“Let the Games begin!”

III

Lila had lost her mind. That was the only explanation. She was standing on a platform, surrounded by men and women who practically shook with power, the explosion of fireworks above and the roar of the crowd to every side, wearing a stranger’s stolen clothes and about to compete in a tournament in the name of an empire she didn’t serve in a world she wasn’t even from.

And she was grinning like a fool.

Alucard jostled her shoulder, and she realized the other magicians were descending the platform, filing back toward the corridor from which they’d entered.

She followed the procession out of the arena and across the bridge-tunnel framework—she honestly couldn’t tell what was holding the stadium up, but whatever it was, she seemed to be walking on it—and back to the solid ground of the city’s southern banks.

Once on land, the gaps between the magicians began to stretch as they walked at their own pace toward the tents, and Lila and Alucard found themselves with room to move and speak.

“You still look like a fish,” whispered Lila.

“And you still look like a girl playing dress-up,” snapped Alucard. A few silent strides later he added, “You’ll be happy to know I had a small sum sent back to our friend’s home, claiming it was a competitor’s bonus.”

“How generous,” said Lila. “I’ll pay you back with my winnings.”

Alucard lowered his voice. “Jinnar will hold his peace, but there’s nothing I can do about Master Tieren. You’d best avoid him, since he certainly knows what Stasion Elsor looks like.”

Lila waved her hand. “Don’t worry about that.”

“You can’t kill the Aven Essen.”

“I wasn’t planning on it,” she shot back. “Besides, Tieren already knows.”

“What?” His storm-dark eyes narrowed behind his scaled mask. “And since when do you call the London Aven Essen by his first name? I’m pretty sure that’s some kind of blasphemy.”

Lila’s mouth quirked. “Master Tieren and I have a way of crossing paths.”

“All part of your mysterious past, I’m sure. No, it’s fine, don’t bother telling me anything useful, I’m only your captain and the man who helped you send an innocent man off into saints know what so you could compete in a tournament you’re in no way qualified to be in.”

“Fine,” she said. “I won’t. And I thought you weren’t associating with Stasion Elsor.”

Alucard frowned, his mouth perfectly exposed beneath the mask. He appeared to be sulking.

“Where are we going?” she asked to break the silence.

“The tents,” said Alucard, as if that explained everything. “First match is in an hour.”

Lila summoned the bracket in her mind, but it proved unnecessary, since every scrying board they passed seemed to be showing the grid. Every pairing had a symbol beside it marking the arena—a dragon for the east, a lion for the west, a bird for the one in the center—as well as an order. According to the grid, Kisimyr was set to face off against her own protégé, Losen, Alucard against a Veskan named Otto, Jinnar against a Faroan with a string of syllables. And Lila? She read the name across from Stasion’s. Sar Tanak. A crow to the left of the name indicated that Sar was Veskan.

“Any idea which one is Sar?” asked Lila, nodding to the towering blond men and women walking ahead.

“Ah,” said Alucard, gesturing to a figure on the other side of the procession. “That would be Sar.”

Lila’s eyes widened as the shape stepped forward. “That?” The Veskan stood six feet tall and was built like a rock slab. She was a woman, as far as Lila could tell, her features stony behind her hawkish mask, straw hair scraped into short braids that stuck out like feathers. She looked like the kind of creature to carry an ax.

What had Alucard said about Veskans worshipping mountains?

Sar was a mountain.

“I thought magic had nothing to do with physical size.”

“The body is a vessel,” explained Alucard. “The Veskans believe that the larger the vessel, the more power it can hold.”

“Great,” Lila muttered to herself.

“Cheer up,” said Alucard as they neared another scrying board. He nodded to their names, positioned on opposite sides of the grid. “At least our paths probably won’t cross.”

Lila’s steps slowed. “You mean I have to beat all these people, just for the chance to take you on?”

He tipped his head. “You could have begged that privilege any night aboard the Spire, Bard. If you wanted a swift and humiliating death.”

“Oh, is that so?”

They crossed in front of the palace as they chatted, and Lila discovered that, on the far side, in place of the gardens that usually ran from palace wall to copper bridge, stood three tents, great circular things sporting empire colors. Lila was secretly glad the tents weren’t floating, too. She’d found her sea legs, of course, but had enough to worry about in the Essen Tasch without the prospect of drowning.

“And be glad you don’t have Kisimyr in your bracket,” continued Alucard as a guard held open the curtained flap that served as the main entrance of their tent. “Or Brost. You got off light.”

“No need to sound so relieved….” said Lila, trailing off as she took in the splendor of the Arnesian tent’s interior. They were standing in a kind of common area at the center, the rest of the tent segmented into twelve pie-like wedges. Fabric billowed down from the peaked ceiling—just the way it did in the royal palace rooms—and everything was soft and plush and trimmed with gold. For the first time in her life, Lila’s awe wasn’t matched by the desire to pocket anything—she was either growing too accustomed to wealth or, more likely, had enough charges on her plate without adding theft.