Cyrene hardly slept.

She knew that she needed to sleep, but no matter how hard she tried, it eluded her. Nerves about the start of the program, the madness of the banquet, Dean’s clear amnesia—it all unsettled her too much.

She felt like a zombie the next morning and ran through some exercises to wake herself up before leaving her room and walking into the empty dining area. She ate a solid breakfast even though it was hard to keep down and then reported to the training facility.

She was the third person in attendance. It seemed that either Alura and Maxon had skipped breakfast or they had been up even earlier than her.

They said not a word to each other.

Just waited until the rest of the training facility filled up with competitors. Tension was thick in the air. Even people who were allies were keeping to themselves.

They were ready. They were waiting. Time was up.

Not a second before or after, the three officiants of the dragon tournament entered the room. Helly led the trio to stand before the now twelve competitors. Her face was blank. An unbiased and unfeeling Society member ready to deliver them to their fate.

“Good morning, and welcome to the first day of competition,” Helly said.

“Your first task will be an elemental fighting game in which you will be broken up into four teams of three competitors. Every team will play each other with one game a day for the next three days. Each side will have three objects placed at random. The objective is to destroy the objects while also attempting to eliminate your competition by hitting them three times. A hit is the use of any of the four elements to attack your opponent. The match concludes when either all objects have been destroyed or all three team members are out.”

Lorian stepped up then. “Each match will be scored by a point system. Both teams and individuals will be ranked. The points go as follows: one point for each hit to an opponent, one negative point for each hit you garner, three points for every object destroyed, and five points if your team wins a match. Each match can have a maximum score of thirty-three points.”

“The team that wins this task will receive a day’s head start on training for the next competition. The individual winner of this task will receive a private training session with one of the officiators,” Jerond said.

That finally got everyone speaking. Whispers resonated through the hall. But Cyrene’s stomach was just in knots. She couldn’t even think about winning, just about staying above water. This sounded entirely out of her depth. She had strong magic but an elemental game? She’d never trained her powers in a way to destroy specific objects or hit moving targets.

“Quiet!” Helly yelled, and the room went deathly still.

Jerond continued, “Finally, the two competitors who fall to the bottom of the roster will be eliminated from competition.”

Cyrene shuddered. The bottom two of twelve. She could stay out of the bottom. She was sure that she could. She hoped.

Helly removed a small bag from her robes. “We will draw names for teams now. Please step up to your team when your name is called.”

Helly opened the bag and began calling names. Cyrene watched her competition. Maxon stepped into place in team one. Alura took over team two. Dean and Fallon stepped into team three. Both Walston and Svatava moved into team four. The rest of the roster filled up—Sylas of Zavala in team one, Kros of Genoa in team two, and Lynessa of Aude into team four—until only she and two others remained. That left one spot in team one, one spot in team three, and one spot in team two…with Alura. She shuddered at the thought of being in Alura’s team. She couldn’t imagine that going well at all. Not that she wanted to be in Maxon’s team either. Dean and Fallon would be her choice, if she had one. Instead, she had to bite her nails and wait.

“Caelyn of Ibarra, team three,” Lorian called out.

Cyrene’s hopes died. She would either be with Maxon or Alura.

“Cyrene of Doma,” Helly called the next one, “team one.”

She swallowed, trying not to show her relief that she hadn’t been put into Alura’s team. But Maxon’s face full of anger showed how upset he was by getting her instead of Beric of Concha, who stepped into place in Alura’s team.

Her team was Maxon of Herasi, where they beat children. He was a brute, all muscle and no brains. She’d seen him train, and she knew that he was not someone she wanted as an enemy, but he was too idiotic to ever be her friend. She knew next to nothing about her other teammates, Sylas of Zavala, except that he always wore their peachy tones in what seemed to be the height of fashion. Neither quality seemed to matter in a game of elemental fighting. She hoped he had some hidden talents, or they were doomed.

“Now that the teams are structured,” Helly began, “you will have exactly one hour to prepare and strategize with your teammates. Then, teams one and four will compete. Teams two and three will follow after lunch. Good luck.”

One hour to strategize a match that Cyrene had never played before or used her magic in such a way.

“Okay,” Cyrene said, turning toward her two teammates, “we need to decide how we’re going to go about this. With three objects, that means one for each of us to take down to maximize points for our team to win this tournament.”

Maxon glanced at Sylas once before eyeing her up and down. “Who made you the leader?”

“I was just getting the conversation started. We need a plan. We’re up first.”

Maxon pointed a finger into her chest, and she took a step backward. “Here’s the plan. You’re not one of us. You don’t belong here. We don’t need your help to win this.”

“Are you out of your mind? We’re a team. You need all three players to win.”

“We need three players on the field. That doesn’t mean we need you to play or open your stupid mouth.” Maxon glared at her. “Sylas and I are on offense. You stay back with the objects on defense. Don’t let anything get past you and stay out of our way.”

“Don’t you want to win that head start? Putting me in the back and telling me to do nothing is pointless,” she said, boiling over with rage.

“I can get that head start without you,” he told her, crossing his bulky arms.

