Then they collided.

Lila landed the first blow, getting in under Rul’s sword, then spinning behind him and driving the fire dagger into the plate on the back of his leg. He twisted around, but she was already up and out, readying another strike.

Rul was taller by at least a foot, and twice as broad, but he was faster than a man his size had any right to be, and when she tried to find her way beneath his guard again, she failed, losing two plates in the effort.

Lila danced backward, and Kell could imagine her sizing the man up, searching for an in, a weakness, a chink. And somehow she found one. And then another.

She didn’t fight like Rul, or Kisimyr, or Jinnar. She didn’t fight like anyone Kell had ever seen. It wasn’t that she was better—though she was certainly fast, and clever—it was just that she fought in the ring the way he imagined she did on the streets back in Grey London. Like everything was on the line. Like the other person was the only thing standing between her and freedom.

Soon she was ahead, six to five.

And then, suddenly, Rul struck.

She was rushing toward him, mid-stride when he turned the rock shield and threw it like a disk. It caught Lila in the chest, hard enough to throw her back into the nearest column. Light burst from the shattered plates on her stomach, shoulders, and spine, and Lila crumpled to the stone floor.

The crowd gasped, and the voice in the gold ring announced the damage.

Four plates.

“Get up,” growled Kell as he watched her stagger to her feet, one hand gripping her ribs. She took a step and nearly fell, obviously shaken, but Rul was still on the attack. The massive disk flew back into his hand, and in a single fluid move he spun and launched it again, adding momentum to the force of magic.

Lila must have seen the attack, noticed the stone careening toward her, yet to Kell’s horror, she didn’t dodge. Instead she dropped both daggers and threw her hands up instead of her forearms to block the blow.

It was madness.

It wouldn’t work—couldn’t work—and yet, somehow the rock shield slowed.

Shock went through the crowd as they realized Stasion Elsor wasn’t a dual magician after all. He had to be a triad.

The shield dragged through the air, as if fighting a current, and came to a stop inches from Lila’s outstretched hands. It hovered there, suspended.

But Kell knew it wasn’t simply hanging.

Lila was pushing against it. Trying to overpower Rul’s element the way she had with his. But he’d let her then, he’d stopped fighting; Rul, momentarily stunned, now redoubled his efforts. Lila’s boots slid back along the stone ground as she pushed on the disk with all her force.

The arena itself seemed to tremble, and the wind picked up as the magicians fought will to will.

Between Lila and Rul, the earthen disk shuddered. Through the looking scope, Kell could see her limbs shaking, her body curved forward with the strain.

Let go! He wanted to shout. But Lila kept pushing.

You stubborn fool, he thought as Rul summoned a burst of strength, lifted his fiery sword, and threw it. The blade went wide, but the flame must have snagged Lila’s attention because she faltered, just enough, and the still-suspended rock shield stuttered forward and caught her in the leg. A glancing blow, but hard enough.

The tenth plate shattered.

The match was over.

The crowd erupted, and Rul let out a howl of victory, but Kell’s attention was still on Lila, who stood there, arms at her side, head tipped back, looking strangely peaceful.

Until the moment she swayed, and collapsed.

IV

Kell was already moving through his room when the judge’s voice spilled through the ring, calling for a medic.

He’d warned her. Over and over, he’d warned her.

Kell had his knife in his hand before he reached the door to the second chamber, Hastra on his heels. Staff tried to block the way, but Kell was faster, stronger, and he was in the alcove before the guards could stop him.

“As Staro,” he said, sealing the door shut behind him and drawing the symbol while Staff pounded on the wood.

“As Tascen.”

The palace fell away, replaced by the tournament tent.

“The victory goes to Rul,” announced the judge as Kell surged out of Kamerov’s quarters and into Lila’s. He got there as two attendants lowered her onto a sofa, a third working to undo her helmet. They started at the sight of him and went pale.

“Out,” said Kell. “All of you.”

The first two retreated instantly, but the third—a female priest—ignored him as she freed the hinged pieces of the demon’s mask from Lila’s head and set them aside. Beneath, her face was ghostly white, dark veins tracing her temples and twin streams of blackish red running from her nose. The priest rested a hand against her face, and a moment later her eyes fluttered open. A dozen oaths bubbled up, but Kell held his tongue. He held it as she drew a stilted breath and dragged herself into a sitting position, held it as she rolled her head and flexed her fingers, and lifted a cloth to her nose.

“You can go, Ister,” she said, wiping away the blood.

Kell held his tongue as long as he could, but the moment the priest was gone, he lost it.

“I warned you!” he shouted. Lila winced, touching a hand to her temple.

“I’m fine,” she muttered.

Kell made a stifled sound. “You collapsed in the ring!”

“It was a hard match,” she said getting to her feet, trying and failing to hide her unsteadiness.