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I blink. “Excuse me?”

“I won’t fight Death.” He holds up a hand. “But he gave his word not to harm the Star and the High Priestess. I didn’t. If we can cut them down before the Wheel and the Sun fall, that will end things.”

“I can’t trust you.”

He shrugs. “You have no reason not to. I’ve kept my word to you.”

“You’re betraying your alliance with Death.” For me? I can’t bring myself to say the last part. Yes, we have an understanding because of our shared outsider status. Yes, we had sex. But … this is Death we’re talking about. The Tower is putting his own life on the line for me.

His lips curve, just a little. “I suppose I am.”

There’s nothing more to say. Either I trust him or I don’t. I grab my boots. “Dress quickly. I’m leaving here as soon as possible.”

He doesn’t need to be told twice. Nero yanks the divider to the side and moves to his neatly folded pile of clothing. The temptation to watch him dress nearly derails me, but time is of the essence. I turn away and pull on my boots. The sheath for my sickles is next, finishing my process. I don’t look as put together as I did at the beginning of the day, but I don’t care.

When I turn around, Nero is dressed, though he’s left off the needlessly dramatic cape. He touches the sword hilt emerging over his shoulder as if to reassure himself that it’s still there.

I head for the door. “Let’s go.” Vesper’s ability to leverage their knowledge of the hill depends on having the opportunity to put distance between them and the other champions. Without my magic of moving through shadows, they won’t have gotten far enough to evade those hunting them.

It’s been nearly an hour since sunset. Too long. Too damned long. Fear tries to claim my limbs and heart and lungs, but I shove it down deep and lock it away. I can’t afford to fear. I have to act.

Luck is such a nebulous thing and difficult to quantify. Is it lucky that the rainstorm broke seconds after you arrived home? Or is it mere coincidence? Chaos is terrifying in our inability to control it, so people instinctively seek to credit some unseen god. And so the worship of the Wheel of Fortune lives on.

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

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

DESPITE MY FEAR of not finding Vesper, the moment we step out of the bathhouse—now apparently abandoned and empty—the sound of fighting reaches my ears. Nero steps forward, leading the way. I don’t know how I feel about that, but there’s no time to argue as we race down the street toward the bright light of the Sun in the near distance. Cato.

He’ll see me arriving with the Tower as another betrayal, but I don’t care if he hates me, as long as he lives. I can’t control what happened last night. I can’t control what deals Death is apparently making behind the scenes. I can’t control anything. But that’s not going to stop me from trying. These are my allies. My … friends. I don’t care what vendetta Death apparently has against the Swords. Vesper won’t pay the price for it. I refuse to allow it.

Nero outpaces me easily, his longer legs eating up the distance between us and the fight getting louder with each passing second. He veers around a corner, and I pour on the speed, pushing my abused body as hard as I can to keep up. No matter what promises he made, I can’t entirely trust him. He made an alliance with Death first, and Death doesn’t want me dead. That might be enough to sway Nero to his plans to kill Cato and Vesper. I can’t be sure.

I’m so focused on attempting to keep up, I don’t register that he stopped and nearly run into his back. I stumble in my efforts to keep my footing. The sight that greets me kills any sharp words I would have come up with. Vesper and Cato stand back-to-back as the trio of other champions circles them, predators waiting for an opening. I draw my sickles and push past Nero. I don’t know how to fix this, but Vesper and Cato won’t stand alone. If I can—

I only make it two steps before something tangles with my ankles and sends me sprawling to the flagstones, my weapons skittering away from me. I roll onto my back, ready to defend myself, but Nero is already stepping over me, his sword drawn.

To kill my allies? To protect them?

I can’t be sure, and because I can’t be sure, I scramble for my sickles. The first isn’t that far away, but as I search for the second, I find it beneath the Star’s dainty boot. She raises a brow. “Really, darling, you’re being very dramatic right now. Death worked rather hard to ensure you survived despite yourself. It would be a shame if all that went to waste.”

I could kill her right now. Her weapon is poison, but she has to touch me to enact it. More, she’s clearly agreed not to hurt me, which puts her at a disadvantage.

Vesper cries out, yanking my attention away from the Star. It will take too long to cut the bitch down. I need to be in the fight. I lurch to my feet, abandoning my second sickle, and sprint after Nero to where Death clashes with my allies. Cato is still putting off too much light to step through the shadows, even if I dared.

Is the Chariot’s body still there, rotting and rank?

It doesn’t matter. I can’t do it. If I’m relieved at the inability then I’ll take that shame to my grave.

Death swings his sword, driving Vesper away from Cato. They throw themself to the side, not a single glimpse of purple to be seen. Their luck isn’t holding. Gods damn it. A single cut and Death’s magic will take hold, stripping Vesper of the life in their dark brown eyes, the tight curve of their smile, the brilliant tangle of plotting in their impressive mind. I don’t want them to die. I don’t want anyone else to die.

An impossible wish. The Trials are destined to end in only one way: five live champions and seventeen dead ones. I just don’t want it to be anyone I care about. Maybe that’s selfish in the extreme, but I’m only human. I made the mistake of letting Vesper past my walls, in starting to enjoy Cato’s casual arrogance, in falling into Nero’s arms and finding comfort and pleasure like I’d never imagined.

I pour on the speed, somehow closing the gap between me and Nero just as he reaches Cato. Without a thought, I shove him to the side. He skids several steps and goes to one knee, his sword held at the ready.

And Cato … Cato jerks his hand high, aborting the beam of deadly sunlight he was about to send into Nero’s chest. His eyes go wide. “What are you doing here? You’re with them?”

“No!” I don’t close the distance between us, holding my free hand out. Behind him, Vesper throws themself forward again, rolling wildly to avoid Death’s blows. “Death wants Vesper. We have to protect them.”