“Believe it or not,” Alucard whispered, “one of us would like to see you live.”

“Maybe I’ll surprise you.”

“You always do.” He looked around, spotting his banner on one of the twelve curtained rooms. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a match to prepare for.”

Lila waved. “I’ll be sure to pick up your pennant. It’s the one with a fish on it, right?”

“Har har.”

“Good luck.”

* * *

Lila unfastened her helmet as she passed into the private tent marked by a black flag with crossed knives.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered as she tugged off the mask, the devil’s jaw tangling in her hair. And then she looked up. And stopped. The room was many things—simple, elegant, softened by couches and tables and billowing fabric—but it was not empty.

A woman stood in the middle of the space, dressed in white and gold, holding a tray of tea. Lila jumped, fighting the urge to draw a weapon.

“Kers la?” she snapped, her helmet still resting on her head.

The woman frowned slightly. “An tas arensor.”

“I don’t need an attendant,” answered Lila, still in Arnesian, and still fighting with the helmet.

The woman set down the tray, came forward, and, in one effortless motion, disentangled the knot, freeing Lila from the devil’s jaws. She lifted the helmet from Lila’s head and set it on the table.

Lila had decided not to thank her for the unwarranted help, but the words still slipped out.

“You’re welcome,” answered the woman.

“I don’t need you,” repeated Lila.

But the woman held her ground. “All competitors are assigned an attendant.”

“Well then,” said Lila brusquely, “I dismiss you.”

“I don’t think you can.”

Lila rubbed her neck. “Do you speak High Royal?”

The woman slid effortlessly into English. “It suits my station.”

“As a servant?”

A smile nicked the corner of the woman’s mouth. “As a priest.” Of course, thought Lila. Master Tieren chose the competitors. It made sense that he would supply the attendants, too. “The prince insists that all competitors be provided an attendant, to see to their various needs.”

Lila raised a brow. “Like what?”

The woman shrugged and gestured to a chair.

Lila tensed. There was a body in it. It had no head.

The woman crossed to the form, and Lila realized it wasn’t a headless corpse after all, but a set of armor, not polished like the kind worn by the royal guards, but simple and white. Lila found herself reaching for the nearest piece. When she lifted it, she marveled at its lightness. It didn’t seem like it would do much to protect her. She tossed it back onto the chair, but the attendant caught it before it fell.

“Careful,” she said, setting the piece down gently. “The plates are fragile.”

“What good is fragile armor?” asked Lila. The woman looked at her as though she had asked a very stupid question. Lila hated that kind of look.

“This is your first Essen Tasch,” she said. It wasn’t an inquiry. Without waiting for confirmation, the woman bent to a chest beside the chair and drew out a spare piece of armor. She held it up for Lila to see, and then threw it against the ground. When it met the floor, the plate cracked, and as it did, there was a flash of light. Lila winced at the sudden brightness; in the flare’s wake, the armor plate was no longer white, but dark grey.

“This is how they keep score,” explained the attendant, retrieving the spent armor. “A full set of armor is twenty-eight pieces. The first magician to break ten wins the match.”

Lila reached down and took up the ruined plate. “Anything else I should know?” she asked, turning it over in her hands.

“Well,” said the priest, “you cannot strike blows with your body, only your elements, but I’m sure you already knew that.”

Lila hadn’t. A trumpet sounded. The first matches were about to begin.

“Do you have a name?” she asked, handing the plate back.

“Ister.”

“Well, Ister …” Lila backed away toward the curtain. “Do you just … stand here until I need you?”

The woman smiled and dug a volume from a pocket. “I have a book.”

“Let me guess, a religious text?”

“Actually,” said Ister, perching on the low couch, “it’s about pirates.”

Lila smiled. The priestess was growing on her.

“Well,” said Lila, “I won’t tell the Aven Essen.”

Ister’s smile tilted. “Who do you think gave it to me?” She turned the page. “Your match is at four, Master Stasion. Don’t be late.”

* * *

“Master Kamerov,” came a cheerful voice as Kell stepped into his tent.

“Hastra.”

The young guard’s armor and cape were gone, and in their place he wore a simple white tunic trimmed in gold. A scarf, marked with the same gold trim, wrapped loosely around his face and throat, masking all but his aquiline nose and warm brown eyes. A curl escaped the wrap, and when he pulled the scarf down around his neck, Kell saw that he was grinning.

Saints, he looked young, like a sanctuary novice.

Kell didn’t bother removing his helmet. It was too dangerous, and not only because he could be recognized; the mask was a constant reminder of the ruse. Without its weight, he might forget who he was, and who he wasn’t.