I drop our invisibility. For the first time, we are exposed in the arena. I focus all my concentration and reach out for Enzo’s energy. In a flash, he transforms from himself into an exact copy of Teren.

The arena bursts into a scene of chaos. All across the stands, patrons and their fighters leap into combat, attacking Inquisitors wherever they stand, sending the people into a panic. Some of the Inquisitors still on the stone pathway in the arena’s center look poised to join the duel between Teren and Enzo—but with the two now identical, they can’t seem to tell which one is which.

Enzo doesn’t wait. He leaps forward, dagger raised. Teren manages to hold up his sword just in time to meet Enzo’s blade, but in his sudden weakness, he can’t deflect it. The two tumble backward onto the ground—Teren shrieks as Enzo’s blade finally makes contact, white hot and sharp, slicing deep into Teren’s shoulder and burning his flesh. Enzo’s second blade seeks out his heart. In a rage, Teren slashes out at Enzo. Even now, he still manages to force the prince to dance away. He staggers to his feet. It takes me a moment to realize that he’s laughing. He notices Violetta and me crouched at the edge of the platform. He scowls.

“About time you made your move,” he shouts through the chaos.

The words have scarcely left his mouth when I notice that Inquisitors, hundreds—thousands—of them, are flooding into the arena. We were ready for him—but he was ready for us too. The people around us leap to their feet, screaming, and scramble for the nearest exit, but Inquisitors fence everyone in. It will be a bloodbath in here, whether or not we win.

I narrow my eye. The darkness building in me is overwhelming now, feeding on an entire arena’s worth of terror and fury. I reach out, take hold of that energy, find Teren, and pull.

He freezes in mid-attack, then falls to his knees. He shrieks in pain as I conjure the most agonizing illusion I can muster. Enzo engulfs him in flames, then lunges forward, aiming at his eyes.

This is it. My heart leaps in anticipation. He’s going to kill Teren.

Something cold pushes violently back against my energy. I gasp. Teren’s fighting me. My illusion on him wavers, then breaks. Violetta puts a hand on her forehead and stumbles backward. “I can’t hold on,” she says hoarsely to me, before collapsing to her knees. Out in the arena, Teren sucks in a deep breath of relief as his burned skin starts to heal over. He starts fighting back. The window to fatally injure him is closing. I look at my sister. Her eyes roll back, and, exhausted, she faints on the path. My concentration flickers.

“Violetta,” I shout, grabbing her arm. Then I glance to where Enzo is fighting Teren. My illusion over Enzo has vanished too, and his dark-robed figure contrasts starkly against Teren’s white uniform.

“Leave her!” When I look up, I see Michel standing over us, his eyes wild. He has joined us on the platform. He hoists Violetta up against him. “We’ve broken through one of the entrances—I’ll get her out. Go!”

I hesitate for a split second before nodding. Then Michel spirits her away, and I turn back to the arena. Never in my life have I seen so many Inquisitors. Their figures swarm the stands, clashing with Enzo’s fighters. In the chaos, I climb over the short wall separating the seats from the arena’s center, land on the stone path dividing the water, veil myself in invisibility, and rush toward where Enzo and Teren are fighting. My concentration snaps back into place, fueled by the panic, and Enzo again turns into a mirror image of Teren.

But I’m getting tired too. My powers are starting to slip out of my control.

I stop a short distance from them. Then I press my hands together, reach out, and weave a circle of energy threads around Teren. I conjure a dozen versions of himself, identical in every way, each of them lunging at the real Teren with daggers drawn. The illusion is brief, but it works. Teren hesitates for a moment, suddenly unsure of where to look. His enemy is everywhere all at once.

Enzo—the real Enzo—grabs Teren around his neck. He tries to stab at his eyes, but Teren manages to twist his face away at the last second. Enzo’s blade slices across his neck, leaving a deep gash. Immediately, it starts to heal. Teren lets out a gurgling growl and slams his head backward, forcing Enzo off him, then staggers forward and spits blood from his mouth. I can’t hold the dozen illusions anymore. The figures disappear, once again leaving Enzo alone with Teren.

Teren is breathing heavily. Even he has his limits. His eyes lock on to me again. I realize that I’m too tired to hold my own invisibility illusion.

“There you are,” he says, his voice low and raspy, his chiseled face turned into a frightening snarl. His attention flickers away from Enzo as he dashes for me. “Little illusion worker.”

Then it happens.

Teren lunges for me. His sword slashes me deep across my chest, slicing through my robes and into my skin. Pain hits me everywhere. I fall. My head hits the ground hard enough to send the world spinning. Suddenly, everything slows. I lift my hand and see it stained with my own blood. I try to reach for my energy, but everything moves too slowly, and my thoughts form in disjointed pieces. Broken illusions flash around me, my powers gone unsteady and uncontrolled. Through it, Enzo rushes forward to step between the two of us. I have . . . hit my head . . . Teren rushes at me with his sword. All I see are his pale, furious eyes. A nightmare.

I strike blindly out with my illusions. Teren’s there, blurred before me. I try to scream at him—but I cannot form the thought. My powers spark wildly out of control. Teren’s face changes into Dante’s, then back again. A memory clicks into place. I suddenly see before me a million glittering threads. I killed him in that dark alley, on the night the king died. I killed with an illusion of extreme pain.