89

Every minute you spend getting to Neve is another minute something could happen to her—and you can’t afford that.

“We’ll take the direct route,” you say firmly. The path to the arena may be risky, but it will get you where you need to be.

Dorian, who has been here more than any of the rest of you, leads the way. As you move quickly down a corridor, straining to match his long strides, he looks around. “It’s been some time since I felt this much apprehension here,” he says offhandedly. “Not since I was still a boy being asked to prove my skill with magic.”

Ashur huffs a laugh, slightly derisive. “It was as much about showmanship as it was about skill,” he says.

Tarquin says, “When I was a kid, proving yourself just meant you hit them more times than they hit you.”

That sounds more like the childhood you remember than Ashur’s and Dorian’s reminiscences, so you hum your assent.

“Over there,” says Dorian, pointing to a staircase on your right. “That one leads straight up to the arena.”

• Turn to page 90.