They landed behind Sonali’s home once more. Cyrene hadn’t realized how much time had passed. The sun was already cresting the horizon once more. They’d lost the entire night to that hidden pool in a sacred cave.

Helly and Cyrene helped Avoca slide off of Tavry, but the rest of their party was waiting. They’d run out at the first sign of the dragon. Ahlvie swept Avoca up in his arms and carried her back into the house without a word.

“You know…you can’t let anyone know what happened tonight,” Helly said.

“I know. I won’t mention Draíocht or the healing that happened there.”

“No.” Helly sighed. “You can’t mention any of it. And, tomorrow, when I see you at the tournament inside Draco, I will pretend not to know you at all. If anyone found out what transpired tonight…even just that we were together, you could be disqualified, or I could be fired from the tournament.”

“I understand.”

“I like you, Cyrene. But no one can know that. I refuse to show favoritism to any of the competitors, and it will be easier if you remember that as well. From now on, I am nothing but Mistress Helly.”

“Okay. Thank you again for your help. You’re a brilliant healer.”

Helly smiled faintly and then headed back toward Tavry. “And, Cyrene?”

“Yes?”

“You’ve shaken things up here. The Society has needed that for a long time. Don’t go down without a fight.”

“I don’t intend to.”

Helly nodded once, then vaulted on Tavry’s back, and was gone. Cyrene felt as if she had an unspoken ally in what she was about to go through. No one else could know it. But it was reassuring, just knowing she had Helly.

Plus…Avoca was back, which made everything worth it.

Unfortunately, Cyrene couldn’t celebrate.

She had to return to the mountain and begin her training as a competitor. She hadn’t even gotten a chance to tell anyone about Dean. Not that she was exactly looking forward to explaining that. She still didn’t have a clue what had happened with him. If he just had amnesia and needed to be healed like Avoca. Or if it was something else entirely. Not that she could think about what could make someone forget who they were.

She dragged her body into the mountain and yawned obnoxiously. She hadn’t gotten any sleep. Plus, what had happened in that pool drained her.

The room that Cyrene had been given was easy to find and blissfully empty. Each competitor received their own room, but they were all in the same hall. That meant she would have to see all the other competitors frequently. Something she wasn’t looking forward to.

She moved toward the bed. She wished that she didn’t have training so she could skip the rest of the day entirely and just sleep. She took one step inside and found the floor slick under her feet. With her balance off, she gasped, and her feet flew out from under her. Her hands broke the fall, but she landed hard.

“Creator,” she spat. Her hands and tailbone ached. It was the second time that night she’d landed roughly on it. She pulled her hand back from the floor and looked at it. “Ice?”

She stood cautiously and stepped back to the one safe place in her entire room. It was now obvious that ice coated her floor.

Someone had done this.

A…prank.

A forbidden prank.

She cursed. Of course they had done this. And she’d walked right into it. Because she could tell on whoever had left the ice, but everyone would deny it. Until she knew for sure who had done it she’d just look like a rat. No, she couldn’t tell anyone that this had happened.

She pulled her own magic toward her and thawed the space and then drew the water up off of the floor. She deposited it into a basin by her door.

All chances of sleeping away the day vanished. She had to show her face in the training facility. Otherwise, they would think that she was fair game forever. She remembered the prank the other Affiliates and High Order had pulled on her the first night in the castle in Byern.

This was nothing compared to that.

She had survived that, and she would survive this.

“What do you think of our competition?” Fallon asked when he joined Cyrene in the training area.

It was roughly the size of the arena with anything and everything Cyrene could think of to practice with. Including things that she hadn’t thought of. From the typical swords, daggers, bows and arrows to magical obstacle courses and elemental variables, it was all there. And none of it was making Cyrene that optimistic about her chances of surviving this tournament.

“They’re all much better than I am,” Cyrene told him.

She was standing in front of a rack of armor and weighing the chain mail before her. As if she could fight in chain mail…as if she could fight at all.

