Chapter 17 Tamsin
Tamsin
The arena lights are going to strike me blind. My belly’s flooded with nervous energy. When I first started dueling—on small, local circuits, nothing fancy, nothing anyone who mattered cared about—I assumed that once I was more experienced, I’d stop getting jitters at all.
It probably took me about fifty more duels to realize that that jittery feeling would never entirely go away. So I learned to normalize it instead. I started anticipating that belly swoop of heart-pounding anxiety, waiting for the adrenaline spike like it was an old friend.
I couldn’t eliminate fear from existence. But I could master it by making it normal. Predictable. Boring, even.
Unfortunately, it’s a lot harder to normalize dueling an undefeated champion after making out with his second, who turned out to be some unhinged evil mastermind plotting the destruction of your life that entire time.
I don’t think there’s a precedent for that.
I’m waiting in the wings to walk out as the announcer drums up audience anticipation for the duel. At least one section of the crowd out there is chanting Rook’s name at the top of their lungs, over and over again.
Again, no precedent.
Dad’s at my ear, as usual, filling it with advice that I’m only half listening to.
“Just remember,” he tells me, “the trick is putting on a show. The audience here doesn’t really care who wins or loses.
They just want to be entertained. Give them what they paid for, Tam.
Show off some of your flashiest magic, impress them, but yield at the correct moment.
Remember, losing your own way is still a win.
” From the corner of my eye, I see Dad wink at me.
“We’ll still collect our payday—and you’ll be no worse for wear.
Just be sure to quit before Lysander Rook does something to you that can’t be undone. ”
I finally turn toward my father. “What if I do something to Rook that can’t be undone?”
Another second would remind me that the odds are in my favor for a reason. Another second would boost my confidence by talking about all my accomplishments, and insist that victory is within reach, that no one—not even Lysander Rook—is truly invincible.
Dad simply shrugs, his mouth thin. “Don’t overreach, my girl. I’m only trying to protect you.”
I close my eyes. The biggest night of my career, and I might as well be spending it alone. Then again, I guess that’s something Lysander Rook and I have in common. Word is that his second has locked herself up in their suite and refuses to come out to play her usual role at his side.
Thanks, in no small part, to me and the way that I, an idiot, have allowed her to manipulate me since the very moment we met.
I could have let things go after that night at Agatha’s, but instead I had to go and get attached to her.
To trust her, even. And all so I could fool myself into believing that, what?
That a friendship with Lysander Rook’s second could end in anything other than disaster for both of us?
That poor dead Jamie Chan’s sister would want anything other than the complete and total destruction of anyone named Blackwood?
Stop it, Tamsin. This train of thought is headed nowhere good.
So I cut it off at the root. Samantha Chan will not matter to me anymore.
She can’t. The only capacity in which she matters now is this: that in a matter of minutes, Rook and I will be standing across from each other in one of the biggest magicians’ arenas in the world.
We will duel with each other using the best of our arcane skills until one of us yields or is deemed unable to continue.
And both of us will be utterly, utterly alone when we do it—each alone, that is, except for the other.
Suddenly, facing Lysander Rook doesn’t seem so insurmountable. And suddenly, Rook himself—the prodigy, the champion of champions, the undefeated teen monster of a magician—seems so completely, plainly human to me.
“Are you ready?” my father asks.
I smile even though he can’t see me from this angle. Because when this duel ends, I will have what I need, finally, to be free from him.
“As ready as I’ll ever be,” I say and step out under the lights.