Will was not impressed. “Right. Our terms. And either you or Ellen end up dead. Why can't the four of us just slip out of here?” He gestured at Shadowslayer. “We'll be like the Four Musketeers. With two swords.”

Jack didn't know what to say. He was beginning to realize how terribly expendable they were, warriors and Anaweir alike. All Will and Fitch had to do was get between a wizard and something he wanted, and they would be history.

Hastings returned with two roasted chickens, bread and salad, and bottles of cider and soda.

“I have been trying to find an escort for you two,” Hastings said after a while, passing Will another quarter chicken. “But Linda and the neighbors won't leave before the tournament. They're hoping to prevent it,” he said. “You'll need help to get through the wizard's mist, and a guide to get back to Keswick.”

“I'm not going anywhere without Jack,” Will said stubbornly. “Forget it.”

“Me neither.” Fitch delicately separated chicken from the bone.

Hastings sighed. “You're both in danger here.”

“And Jack isn't?” Will said meanly. He licked his fingers and took a swig of soda.

“I don't want you at the tournament tomorrow, either of you,” Jack said suddenly. “Promise me you won't come.”

“I won't promise anything,” Will said. He looked up at Hastings. “Only, my parents are probably going out of their minds.”

“All right,” Hastings said, putting up a hand. “You have to stay anyway until I can devise a safe way to get you out of here. I'll get some kind of message to your parents. God knows what.”

Jack and Hastings spent much of the rest of that day surveying the field and talking strategy. He had a strong sense of déjà vu as he walked up and down between the galleries, reliving Brooks's memories of slaughter. Ellen and her trainer walked the field on the other side. There might as well have been an ocean between them.

A banquet was held that evening in the hall of the castle for players and sponsors and invited guests. The dais had been removed, and a table set up in a large U shape extending halfway down the length of the hall. The White Rose was well represented, despite the fact that they were not fielding a player. Jessamine Longbranch was, after all, still Master of the Council, at least until after the tournament. Leesha Middleton was resplendent, dressed all in black, like the spider she was, her hair entwined with white roses.

The Silver Dragon delegation occupied only a small part of one arm of the table. Linda, Iris, Mercedes, and Blaise were there, in addition to Jack and Hastings. Will and Fitch came also, since they were safer in company. There was always the chance that Ellen's handlers would decide to take hostages of their own. Besides, Hastings suggested they might as well see as much of the spectacle as they could.

Intimidation seemed to be the order of the evening. Jack was dressed in a new tunic in the Silver Dragon colors, even more elaborate than the one he'd worn earlier in the day. Shadowslayer was belted at his waist. Jack quickly discovered that it was highly inconvenient to sit at a table wearing a sword. Hastings wore black and silver. Although he claimed he had never fielded a player, he seemed at home amidst the pageantry associated with the Game.

D'Orsay, Longbranch, and other high officials were seated at a table that connected the two arms of the U-shaped table. Red Rose representatives occupied almost the entire other arm of the table. Ellen entered between Geoffrey Wylie and Simon Paige. She wore a ceremonial white battle tunic with sprigs of red roses and a pure gold-mail bishop's mantle over her shoulders. A short dagger was sheathed at her waist. Much more practical for dining than a sword. Her hair was done up in a thick braid that circled her head. She looked beautiful. And dangerous.

They seated Ellen as far away from Jack as she could be, and still be at the same table. He supposed that was to prevent any early skirmishes. Not that he planned on starting anything, but he wanted desperately to talk to her. He spun mental messages out to that effect, but she was very careful never to meet his eyes.

The food was elaborate and beautifully displayed, including thirty-five courses, many of which Jack didn't recognize, along with potent wines and liqueurs. Even tasting some of them was enough to set his head to spinning. Several times Hastings had to intercept Will or Fitch before they tried something particularly exotic. “That will most likely kill you,” he explained. After that, they became considerably less adventurous.

After dinner, thousands of bubbles were released into the hall. They burst open, releasing tiny birds, or butterflies, or showers of precious stones. This seemed to be routine entertainment to most of the people in attendance.

Geoffrey Wylie was invited to propose a toast on behalf of the tournament sponsor, so to speak. He launched into a long and bloodthirsty history of the Red Rose, finishing with a prediction of what he expected to happen to Jack on the field the next day.

“Thousands of warriors have been sacrificed to hallow this ground. Tomorrow we will continue that tradition. The warrior of the Red Rose will rip out the still-beating heart of the Silver Dragon and water the Ghyll with his blood.”

