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“Turis’s team permanently injured one of ours in the last match,” Vaccia says bitterly.

“They took Nastal’s leg,” Jasand spits. “Ripped it right off and made sure the healers couldn’t do a damn thing for it.”

My blood runs cold. So that’s what Turis was getting at with his comment about cutting the unworthy off at the knees. Is that the kind of thing you have to do to succeed in this game?

“Did…did they win?” I ask tentatively.

“Turis’s team has won the last three matches,” Vaccia explains with distaste.

“That’s a quarter year Lisinder has had to sit and listen to him spout his bile about blood purity,” Pyromey hisses.

“Purity?”

“Birthrights. Lineages. People being superior because of their ancestry. You see it in the way he plays—he always targets those he sees as of lower status. And if he’s enforcing it when he’s in the arena, you can bet he’s doing the same out of it. That’s why he fights so hard to stay on the council.”

“Turis sure thinks like a Seelie for someone who claims to hate them,” mutters Jasand, then he shrugs at Destan. “No offense.”

Destan straightens, looking less nervous than he has all evening.

“I was born into our system. It doesn’t mean I condone it. I have had friends—brave, honorable, incredibly loyal friends—who’ve been treated like dirt thanks to that kind of simplistic thinking about bloodlines.”

I meet Destan’s gaze. We both know he’s talking about Halima. I give him a supportive smile. His sincerity seems to raise him a bit in our hosts’ estimations too, because Jasand slides a goblet over to Destan, offering him a drink.

“Let me help you end his streak, then,” I say, steering our conversation back to the game. “Like you say, blood shouldn’t matter here in Unseelie. Forget what I am and focus on what I can do.”

Wistal laughs, seeming charmed by my boldness. “Very well. Lady Thorn, you’d be welcome at our next game.”

“When’s that?” Destan asks.

“Tomorrow,” says Jasand. He seems torn between being skeptical and impressed by my confidence. “At Gordmoor.”

“That’s the playing ground?” I ask.

“That’s the mountain the playing ground’s on,” explains Pyromey. “I hope you’re okay with heights.”

Chapter 9

“What were you thinking?” Destan hisses at me when we leave the Unseelie dining room with food in our bellies and my invitation to the bastet game the next day still standing.

“That we have a job to do, and that we weren’t getting anywhere with any of your suggestions.”

“So your only option was to throw yourself into some brawling match you know nothing about?”

“It’s a ball game, not a brawl.”

Destan looks around, checking for eavesdroppers.

“Where the Unseelie are concerned, it seems to be the same thing,” he says darkly. “You heard what Lord Jasand said about his teammate.”

“I’ll just have to go prepared, then,” I say, sounding more confident than I feel. “And when I win, I’ll have a seat on the council. Can you imagine how helpful that will be? It’s the perfect shortcut to getting Lisinder to reconsider supporting Ruskin.”

“Or it could be a shortcut to splattering your brains all over the ground. How do you think Ruskin would deal with that?”

“You won’t have to find out, because I’ll be fine.”

Destan huffs in frustration. “How can you be so sure of winning? You’ve never even played the game before!”

“I’ll figure it out.”