“So you see,” Tisaanah said, “we couldn’t let her keep it.”
Sammerin took another drink.
“A fourth trial. A fourth trial, Max. Tonight.”
His tone said what his words didn’t: You are fucked.
That was an understandable reaction.
The fourth trial was the last step in the Arch Commandant selection process, and the simplest… as well as the most ridiculously archaic. Just one fight, Wielder against Wielder. It would take place in the Scar — the birthplace of magic, a chasm not far from the base of the Towers. When magic had returned to the world half a millennium ago, that chasm was the breaking point. To this day, it remained one of the most unique magical settings in the world.
That was the whole romanticized idea: put two candidates in the birthplace of magic itself for their final battle, to test their connection, their commitment, to the forces they Wielded.
“The whole concept is ridiculous,” I grumbled. “As if whoever wins a pit fight in a glowing magical ravine is better suited to lead one of the most powerful organizations in the world.”
Sammerin stared flatly back at me, silent.
“I can win,” I said.
“Max, she knows you.”
I knew exactly all that was implied by that sentence.
Nura’s magic preyed on the fears of her opponent. And she knew exactly where the gaps between my ribs were, knew exactly which mental knives to turn.
“I know her, too,” I said.
“Right, and that’s exactly what she’s going to use against you. With stakes this high, she’ll fight hard. Nothing will stop her.”
I knew he was right.
No matter what Nura did, there was always a small part of me that hoped she could be better than she was. Yes, she had saved me, many times over, even when it cost her dearly to do it. But I had seen the way she looked at me in that meeting — with a hurt sharp enough to shred whatever tattered history had hung between us.
Sharp enough, maybe, to sever whatever still kept her from killing me.
“I know,” I said. “And I won’t let her take it that far.”
“I would skin her,” Tisaanah muttered, and I quirked an eyebrow at her.
“That’s charmingly vicious. Comforting to know that if she survives me, she certainly won’t survive you.”
“This isn’t a game.” There was an uncharacteristically harsh edge to Sammerin’s voice. “If you lose, if she’s truly that desperate, this affects more than you. Nura is not the kind of person who abides by half-measures. She could purge everyone who has anything to do with you. Did you consider that?”
I went silent. Sammerin stared back at me, his jaw tight. A pang of guilt rang out in my chest.
“Yes,” I said, quietly. “Yes, I did.”
Tisaanah and I had made very direct moves against Nura, and we were well aware of the consequences of that. But if we were to lose, there was a possibility that Nura would not stop with us. We had allies. Sammerin. Serel. The Threllian refugees.
I had seen the way Nura waged war. Scorched earth.
It would be putting it lightly to say that I’d had many objections, when Tisaanah first raised the possibility of my candidacy. But this was the one that still lingered. The one that still made me think, Maybe I’m not doing the right thing.
“I’d make whatever deal I had to, to ensure you aren’t affected,” I said. “You were her friend too. I could convince her.”
Sammerin let out a low scoff.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Then he muttered, as if to himself, “Ten years, I spent building my practice.”
He shook his head, eyes to the ceiling, and a lump rose in my throat. I almost offered to back out — not that I could, of course, realistically.
“I’m sorry, Sammerin,” I said.
“Good. You should be. You make my life difficult.” But then he took a long sip of wine, and when he set the glass down again, his jaw was set. “But. If all this is true…” He waved his hands, as if to gesture to the whole ridiculous mess of it. “Then you are right. She cannot hold that power. And I suppose I’ll take this over the alternative, if the alternative is…”
His voice trailed off, and Tisaanah provided, quietly, “The end.”
We all looked at each other, the words hanging in the air.
“I won’t lose,” I said, more confidently than I felt.
“You are not allowed to,” Tisaanah muttered.
“Yes. Not losing is a good goal.” Sammerin leaned across the table, a wrinkle between his brows. “And Max, try to do it without using… that magic.” He nodded to my hands, and I knew he was talking about my deeper, mysterious magic — the “gift” that Reshaye had given me. “There’s something odd about it. I don’t know what, yet, but…”
He lapsed off into thought, and when he blinked and looked back to me, his gaze was harder. “Just don’t lose.”
Chapter Seventy-Six
Tisaanah
The Scar was set deep in the earth, so far down that it was partially beneath the Towers themselves. We had to journey down spiral after spiral of metal stairs, built into the rocky edges of the ravine, just to reach it. The sun was already disappearing behind the horizon by the time we embarked, but it was so dark down there that even if it had been broad daylight, it would have been near pitch black by the time we made it to the bottom. After the fourth set of stairs, I looked up to see the final sliver of a dusky sky disappearing between layers of rock.
There were Syrizen ahead of us and behind us as we descended. I peered across the expanse of stone and darkness. Somewhere over there, where the shadows made structures deteriorate into abstract, formless shapes, Nura was making the same journey down. She and Max would meet within the Scar. And the rest of us would stand at the edges and watch — helpless — while they fought for the title.
I knew
