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“Yes, I’m aware. What else do you know?”

“Are you asking me about the god or the champion?”

I flush and then internally curse myself for flushing. “Both, I think. I realize you won’t know much about this Tower, but what about the last one?”

After a beat, she resumes doing … whatever she’s doing … to my hair. “The Tower is one of the most misunderstood gods. People fear Them, and rightly so. Abrupt and sometimes violent change is terrifying, even if it leads to better days ahead.” She selects a pin from the small table next to us. “Though not always. Sometimes, you’re worse off than when you started.”

Despite the Minor Court’s growing influence, worship of the old gods has prevailed in plenty of the city. My stomach twists as I think of Mara in front of the makeshift altar to the Wheel of Fortune. People continue to pray for luck, for fertility from the Empress, for safety from Death. I’ve never heard of anyone praying to the Tower. “And the last champion?”

“She was a fearsome thing. Reckless in the extreme. She gloried in change in the form of destruction.” Another pin, and then another. “That’s actually what killed her—not another champion. She was so intent on destroying Death, she brought an entire building down on her own head.”

“I didn’t know that.” Mouse had spoken of the Tower’s last champion, but only in passing. He was much more focused on the champions my mother interacted with, as well as the ones who became Cinque. There’s no reason to have an emotional reaction to the last Tower dying. Gods, there’s no reason to have one to this Tower dying.

We’ve only known each other a couple of days. I could count our conversations and still have fingers left over. But he sees me in a way the other champions don’t—not even Cato and Vesper. Nero wants things to change in Caelria, the same way I do. He grew up outside the framework the other champions did, same as me. He has a crooked smile and a subtle kindness. I don’t want him to die.

“There.” Priestess steps back and guides me to look at the mirror.

As always, my hair is a masterpiece. Braids of varying sizes curve and curl in a way that seems to defy logic. Most important, they’re out of the way and won’t provide a handhold for someone in a fight. “Thanks.”

“Tonight will likely be the last night of the Trials.”

“I know.” I stand and smooth my hands over my bodice. “I’m ready.”

“Fight well. Survive.”

“I will.” I’m still not sure if the words are a lie as I shrug into the sheath for my sickles. I pause over the coins Mara gave me, running my thumbs over the raised designs. Even though the old gods have never done anything helpful before the Trials, I can’t help wondering again if Mara would still be alive if she’d kept the Wheel’s coin for herself. Maybe her luck would have remained good.

Whose would you substitute her death with? Mouse’s? Pika’s?

I shudder and shove the hateful thought away. I don’t want anyone I love to die. I never did. Clearly, my wants don’t matter in the least. I push the coins into their respective slots in my holster and head upstairs to the main room.

My sickles wait for me on the crescent table, just like they have every other day before. I know for a fact I didn’t leave them here when I stumbled in after sunrise, but there’s enough to find confusing about this place without worrying about magically moving weapons.

The Sun isn’t visible as I step out of the temple, hidden from view by a low cloud cover. I exhale in relief out of sheer habit. It’s been weeks since our last rain. Our reserves were getting low. We don’t have fancy water towers like the people on the hill do, but our barrels serve us well enough. Mouse won’t have to spend precious money on water now. Good.

My skin prickles with the sensation of someone’s attention. I look around, my gaze landing on Cato where he stands near his temple, arms crossed over his chest. He looks just as good as he always does, wearing a deep golden kilt with a long length of cloth over one shoulder. His skin shimmers in patterns I can’t define over the distance.

I take one step toward him, intent on explaining everything that happened last night, but he pointedly turns and walks away, disappearing around the corner of his temple.

He really thinks I abandoned him. My stomach twists. I shouldn’t care. I’ve known this man a couple of days, and he might have saved my life a time or two, but I’ve certainly returned the favor. That should be enough to buy me a single conversation to explain myself. Apparently not.

I march to the Wheel of Fortune’s temple. I’m not going to chase the arrogant Sun down, but I’ll be damned before Vesper gets away without talking to me.

They walk out as I approach, looking as exhausted as I feel. They’re clothed in a long silver piece that might be a tunic or a dress, its rich texture embroidered with a mazelike design that makes my head hurt to try to follow. Their shoulder armor is bright silver and curving in a way that doesn’t look functional at all. Deep crimson feathers are fastened to the armor, pointing down to cover their chest.

I swallow past my suddenly dry throat. “You look stunning.”

Their mouth sets in a hard line. “Compliments won’t get you anywhere.” But they don’t move away, which is about all I can ask for.

“I was trying to get to you last night,” I say quietly. My body vibrates with desperation, but I fight to keep it out of my voice. “I intended to grab both you and Cato, but the moment I stepped into the shadows, they … kept me. I was trapped in perfect darkness, perfect stillness. The Chariot was still there, still alive, and hunting me in a way that made it impossible to concentrate on a destination to flee to.” I clear my throat. “After I killed him, I couldn’t remember enough details of the bridge to get there. I had to come back here.”

Vesper’s lips are still tight, but they sigh. “I understand, but you have to understand. We were trapped and we saw you leave. No matter whether that was your intention or not, the result was that we had to jump to save ourselves. That fall…” They shudder. “The river was even worse. We almost drowned twice before we managed to drag ourselves to shore. It was horrible.”

“I’m sorry.”

They nod slowly. “I guess I’m sorry, too. That couldn’t have been easy, facing down the Chariot by yourself. I’m glad you’re alive.”

An imaginary fist once again closes around my throat, squeezing tight. “I’m glad you’re alive, too. I don’t want to lose anyone else.”