Will put his hands over his ears, which some of the wizards seemed to find amusing. Fitch sat, pale and silent, folding and refolding his napkin. Ellen stared straight ahead, chin up, looking capable of most anything. Jack sat impassively. He was learning to just skip over the next day and land softly in the nothingness beyond. When the toast was concluded, there was enthusiastic clapping and cheering from the Red Rose contingent, except for Ellen. Bad form, Jack guessed.

Afterward, Hastings got up and proposed his own toast, which was considerably briefer. “I would like to propose a toast in memory of all who have given their lives over the centuries to make this bloody tradition possible.” At this, the Silver Dragon representatives raised their goblets, but many of the guests said later that the toast was in poor taste.

After dinner, Jack tried to get close to Ellen, but her handlers hustled her off quickly. He kept close enough to see them head into the west wing, rather than out the front door. So he knew she was staying in the castle itself.

Hastings remained after, for a briefing on plans for the Game the next day. Linda and Iris stayed with him. Jack and his friends walked back to their cottage, running the gauntlet of fans once again, some reaching out to touch him, others asking for autographs. When they were back inside, Will flopped miserably on Jack's bed. “I ate that big dinner, and then I wanted to throw up during the toast,” he said.

“Ellen looked really different,” Fitch said. “Sort of cold and fierce and unfamiliar.” He studied Jack. “What are you going to do tomorrow? Do you have a plan?”

“Don't worry about it,” Jack said shortly. “Won't do any good anyway.” He removed his sword and tunic and replaced them with a sweatshirt. The dyrne sefa was still lying on the wardrobe where he'd left it when he'd showered that first day. Was it just a day ago that he had arrived in the Ghyll? He hung the stone around his neck, found Blaise's mirror in his duffle bag, and tucked it into his waistband. Then he unlatched the window.

“What are you doing?” Will demanded.

“I'm going out for a while. See if you can keep Hastings from finding out I'm gone.” Jack lifted himself to the stone sill, swung his legs over, and dropped to the ground. He leaned back through the window. “Better close up after me. I'll tap when I'm ready to come in. Don't sleep so sound you don't hear me.”

Will reached through the open window and grabbed a fistful of Jacks sweatshirt. “You're going to go out walking through that mob? You'll probably come home with a knife in your back.”

“They'll have to find me first.” Jack spoke the invisibility charm he'd made sure to memorize when Hastings used it. Will let go quickly, swearing, when Jack disappeared.

He was the champion of the Silver Dragon, the talk of the ghyll, the one whose name was on everyone's lips and tournament garb. Customers spilled from the tavern tents, danced in the pavilions under the trees, laid down their coin in the betting parlors. Private parties were just getting under way. But no one noticed as he made his way in the shadows between the cottage and the keep.

The young maid didn't see him slip inside the castle as she stood, smoking, outside the kitchen door. He moved quickly along the corridors in the service part of the building, working his way to the west wing, always turning left when he had the chance. At first he could smell the cooking from the feast, then that faded, and he passed through laundry and storage areas. He encountered a number of servants, mostly Anaweir. Eventually he found himself in what looked like the family quarters. Now wizards passed him in the corridors. He said nothing, and fortunately they didn't seem to mark his presence.

He had no particular plan for finding out where Ellen was housed, and was beginning to realize just how impossible it might be to find her in the warren of corridors. Especially if she was already in her room. Then he heard a familiar voice coming from around a corner. Instinctively, he flattened himself against the cold stone of the wall behind him as Paige and Wylie came into view. Apparently they were at a parting of the ways, because they paused a moment at the intersection, a foot away from Jack. He struggled to control his breathing, knowing he would be history if those two wizards were to spot him in a deserted corridor.

Wylie handed a book to Paige. It was the Rules of Engagement. “Have her look it over one more time,” the wizard said. “I don't want any missteps tomorrow.”

“She has it memorized,” Paige replied. “It's like breathing for her. There won't be any problem.” He was full of confidence.

“Let's hope you're right,” Wylie said with a trace of a smile. “Better get some sleep. I have some meetings yet tonight.”

Wylie continued on down the corridor, and Paige turned past Jack, passing close enough to touch. Jack followed him at a cautious distance. Paige took a few more turns, and then they were in a short corridor that dead-ended into two doors at the end. He knocked sharply on one of the doors. There was a long pause, and then Ellen opened it. She was wearing a short silk nightshirt and had taken her hair down. Jack approached as close as he dared. She had only opened the door a little, but Jack was in luck, because Paige shoved it open the rest of the way and plowed into the room. Jack managed to slip in after him.