“Where do your strengths lie?” Fallon asked.

“Daggers,” Cyrene joked.

“I hope that’s not your best skill set.”

“And what’s yours?”

He flushed. “I’m a strategist.”

“And what strategy are you going to employ against a sword?” She pulled one from the rack and pointed it at his chest.

“Run?”

She laughed. “Sounds like we’re in the same boat.”

“And it’s sinking.”

“True. How long do we have to be here anyway?”

“Didn’t you read the paperwork?”

“Briefly,” she said with a shrug.

“They require a minimum two hours a day. The three tournament officiators will be in and out to observe the training and offer help with technique.”

“Wonderful,” she murmured. “Just what I want is for Master Lorian to give me pointers.”

“He is a skilled soldier. The year that he won his dragon, there was a sword tournament as one of the challenges. My father says that Master Lorian’s sword is an extension of his arm. That he moves with such grace and power, and it is nearly unparalleled.”

Cyrene snorted. “Excellent.”

“He would make a great teacher.”

“For Alura maybe.” She swung the sword in an arch and then practiced the steps Orden had taught her so long ago in the Hidden Forest. But, at the thought of the forest, she remembered the dreams she had seen from Avoca. She wanted to go see her and talk to her and make sure she was recovering. She hated that she had to be here instead. “And, anyway, if it’s sword fighting, Dean will win.”

“Hmm, Dean,” Fallon said contemplatively, his eyes shifting to him across the room. Cyrene had been avoiding him. “He’s a wild card, like you. And he’s a swordsman.”

Cyrene nodded. Her heart constricted when she thought about it. She didn’t want to think about it.

“You’re doing Flying with the Wind wrong,” Fallon said. He adjusted her foot with his and twisted her wrist. “Better.”

“Why don’t you just train me to use a sword? I don’t even know what Flying with the Wind is.”

“There are thirty-seven steps to master to become a good swordsman. How you combine them and play against your opponent’s weaknesses determines whether you ever become truly excellent. I, of course, know all the steps by heart.”

“So…you are a master swordsman?”

His eyes snapped back to hers. “Of course not. I’m pathetic with a sword. But, theoretically, I know what it is supposed to look like.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’ve heard that before,” he said bitterly.

“I like your knowledge. You’d be revered in my homeland,” she told him.

He beamed at her but continued to look at the crowd of competitors.

“Tell me about the rest of them. Do you know them all?”

He shook his head. “Not all of them, but most.” He gestured to a broad-shouldered, beefy-looking Fae with a shaved head, wearing a bronze uniform. He had pale skin, sculpted and marked with tattoos. His blond hair was braided back off of his face, giving him a menacing look. “That’s Maxon of Herasi in the northern reaches of Woodloch. He’s from a warrior tribe, like Alura and me. They’re known for publicly beating people, including children, for failing to meet their standards. He’ll be ruthless but likely an idiot.”

“Noted. Maxon is a dumb brute.”

“You see the tall, lanky Fae in navy, working with the water elements?”

“Yes. He’s from Bryonica, right?”

Fallon lifted an eyebrow appreciatively. “Indeed. That’s Walston. He’s from one of their royal lines. I believe the Second of the House of Dramen. They live on the coast and practice water healing. The Dramen have money that rivals the Stoirm line. So, he’ll be smart.”

Cyrene nodded, taking in the additional information that he didn’t know he had just given her. The Stoirm royal line was the most prominent, which meant that Helly’s family and Helly herself were the main rulers of the Bryonica region. She’d seen a map of Alandria, and she knew that Bryonica was the largest tribe by land mass, taking up nearly the entire east coast.

“I think our other competition is Svatava of Erewa. She’s in the olive green.”

Cyrene saw the tall woman wielding an ax as deftly as Cyrene could perform in a ballroom.

“Erewa might be a tribe that believes in efficiency of magic over war or healing, but Svatava’s people are from the north Vert Mountains. They’re cave people. They broke from the main tribe hundreds of years ago, but the Society maintains the tribe numbers for the competition. So, Erewa would seem useless, but Svatava certainly is not.”