“Sylas?” Cyrene hoped for something from her other teammate but should have known better. He just shrugged. “Be reasonable.”

“You’re an abomination,” Maxon said. “You shouldn’t even be in this tournament.”

“Well, I am. So, get used to it,” she snapped.

Maxon grunted in her direction and then walked away, swinging his arms wide to stretch out. She pleaded silently with Sylas, but he was already following Maxon, their idiotic leader. She didn’t even know what to do about that nonsense. She didn’t think they had a shot in hell at winning but definitely not if he was going to act this way.

She’d have to find a way around his absurdity.

Helly moved Cyrene’s team into position behind a closed door that led into the arena. Nerves sputtered through her as she waited for the moment that door opened. She knew the rules of the game. She knew her objective. She knew how to win. But she still had no idea what to expect when she walked into that arena.

From what she had gathered in the hour that she waited, no one had ever played a game like this. It was completely new to the dragon tournament. That put everyone on an even playing field. Especially considering Fae lived such considerably longer lives than humans, so their memories could stretch back centuries.

Cyrene jumped from foot to foot to keep herself warm, glad that she’d gone for black fighting leathers. Though Avoca had attached a red belt around Cyrene’s waist to distinguish her from the other champions. Her friends would be in attendance in the stands, even Ahlvie, who she had last seen looking gaunt and acting rather irritable. He wouldn’t answer questions about what had been happening with Sonali, and Avoca had told her not to worry about it. She had enough to concentrate on. But it gave her comfort, knowing they’d be there, watching.

She could hear the master of ceremonies introducing the game to the spectators. Then, a loud cheer from the crowd.

“Prepare yourselves,” Helly said.

Then, the door drew inward, and they stepped out into the arena.

Cyrene blinked against the harsh sun and waited for her eyes to come back into focus. She saw the full stands in a blur before focusing on what was before her—the three objects her team would have to destroy and her opponents—Walston, Lynessa, and Svatava.

Each team had a set of the same objects including a large boulder, a log that lay in the center of a pool of water, and a metal ring on a pole that was on fire. She didn’t immediately see how to destroy each item but was already strategizing ways to begin.

A white line had been drawn in the sand in the middle of the arena. Jerond was waiting for them there. “Welcome, competitors. This white line is your divider. After a person is out or an object is destroyed, you must return to your side of the arena before continuing to play. Do you understand?”

They all mumbled, “Yes.”

“At my whistle, the game will begin.”

Cyrene stared down her competitors as she waited for that moment when Jerond blew the whistle. Her stomach was in knots. Her hands shaking. She was ready. She embraced her magic, feeling it hum to life at her fingertips. She could do this. She dug down deep, filling herself to the brim. Now or never.

The whistle blew.

Cyrene threw a shield into place as she darted backward. Fire from Svatava blasted harmlessly off of her shield, for which she was deeply thankful. That would have done more than give her one hit.

“Maxon,” she cried, “watch your left side. We need to get in position for the objects.”

“Mind your own business,” he spat. Then, he sent a jet of water toward her.

She blocked it with her shield and gaped at him. He’d deliberately sent a hit in her direction. Was he that willing to throw the game to spite her?

“Get back to the objects and play defense,” Maxon ground out to her as he went hit for hit with Walston.

“You need me!” she said, dodging a well-placed blast of rock from Svatava.

Lynessa seemed to be holding back by the objects, just as they wanted Cyrene to do.

“Cyrene, go,” Sylas cried. “I have Svatava. We don’t want them to get past the line.”

She ground her teeth and then reluctantly nodded. Sylas at least had a reasonable explanation for why they needed to protect the objects. She hated playing defense when it was clear, based on the scoring, that the glory was in the offense. That was clearly why Maxon wanted to be up in the front, taking down opponents and objects.

Still, she was a team player. She’d get her chance for glory. But they wouldn’t come close if Walston or Svatava broke through their defenses and destroyed all of their objects.

She took a position in front of the pond with the log in the center. It was halfway between the fire ring and the boulder. She imagined a hundred scenarios of how she could destroy each one herself if she had a chance, but instead, she stayed in the back, watching and waiting.

Walston, Svatava, and Lynessa clearly had used that hour to come up with a strategy for attack instead of the stupidity that Maxon had done. They were coordinated and stealthy. Maxon was okay at best. Walston definitely outmatched him. Sylas was abysmal, and Svatava outmaneuvered him as if it were child’s play.

Cyrene tensed. She saw what was coming before Sylas. Svatava launched past him and then threw a blast of icicles at his exposed back. Sylas wasn’t fast enough, and the icicles pierced his skin, sending him tumbling forward, defenseless. Cyrene winced. But she was torn between Walston sprinting toward Sylas and Svatava veering toward the fire ring.

She made her decision. Taking off at a run, Cyrene hit Svatava in the back with a burst of fire. The back of her fighting leathers erupted into flames. Svatava shrieked and fell to the ground. Cyrene had been careful that it wasn’t a hot flame, just enough to stop Svatava long from getting to the fire ring.

“Bitch,” Svatava yelled as she jumped back to her feet.

Cyrene was ready to launch for Svatava and steal another hit for herself when she heard the whistle blow. They stepped apart in surprise to find that Walston had set the log on fire.

