A tear slipped down my cheek, followed by another.
And instead of my made-for-TV movie ending, I got a rude explanation by a man who seemed intent on killing me.
If you survive.
More tears fell, and I couldn't stop them. I was going to fight in a match, and there was a very real possibility that I wasn't going to live to see the end of the day. I tried to remember what I knew about dueling, but my mind was too scattered with fear, not to mention the headache that would not go away.
I sniffed loudly, wishing I wasn't so weak. I was sure Cyrus stood just outside my cell. Maybe he drew power from my tears. Or he was just a sadistic bastard.
Either way, I hastily wiped my cheeks and forced myself to get a grip. Gavon had said—
Gavon.
Had the past few months been training me for this? Father or no, he'd taught me a lot. I wasn't passing out after every spell, and I'd held my own for a bit against James. For a while.
"Warriors don't whine. We just do," I whispered to myself. "A calm magical is a useful magical."
A tepid calm washed over me as I exhaled, and I allowed myself little hope that maybe my death wasn't a foregone conclusion after all.
Several hours later, Cyrus opened the door to my cell, enjoying my tear-soaked cheeks and disheveled look. Well, if he thought I was going to roll over and die, he had another thing coming. I'd spent the last however-long-I'd-been-locked away pumping myself up to kick some magical ass. Perhaps my confidence would all go away in the first minute of sparring, but up until then, I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of seeing me upset.
"Shall we, Apprentice?" he said.
I wasn't his apprentice yet, but my cheek was a throbbing reminder not to piss him off, so I didn't correct him. Wordlessly, I stood and walked out of the open cell. As soon as I passed the threshold, the hum of magic returned.
"What the hell?" I gasped, looking at him then back at the cell.
"Iron," Cyrus said, with almost a bored expression. "The only metal that can contain magic." As if to prove a point, he dangled a pair of manacles in his left hand, a silent warning. But he needn't have worried. I had no idea where I was or how far away from Gavon, so my best bet would be to follow without protest.
Cyrus' basement prison led into a house equivalent in size and opulence to Gavon's, although Gavon's seemed a bit nicer, more inviting.
We stepped outside the house and I stopped short.
There was an old carriage waiting for us…but instead of horses, there were two horse-sized dragon-looking things. They screeched and clawed at the ground, spitting fire that sparked out before it caught anything around them.
"Are you unfamiliar with wyverns?" Cyrus said, turning and observing me. "My lord, what has that father of yours been teaching you?"
Instead of answering, as I didn't trust my voice not to betray emotion, I continued walking toward the carriage, swallowing my fear of the winged beasts. My skin tingled with unfamiliar magic, and I looked down. I no longer wore my hoodie and jeans, but a white shirt that billowed to my hands, a leather vest, dark cotton pants, and leather boots that would make Callista jealous.
"The official Death Eater uniform?" I asked, glancing back at Cyrus.
Cyrus squinted at me quizzically. Guess he’d never read Harry Potter.
"You must present well, Apprentice. Or the Guild might consider killing you before you even get to the fighting ring."
"Noted."
The village looked like something out of a period movie, all dirt roads and thatched roofs. A sewage smell permeated the air, blown by a cold wind that cut right through my cotton shirt. The villagers wore the same sort of clothes as I did, but they didn't seem bothered by the cold.
I'd thought it odd we didn't just transport into the ring, but as the villagers gathered to gawk at me, I realized I was part of a one-person parade. Cyrus hadn't been lying that I was well-known. Villagers, mostly dirty and missing teeth, bowed as I rode past.
"Welcome, Mistress McKinnon."
"We are pleased to see you well, Mistress McKinnon."
"Best of luck in today's match."
I nodded dumbly at them, curiosity getting the better of me. "How do they know me?"
"When you were promised to us, you were promised not simply as a member of the Guild, but as a potential Guildmaster."
My head swiveled around. "What?"
"Gavon wanted a child raised in your world to lead us," Cyrus said, as if he were discussing the weather.
