Page 97 of Avalon Tower

And Horatio smashes his heavy blade into Nolan’s head.

Viviane stares, stone-faced.

Darius leaps up and runs through the crowd, trying to get to his friend. The tower’s doctor is already there, kneeling by Nolan, trying to heal him.

But there’s too much blood, and Nolan’s eyes are gazing sightlessly at the sky. Horatio stares down at him, his face expressionless.

“Oh, gods,” Serana mumbles.

And now the doctor shakes his head, and Darius stands over his friend’s body, crying.

“He just killed him,” I say. “Nolan was done. It was obvious. There was no reason to do it. He quite clearly could have won the trial without the final blow.”

Serana stares straight ahead. “They should have stopped the fight.”

“Viviane and Amon wanted to,” I say. “Wrythe didn’t agree. What’s the point of allowing cadets to die?”

“There’s no point,” Serana says. “But it happens. It’s brutal, but Horatio demonstrated that he fights well. He’ll get high marks for this trial.”

Wrythe slaps Horatio on the shoulder, and Horatio has a tiny smile on his ruddy face.

When Tana told me the darkness was coming for me during the trials, I had imagined another assassination attempt.

I hadn’t really pictured dying at the hands of a fellow cadet.

CHAPTER 33

On the night of the shadow trial, I stand with the other cadets in a ruined church not far from the Tower of London. The written test a couple of days ago was easy enough, but I have no clue what’s in store for tonight, only that it’s taking place outside.

With no roof above, moonlight washes over us. Vines with greenish-white flowers cling to half-broken stone arches.

The last time I went to London, I was ten years old, before the Fey invasion. Mom and I stayed for a week in a house Walter owned. I didn’t see much of the city then. There were lots of parties at the mansion, and I remember adults sleeping all over the house—on floors and sofas—with empty alcohol bottles and smoldering cigarettes all around. I only saw a few glimpses of London, on the way to and from the airport.

Now, finally, I get to see some of the ancient city—the Tower of London, the River Thames, and a pub called the Hung Drawn and Quartered, named after a nearby execution spot.

From one of the stone arches, Wrythe paces out onto the grass.

“Tonight,” he bellows, “your task is to steal a replica of Excalibur, hidden somewhere in this part of London. Perhaps by the Tower. Perhaps by the river. Maybe in the river. Like a true mission, the details are sparse, but there are a few contacts spread throughout the city with information. There might also be unknowing participants who have their own knowledge to share. The usual rules of the city apply, and no one may carry weapons. This isn’t about brute force. This is about cunning.” He turns and paces. “And of course, only one of you will find the hidden Excalibur. Whoever does will have a strong shot at a gold or silver torc. Perhaps none of you will find it. In any case, we will score you according to your individual achievements, as poor as they might be.” He shoots me a sharp look.

“Could he be any more patronizing?” Serana whispers.

I’m about to answer when I notice someone in the shadows—the cherry-haired woman I’ve seen before in Avalon Tower. The other Sentinel, Nivene. What’s she doing here?

“The trial will begin in fifteen minutes,” Wrythe says. “Those of you who are capable of independent thought best use this time to plan.”

Almost instantly, we form into small groups. Serana, Tana, Darius, and I walk into the shadows of the vestry, one with stone walls, Gothic windows, and no roof. Here, we have a little privacy. Vines climb the walls, and moonlight streams down over us.

I peer through one of the glassless windows to see Tarquin, Horatio, and three of their closest hangers-on huddling together in the grassy nave. Wisps of fog waft through the air.

Wrythe walks by the Pendragon crowd and whispers to Tarquin. In response, Tarquin smiles and nods.

My mouth drops open. “I think Wrythe just tipped off Tarquin.”

“Of course,” Serana mutters. “The Pendragons don’t get gold torcs through skill. But we need to actually come up with a plan.”

“Yeah.” Darius sounds listless. Ever since Nolan’s death, he’s hardly talked. He doesn’t seem to care about the trials or anything else anymore.

“Tana,” I say, “have you foreseen anything? Any thoughts?”