just the Tower, is he? He’s a man and he’s lived a life before stepping up to become a champion of the old gods. He’s lost so much, even more than I have.

“We’ll run.” I can’t stop shaking. “I promise we’ll run.”

It’s important to note that many of the things the old gods represent are not inherently bad when separated from their archaic worship. The Chariot, for example, represents ambition, willpower, and focus. These traits are admirable.

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

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

THE SUN SETS.

Every other time it’s happened, we’ve been scattered throughout a party, interspersed with the citizens of that particular court. I’ve always been so intent on my own survival, on escape; I’ve never watched what the other champions do. I witness it now.

I would have bet money on the Magician being too distraught to react quickly, but they shove back from their chair and then they’re gone, sprinting up the stairs and back the way we came.

Death and the Tower exchange a look. It happens so quickly. A beat of gazes clashing and then the Tower flips our table, toppling my trio back … and creating a barrier between us and the view of the sand. He launches himself over us, landing easily on the other side, and follows Death up the steps after the Magician. I don’t know much of what their powers are, but I have no doubt there will be a banner unfurled in front of their temple come sunrise.

I scramble to my feet and drag Vesper up with me. “We have to move.” The Chariot rises slowly to his feet, his attention narrowed on our group. This is the worst possible scenario. We’re in the damned arena. There’s nothing but space around us, even in this tier. He has plenty of opportunity to build momentum—and there are so few shadows to hide in.

Cato grabs my upper arm and yanks me—and Vesper, by extension—away from our flipped table. “Time to go.”

There’s too much space in here. Too much noise. The Wands are stamping their feet, cheering or booing in equal measure. They aren’t going anywhere. Gods, they’re delighted by the spectacle continuing. They’ve intentionally picked people to kill in an effort to hurt us, and now they want to witness the aftermath.

They want us dead.

“Have fun, darling,” the Star calls to the Chariot as he stretches his arms over his head. He’s not in a hurry, and why would he be? The High Priestess stands behind the Star, watching with an unreadable expression on her face. Probably happy that our deaths are on the agenda tonight, rather than hers.

I push Vesper in front of me. Stairs or sand. There are no good options. They’re moving slower than normal, their steps hitching and face tight with pain. Damn you, Nonnie. They hurt Vesper, worse than I realized. “I’ve got you.” I wrap my arm around their waist, ignoring their curse, and half carry them down toward the sand. It’s closer than the door above, and will hopefully be easier to navigate. We’re not moving fast enough, though.

Cato actually stops and turns back because he’s too far ahead. “Hurry!”

We’re going to die.

No. Damn it, no. I haven’t come this far to fall now. If I die in this arena, it means the Wands win. It means their horrific little stunt is successful, and there will be no one to try to curtail their abuses in the next Cinque, no one to even attempt to advocate for the Dregs. We have to live, because they have to pay.

The barrier between the lowest tier and the sand is only about hip height. They wouldn’t want something as mundane as safety to get in the way of enjoying their blood sport, the bastards. With every beat of my heart, my mind is screaming at me to hurry, to run, to put an entire city between me and the Chariot. I don’t even know if it’s possible—I’ve only traveled short ranges up until this point—but it’s too large a risk. If I try and fail, I’ll be incapacitated. I can’t trust Cato to look out for me for yet another night. I sure as fuck can’t expect him to sacrifice himself to save me.

The Chariot bellows behind us, sounding more like a wild beast than a human.

Cato flinches, turning his attention over my shoulder. “We’re not going to make it.”

“Yes, we are.” I push Vesper at him. “Carry them.”

To his credit, he doesn’t argue. Vesper’s protest is cut off as he sweeps them up easily. None of our trio is particularly tall, but Vesper looks positively frail curled in his arms. Something in my chest twists horribly, but the buzzing in my head is too loud to think about it.

Cato vaults over the rock barrier between us and the sand. I plant a hand on it and haul myself over less gracefully. His training has never been more apparent than while rushing across the sand as if it’s as flat as the flagstones outside. As if it doesn’t suck at his feet with each step the way it pulls at my boots. My only consolation is knowing the Chariot will have to fight through it as well.

Another bellow, closer this time. Even as my mind screams not to look behind me, I twist around and do exactly that.

The Wands have the space around the sand so well lit I don’t need my enhanced vision to witness the Chariot’s transformation. Too clearly, I see him grow with each step he takes. His body swells, the muscles in his arms and chest and shoulders popping in a way that must be painful. Not that he seems to register it. Not when he’s focused on me, my death in his creepy blue eyes.

He doesn’t bother to use his hands to help him over the rock ledge. He just jumps, easily clearing it, and lands in the arena with so much force, the ground shakes beneath my feet and I stumble.