“All right,” Cyrene said with a nod. “Me, you, Dean, Alura, then Maxon, Walston, and Svatava. That’s seven of the thirteen and only three dragons.”

Fallon nodded. “It’s not exactly fair odds.”

“We’ll see,” Cyrene said and then went back to her footwork. She wasn’t counting herself out just yet.

It was four days of this endless training. No one seemed to want to back down and take a break. Even though they only had to be in the training center for two hours, no one left, except for meal breaks, which were necessary with the amount of energy she was using to work on her magical elements. Training with a sword was pretty useless, and if it came down to that, then she’d never get a dragon.

“That’s getting better,” Fallon said.

Cyrene dropped all of her water with a splat and then cursed. “I can’t do this anymore. I need a break.”

“A break now? We’re three days from the tournament. We have to go hard until we get there.”

“Why? What will this extra week of training help me do that I couldn’t already do besides tire me out?” she asked him.

For once, he didn’t have an answer for that.

“I’m just going to go take a dip in the spring pools and rest my muscles.”

“Are you sure?” he asked.

“Yes,” she told him, carefully putting her area of the arena back to rights.

Then, she turned and strode toward the exit. Alura snickered as she passed, but Cyrene ignored her. There was no use in speaking to Alura. All it did was create a greater possibility of Cyrene instigating a fight that would get her disqualified. Better to just keep walking.

She knew that she had told Fallon she was going to the spring pools, but all she wanted to do was get out of the mountain. She felt enclosed and needed some fresh air. She didn’t replenish through elements like the Fae within the mountain. She replenished by resting and eating and healing. This constant anxiety did nothing for her reserves.

So, instead of heading for the pools, she walked straight back to her rooms. She shoved the door open, walked inside, and then plop.

Cyrene shrieked.

A bucket had fallen from the door, and its insides slopped all over Cyrene. And worse, slop was definitely the right word. It was whatever blood, innards, fat, and sinew that they cut off of the dragons’ meals. It was what the baby dragons gorged on. And it was utterly disgusting.

“Oh my Creator,” Cyrene ground out as she shook her hands out.

She didn’t even understand how this was possible. After that first incident with the ice, she’d figured out how to ward her room against intruders. Sure, she’d had her fair share of pranks done in the hallways and the restrooms and the spring pools and the dining area but not her room again. Now, this.

She was so shocked that she didn’t even know what to do from here. She couldn’t walk around with this all over her. She’d have to make that trip to the pools now anyway.

She turned around to storm out of the room but was struck dumb by Dean’s presence. Standing there. Looking at her covered in blood and fat.

He raised his eyebrows. “Looks like I’m too late.”

“For what?”

“To warn you.”

“Why would you warn me?”

“Because this should get them all disqualified.”

“If I told.”

“Not that you will,” he said. “But I could.”

“What? Why would you tell?”

“Three or four less competitors would be good for me.”

Cyrene’s chest tightened. He hadn’t come to warn her for her. He’d done it to help eliminate the competition. He actually wanted to stoop to their level and win this however he was able. The Dean she’d known would never stoop to someone else’s level. He always fought fair…even when the cards were stacked against him.

“Do what you want,” she said, grabbing her cloak and slinging it over her shoulders. She pushed past him and out into the hallway.

He reached out and snagged her wrist. “Wait.”

She glared at that hand holding her. The hand that had belonged to someone else. A person that no longer existed within the body she knew so intimately. “Let me go.”

He dropped her hand as if it were a brand. “Don’t you want to win?”

“I want to win the right way.”

“They won’t care about playing fair.”

“But I do.”

He shrugged. “Fine. Then, you’re an idiot.”

Then, he unceremoniously strode away, leaving Cyrene gaping after him.

Her bath in the spring pools lasted only as long as it took to scrub every inch of her clean of the disgusting substance. Then, she was back in her red dress and dashing out of the mountain with more fervor than she’d had before the guts and Dean incident.