I almost didn't want to ask. "Lead us to what?"
"The reclaiming of our lands," Cyrus said. "To complete James Riley's dream of enslavement of the Nonmagicals."
My jaw dropped. "And what makes you think I'm okay with that?"
Cyrus's gaze slid over to me. "My dear, I don't think you'll live past today, so it doesn't really matter."
Despite my fear, I glared at him and turned to a nearby villager who'd come up to greet me.
"Thank you. I plan on winning," I said, not missing how Cyrus's mouth turned down.
We meandered slowly toward a large stone arena, piece of which littered the dirt road. The stones grew progressively larger, scorched and jagged as if blown off the arena by a great deal of magic.
The carriage stopped in front of the looming stone structure, and Cyrus stepped out of the carriage, offering his hand, but my gaze fell on the ten magicals assembled behind him.
They were all in their sixties or older, and I could tell they were powerful by the way the hair on my arms stood upright. But what scared me most of all was they were Warriors.
It became clear to me why John Chase had wanted specialties eradicated, especially Warriors. Wielded by the wrong person, by these people, the results could be catastrophic.
But if they were Warriors, why did they need me?
Cyrus's magic wrapped around my legs and yanked me off the carriage, and then pressed against my back, forcing me into a low bow.
Then, horrifically, the magic pushed into my mouth and down into my lungs and I spoke. "It is my honor to meet you, esteemed Council."
I stared at the ground, nauseated but refusing to retch in front of whoever this esteemed Council was.
They seemed pleased with my humiliation, and vanished in a multicolored puff of smoke.
"It's a shame Gavon hasn't taught you basic manners," Cyrus said, adjusting his fine leather gloves.
My own hands tingled from the cold, but my new Death Eater uniform hadn't come with gloves. Or, as I found when I searched my hips, pockets.
I settled for crossing my arms over my chest and digging my fingers into my armpits, as I scurried after Cyrus into a dark tunnel. The wind was even worse, tossing my hair around and cutting right through my shirt.
It was at this point I remembered I had magic, as did everyone else in the village. My thick cotton shirt suddenly became as warm as a winter coat and I managed to magic my hair into a long braid. Cyrus tossed a look behind me, as if he somehow expected me to freeze to death. I returned his look with gusto.
The tunnel opened into the arena, which resembled the Roman arenas I'd seen during history class. Stone stands rose to the skies around an oval playing field. I could see remnants of magical circles etched into the stone ground, which was already missing several pieces.
"I only suppose I don't have to give you a primer on dueling," Cyrus said.
"What would it matter if you think I'm going to die anyway?" I shot back.
"If you don't," he said with a sneer. "I'm going to enjoy breaking you of your nasty disposition."
"Good luck."
His eyes flashed, and his magic pressed around my throat, closing my windpipe. I gasped, suddenly missing the precious air I'd taken for granted my whole life. But even as spots danced in my vision, I refused to even look in his direction for help.
"Cyrus."
Air returned to my lungs, and I collapsed to my knees, gasping. But I didn't dare look up. I couldn't, not when I still had so
many questions.
"You don't get to interfere with my apprentice, Master Gavon," Cyrus said, adjusting his gloves again. "Even if she is your daughter."
At that, I couldn't not see his reaction. His eyes flashed angrily, then quickly diverted to me, before his gaze settled squarely on Cyrus.
"I am familiar with the Guild's rules," he said stiffly. "May I have a word with her before the match?"
My heart flew to the sky. Gavon was going to save me!
"I don't believe so," Cyrus said, dashing my dreams. "The match is soon, and she'll need her focus. Besides," he smiled in my direction, and I bared my teeth at him, "she'll need to learn how to get on without you eventually."
I waited for Gavon to argue and to do some kung fu magic stuff to Cyrus's stupid face. But he simply nodded his agreement and, with a swish of his cloak, he was gone.
I heard another thud somewhere in the back of my mind.
Gavon wasn't going to help me.