Cyrene cursed under her breath and returned to the line. Maxon glared at her, clearly thinking this was her fault. That was when she realized that Sylas was hobbling off of the arena floor.

“Sylas is out?”

“No thanks to you! After Svatava hit Sylas, Walston hit him twice to get him out. Then he hit me in the back and burned the log, which was unguarded.”

“It was unguarded because Svatava was going for the ring!”

“Do your job. I can handle Walston and Svatava.”

“You clearly can’t!” she growled at him. “If we worked together, we could take them.”

Maxon bared his teeth at her and then walked away to face off with Walston again. Cyrene decided then to ignore him. Playing defense didn’t work. They were down one man, which was a huge disadvantage. They needed to go on the offensive and take down Lynessa. They’d have a clear shot to an object from there.

But Maxon must have had the same thought because, as soon as the whistle blew, he rushed straight toward Lynessa. Cyrene quickly backed up, grabbing for her shield just a little too late. Walston took a cheap shot and used wind to tug her off-balance. She landed hard in the dust. She felt lucky for the leathers because they kept her from getting scraped up, though she’d definitely be bruised.

The bigger problem was that Walston was vaulting past her with a laugh. Cyrene rolled over, picked herself up, and followed him at an even clip. She could not let him get to that boulder. He’d already destroyed one object. This was not happening on her watch.

Running. Running was definitely on the list of things she needed to train better. Dear Creator, her lungs heaved in the arid arena.

She threw a blast of water from the pond at him. Not exactly perfect, but hey, it was good enough. But, somehow, he jumped and dived into a forward roll, missing the water entirely. She gaped at his athleticism. What did they feed them in Bryonica?

Now, if she’d thrown the entire pond at him, she might have done better. Next time, she was going to give up on finesse. Subtlety had never been her forte. She might as well go for dramatic.

She started hurling everything in her arsenal at him—wind, then fire, then sand, and then kicked the air at him. But this guy was a magician. He dodged and blocked and sidestepped it all. Finally, he turned to face her. She was irritated to see that he not only wasn’t breathing hard, but he also hadn’t even broken out into a sweat.

“Keep trying that,” he said with a kind smile. “It’s impressive…just not quite good enough.”

“I’ll show you good enough.”

She sent a jet of blue flame at him. He parried with a shield and then moved from defense to offense. That was when she realized that she had made a mistake. He had clearly trained in hand-to-hand elemental combat. His actions were precise and masterful.

“How…long…have you been…training for this?” she gasped out as she managed to block another blast of air. She was keeping up but just barely.

“Two hundred forty-seven years,” he said. “And I think I’m finally getting the hang of it.”

Cyrene rolled her eyes. Oh, Fae arrogance.

She couldn’t tell what was happening on the rest of the field. Her world had narrowed down to keeping this nearly two-hundred-fifty-year-old Fae at bay. Then, he pivoted, clapped his hands together, and released.

Her shield buckled under the force of the blast from his air magic. She was lifted off her feet and deposited a good twenty feet away from where she’d been standing. All the air whooshed out of her lungs, and she rolled over, coughing. She was pretty sure she had a cracked rib or two. She had to. Everything felt painful and tinged with red.

“Get up, Cyrene! You can do this. Concentrate!” she suddenly heard clearly from the din of the roaring crowd that she’d been ignoring up until this point.

She looked up, and her bond led her straight to Avoca in the stands. Her bound sister gave her the encouragement she needed to press up to her hands and knees. She tried to shake off the pain and take stock of her injuries. But then she heard the whistle and nearly collapsed back down onto the ground.

Her eyes roamed the arena. She found that Svatava had picked off Maxon, who was stomping his feet as he left the arena. Then, while Walston had distracted her, Svatava had taken down the fire ring.

That left the boulder…and Cyrene.

Cyrene held on to Avoca’s courage and stepped to her feet. Walston and Svatava were jogging back to their side of the arena. Lynessa stepped up from the objects to stand at the line. Cyrene could tell that they were buoyant. Sure that they had this in the bag. And the way her ribs were feeling, she could see why.

It was now three on one, and the odds seemed hopeless. She took in a shallow breath to try to stop the pain coming from her side. Then, she swiped the sweat from her brow as the sun beat hard overhead.

She faced down her opponents. She couldn’t beat a whole team like this. They were going to win, no matter what she did in this moment. But, if her teammates weren’t thinking about this as a team sport, then maybe she shouldn’t either. If she could just get past Lynessa and destroy an object, then she could still leave this match in the positive.

By the time the whistle blew, she’d already made her decision. She left the boulder completely unguarded and dashed for the fire ring. But Lynessa was there. She had none of Walston’s expertise, but Lynessa threw water at Cyrene, causing her to have to jump out of the way. Her ribs protested.

Cyrene used her remaining strength to pick up some of the sand on the ground and flung it into Lynessa’s eyes. She cried out, and Cyrene rushed past her. She held her water magic tight and then hurled it at the fire ring.

Her heart leaped.

Then, sank.

The whistle blew before the water ever touched the ring.

Game over.

She’d lost.