She stepped into the inn and found it now full of people. Apparently, Suvinna had been right; the tournament had filled this place back.

“Cyrene!” Suvinna called, pulling her into a hug. “So good to see you.”

“You, too.”

“Your friends are out back. Though I haven’t seen them all together since you left.”

Cyrene mused over that statement as she hurried out into the back of the inn. She figured they all had their own reason for being gone. Matilde and Vera likely wanted to spend time with Akeera and Ameerath. But at least she found the person she had been looking for—Avoca.

“Hey,” she said.

Avoca was barefoot, doing some kind of stretching warm-up while holding her ice-white blades. She held her position and glanced at Cyrene with a smile. “You’re back.”

“I am. Where’s everyone else?”

“Matilde, Vera, and Mikel went on some errand about the dragons. Orden is gathering intel. Ahlvie is with Sonali.” Avoca gritted her teeth. “He had to go or else he would be here. He still doesn’t believe I should be alone.”

“He cares,” Cyrene said.

“Yes, he does. Come train with me and tell me the parts of the story I am missing.”

Cyrene shucked off the anger she’d been carrying around and moved into step with Avoca. She didn’t know the moves, but it was no different than a dance. She spread her legs wide, lunging forward with the front leg, and then raised her arms high above her head. They twisted at the waist, drawing their arms level with their shoulders. Then, they tilted their bodies backward until one hand reached for their back leg and the other up for the sky. She felt all of her muscles stretch and contract, as if loosening up all the work and tension she’d had in the mountain.

They moved through more positions, Cyrene gradually getting ahold of the movements herself. And then she began to tell Avoca all that had transpired since she was shot with an arrow and had her mind and magic shattered by the Nokkin. Avoca had heard most of the story, but Cyrene told her it all. Including everything that had occurred in the mountain, the pranks, the competition, Dean…everything.

“Dean is here,” Avoca finally said softly. She was bent over at the waist, reaching down to touch her toes. “And he doesn’t remember himself or the love he has for you.”

Cyrene colored. “Love…I don’t know, Avoca. All I know is that he’s rude, obnoxious, pigheaded, and willing to cheat to get ahead. He’s nothing like the Dean that I knew.”

“Yet you still care for him.”

“I…want the truth. I want to know what happened.”

“Would knowing change how you feel?”

“Maybe.” Cyrene sank to her feet before Avoca, putting the bottom of her feet together in a butterfly pose.

“You got a glimpse into my past. You saw why Ceis’f is the way that he is and why I grew fond of him despite the fact that I did not want to be betrothed and that I wanted to marry for love. I excuse much of his attitude and actions because I know him and understand him.” Avoca sat in front of Cyrene. She looked tired. “It might be that you have to do the same with Dean. Obviously, something has changed within him, and it might be irreversible. Perhaps you just need to reach this new man the way you reached who he once was.”

Cyrene nodded. It sounded logical. But also…confusing. She had been a different person when she fell in love with Dean so easily for being the perfect prince in Eleysia. But she was no longer that girl. She had grown and changed and gone through more horrors than she would even wish on her enemy. If he had also gone through as much, then she couldn’t expect him to be the same either.

Then, a thought hit her that hadn’t occurred to her before.

“What if the Mirror of Truth shattered his mind?” she whispered.

Dean had looked into the cursed magical object to see the fate of his family in Eleysia and their destruction, but it usually destroyed the minds of those who had looked into it. He’d seemed fine when he left her, but that didn’t mean he’d stayed that way.

“A possibility,” Avoca conceded.

Cyrene shook her head and tried to right everything swirling through her. “I don’t need to be thinking about this three days before the first competition. I need to be training.”

Avoca grinned and twirled her blade. “Training I can help with.”

“Don’t you need to rest?”

“I have rested long enough.” Avoca stood and offered Cyrene her hand. She tugged her up to her feet. “Embrace your magic, and we will begin.”