Jeanie was right. Cyrus was right, too.
I was nothing but the product of some plan. My poor mother had been an unwilling participant in his evil schemes. If Marie or Nicole had been born with Warrior magic, I wouldn't even be alive.
"Dry your tears, Lexie," Cyrus whispered in my ear. "The worst pain is yet to come."
25
Cyrus led me out of the arena and down another hallway, then stopped in front of a small room. His magic wrapped around me once again, and pushed me inside. Before I could argue, the door slammed shut and locked, leaving me, yet again, alone in a cell.
I glared at the door, hoping Cyrus could feel my anger through the door.
But after a moment, my anger dissolved into the nagging fear that had been just below the surface.
Gavon wasn't going to help me, that was fairly clear. There was a small chance—minuscule, really—that Jeanie would come for me. But even if she did, what could she do? She barely used magic as it was. And forget the rest of the Carrigans. Thanks to my little Thanksgiving outburst, I was dead to them.
I was truly on my own. And really, I wasn't all that sure I could save myself.
I went to the single window in the room. I couldn't see much from this angle, but I could see some stands that had filled with people, and I heard an echo of the crowd. Duels must've been the only entertainment in this place, and I'm sure watching the Guildmaster's daughter get blown to bits would be great fun.
The door behind me opened and my pulse went into overdrive. "It's time, Apprentice."
I didn't want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how out-of-my-mind terrified I was, so I squared my shoulders and followed him out of the cell. When we reached the arena, I couldn't help a gasp of surprise.
There weren't just a few people, there were hundreds filling the stands, and even more milled around the top level looking down. Most of them were unwashed and unkempt, a far cry from Gavon or even Cyrus. In the center of the stands, there was a box of sorts where some of the magicals I'd met earlier stood. They ignored the masses completely; one whipping out a handkerchief to cover his nose when a peasant walked too close.
"Is everyone here a Warrior?" I asked, unable to help myself.
Cyrus snorted and for a moment, I thought he might ignore me, then he said, "Obviously not. These peasants are the weaker sort. Enchanters, Charmers, a few Empaths. The occasional Healer."
It didn't escape my notice that he hadn't mentioned potion-makers. I didn't want to know what they did to those.
My curiosity ended as two figures materialized at the other end of the arena and a cheer broke out amongst the spectators. Neither Gavon nor James wore a happy expression.
"Shall we?" Cyrus said, as if I had a choice.
His magic pushed me toward the center of the ring, where we met Gavon and James. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, I still hoped Gavon was working some magic to get me out of this. As we approached each other, I searched his face for a sign that he was going to let me go, even though my hopes dwindled.
"You see, Apprentice?" Cyrus said, as we approached. "I've given you a gift. You will duel with someone familiar."
I glanced at James and read anger, jealousy, and a desire to blow me to smithereens. I didn't see how this was a gift.
"Master Gavon." Cyrus tilted his head. His magic forced me into a bow again.
"Master Cyrus," James said, bowing low of his own volition. Gavon said nothing but there was blistering anger in his eyes. That, at least, was something in my favor.
"In mortem?" Cyrus asked leisurely.
Gavon's eyes grew wide, the first bit of real emotion I'd seen from him since I'd arrived in New Salem. "That's uncalled for an introduction match."
"As the potential master of the indroductee, I'm within the Guild's rules to—"
"I know the damned Guild rules," Gavon snarled. I waited for him to argue, but yet again…nothing.
"Then it's settled," Cyrus said, placing a hand on my shoulder. "After all, if she doesn't prove herself worthy to lead us, it's just as well. She's of no use to us then, don't you agree?"
Gavon gnashed his teeth together and said nothing. Somehow, I was still waiting for him to deck Cyrus in the face, or to do something. Magic me out of there. Go nuclear. Something.
But he jerked out his hand, a murderous look on his face, and Cyrus gently accepted it. A jolt of electricity shot through my heart as they shook, and I knew the outcome of the duel was set.
Cyrus released Gavon's hand and led me back to my end of the ring. I struggled to control my magic, but my heart was racing too fast, my mind too preoccupied with probably dying in the next few minutes. I couldn't even remember a simple protective spell.
"I suppose this is goodbye," Cyrus said, snapping me out of my panicked reverie.
"Go to hell," I spat back at him.
He reached for me and I flinched, but he simply took my chin gently in his hands. "Say hello to your mother for me."
I'd already been on the verge of falling over, but his parting words nearly sent me to my knees.
"Welcome to the five hundred seventy seventh introduction match to our Guild—James Riley against Alexis McKinnon…"
"Carrigan," I corrected, glaring at the announcer.
Per the Guild rules, the Master of the potential introductee has requested in mortem. The fight will end when either one of the participants are dead—"
"What?" I screamed, taking a step back.
I'd thought that this was a one-way street, that they'd be trying to kill me. But if I wanted to walk out of this place alive, I would have to kill James. Who might be a turd blossom, but was a kid like me.
I looked across the ring at James and was unsurprised to see him…well, unsurprised. The asshole actually looked happy.
Probably because he knew I was toast.
"Duelers, please take your marks."
I couldn't do it. I couldn't be a murderer. Even if it meant I'd survive by killing him.
"Begin!"
Magic erupted around us, but the purple end was near James this time. Over my head was a dark gray magic, Cyrus's magic. I knew that if I survived this match, I wouldn't survive Cyrus' apprenticeship.
James's first spell came at me like a freight train, blasting me backward into the wall of the dome. I slid to my knees, shaking my head, just as another came hurtling toward me. I shifted out of the way on pure instinct.
"What the hell is your problem?" I screamed. I knew we had to kill each other and all, but he could give me a little time to breathe.
James didn't respond, flinging another scorching spell at me. This one I barely escaped, feeling the edges of my cotton shirt grow warm with the closeness of the flames.
Talking wasn't going to work with this guy. He had a chip on his shoulder and the only way that I was going to get out of this was—
To kill him. And although I had some major hangups about becoming a murderer at fifteen, the alternative was also pretty terrible. I really wasn't ready to die.
His next spell landed during my momentary distraction. The magic bruised and bloodied me before leaving me on the ground. I lay for a moment, as there was nothing else I could do.
"Had enough?" James stood over me, a swirling ball of green in his hands. "Shall I kill you now and get it over with?"
"Why do you want to kill me?" I asked, lifting my head off the ground.
"Because you're a threat," he snarled and released the spell.
I deflected it with one of my own, sending it flying into the stands, scattering the spectators.
"I'm not a damned threat," I spat, coming to my feet. "I don't even want to be here. You can have the little Guildmaster thing for all I care."
"This isn't about the Guildmaster," James growled, and released another spell, which I deflected again, much easier than before. He was growing angry, and was losing control of his magic, the same way I had. But his gaze kept darting to Gavon, whose white knuckle grip on his ornate chair was visible, even from here.
Oh.
I could work with this.
"Bet it killed you when I showed up, huh?" I asked, firing off a spell that knocked him down. "Gavon's own kid taking his attention."
James's snarl told me my blow had landed. The angrier I could get him, the less likely he'd be able to kill me, and the more time I could use to figure out how to leave this ring without needing to take his life.
"Where are your parents, huh?" I asked, dodging another blow from him. "You can't have mine."
"He's not yours." James was red-faced now, anger radiating off him. In fact, I could now see his magic. Glowing green and fierce, it surrounded him, gathering and pulsing with rage. And like a rubber band about to snap, I had pulled him tight.
Perhaps getting him angry wasn't the best idea after all.
"You're going to regret ever setting foot here," James said. And he released his life-ending wave of magic, headed straight for me.
"Stop!"
The green wave disappeared just before it hit me, and James collapsed to the ground. Just as suddenly, my own magic disappeared, and with it, my strength to stand. I tumbled to my knees, lightheaded and realizing how much of my strength had been thanks to magic.
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