Page 54

Chapter

Thirty-Three

I stare at the sign hanging from Alchemist’s glass doors, the letters written in a heavy hand with orange chalk.

Closed for a Private Event

I stop in my tracks.

“What did you do?”

Noah can’t tell a lie to save his life. So he just bites his lips to hide his grin and lifts his shoulders in an overdramatic, comedic shrug.

We’d spent last night together—and several of the ones before it, too—and Noah had asked me to stop by Alchemist on our way back to Liam’s to play the last game of our campaign. Said he’d forgotten something.

When I push through the glass doors, I’m met with the pounding drums and heroic trumpeting of tense battle music spilling from the speakers. I find Liam with his fingers steepled, sitting at the head of a table decorated with the most extensive battle map I’ve seen yet.

Donati’s gardens are reproduced in exquisite detail, with fake greenery, hedges, and flowers spread out over the surface area of two long tables pressed together.

Half a dozen white mini figurines float atop tiny bowls of water scattered across the grounds, representing the wizard’s ridiculous fountains.

Dotted throughout the shrubbery are decorative plates piled with some of Jules’s very best pastries, including a brand-new and most welcome addition: cinnamon rolls.

Morgan circles the table and sets down freshly poured pint glasses brimming with golden beer.

Confused, I glance to the bar. Dan catches my eye and waves before returning to his laptop.

“Took you two long enough,” Liam says wryly.

Morgan and Jules sit on either side of him, looking far too pleased at my shock. “We were going to throw you a going-away party,” Jules admits. “But I’m really glad we didn’t have to.”

“Figured this was much better,” Morgan agrees.

I laugh, delighted. “You booked the whole day?”

Noah slings his arm across my shoulders and pulls me to his side. “You forget, Sadie,” he says. “I’m the boss man now. I can do whatever I like.”

“Not for another two weeks, Mr. Walker,” Dan warns teasingly from the bar.

Liam catches my gaze and shakes his head slightly. “He’s had this on the books for a while,” he corrects.

Noah’s arm at my back keeps me from melting to the floor as I will my eyes to stay dry. Looking quite pleased with himself, he squeezes my shoulder and takes a seat at the table, drawing his notebook from his backpack. I gasp, dismayed. “But I don’t even have my—”

Liam wordlessly hands over my tote bag. My lips twist into an amused grin. “Really thought of everything, didn’t you?”

Noah catches my wrist before I sit, speaking low. “Do you want to show them? Before we start?” His shining gaze slides past me, and I turn to see Dan standing by the curtains.

Dan nods, one thumb hooked into the belt loop of his jeans. “It only makes sense, y’know. For y’all to be the first to see it.”

Jules’s eyes have gone wide, and I don’t bother to hold back my smile. I nod.

Dan draws the curtain back with a flourish.

As my friends turn to take in the mural for the first time, I’m gratified to hear their gasps of surprise.

My eyes linger on the elements I’d added at the last moment—the parts that made the project finally feel complete.

I can’t help but think that the scene I’ve painted doesn’t look all that different from the one before me.

The traveler isn’t alone anymore. A woman in robes perches on the fallen log across from him, smirking into her own mug, while a man in armor stands just outside the campfire’s ring of light, slightly shrouded in shadow as he peers into the night.

Another woman leans dramatically over the campfire, arms outstretched and lips parted as she recounts a story to the group.

I’d even given the traveler a dog to curl at his feet, his dark eyes hopeful that he might be given the night’s scraps.

The traveler no longer sits by himself at his campfire, staring moodily into his drink.

Instead, he’s surrounded by friends.

“Before we put our lives on the line today, I’d like to tell you all a secret,” Jaylie begins.

She stands before the ranks of gathered adventurers at sunrise, dressed in her ceremonial robes.

Her hands are clasped neatly before her, cradling her holy symbol.

It was Loren’s idea for her to make a speech before the battle began.

Give them a little faith, he’d said as he’d kissed her good morning.

“There is no such thing as luck,” she announces.

Off to a great start.

“At least,” she amends, “not in the way that you believe it to exist.”

She eyes her friends, gathered at the very front of those assembled.

Kain wears his billowing pants and leather harness across his always-bare chest. Morgana is decked head to toe in shadow-black armor.

In one glance alone, Jaylie counts six knives on her person.

Someone let Loren borrow a breastplate of his own, and somehow he’s managed to make the dark boiled leather look stylish when paired with a forest-green shirt and knee-high boots.

Morgana looks doubtful of Jaylie’s pep talk, but Loren offers her a wink and a thumbs-up.

“Many people believe that luck is random. They believe luck is as simple as something wonderful happening to you when you least expect it. Some people even come to rely on it, gambling away their hard work and hoping—always hoping—that one day they’ll finally have their lucky break.

“But luck does not find those who sit around waiting for it. Luck is for the seekers, the adventurers, the lovers, and the dreamers. Luck is for those who chase after it, those who open themselves up to new experiences and new challenges every day of their lives. As one of the great clerics of my order once said, luck is where preparation meets opportunity.”

Years ago, trapped in her tower, Jaylie had wished every night on the brightest star that she would be freed from her father’s plans. Nothing happened.

It wasn’t until she made her escape to the well, when she had taken the first steps toward freedom, that luck had truly found her.

“Luck is for all of you, my friends, if you are brave enough to seize it,” Jaylie finishes, spreading her arms wide. “May Marlana bless us all today.”

She’s met with a roar of approval and dozens of coins tossed into the air.

Shortly after, the portals begin to open.

To Jaylie’s right and left, teams of wizards led by Shira step forward to activate the runes carefully chalked into the earth during the early hours of the morning.

One by one, the runes light with an electric-blue glow, and arches erupt out of the dirt and tear holes in reality.

Through the portals, Jaylie can see the familiar sight of Donati’s wrought iron gates and his garden beyond.

Shira is the first to step through, but Jaylie, her party, Alora, and all the others are not far behind.

Just as Shira suspected, Donati waits for them behind the gates, his arms crossed over a beautifully designed blue-and-white doublet with lilies embroidered along the sleeves.

His eyes, bloodshot and violent, are trained on Shira.

“You were not invited,” he says through clenched teeth. “But I’ve been expecting you.”

It’s obvious he’s bolstered the ranks of his guard, but Jaylie notes the absence of anyone from the City Watch. That’s a good sign, she thinks. Perhaps they took our story seriously, then.

Perhaps we will not be arrested after we are done with him.

“I think I’ve had quite enough of you for one lifetime, Shira Soros.

We’ve had our fun, but I tire of our games.

This will be the last.” Donati lifts his hands upward.

It’s a clear day, cloudless and beautiful, but lightning spears down from the sky all the same.

Beyond the gates, every bolt lands at the same exact moment with a resounding crack, each one striking a different statue.

Jaylie watches in horror as every statue in the garden comes to life.

Razor-sharp teeth sprout from grinning mouths, and stone fingers grow into long black claws.

They leap from their foundations—a Donati wielding a wand, a Donati with a pair of bat wings, a Donati three times the size of the wizard himself, and at least a dozen others—and surge forward.

“You can try to kill me,” the true Donati says, seething, his eyes alight with a new red glow. “But you’ll have to find me first.”

And with a snap of his fingers, he turns invisible.

Surprising Jaylie not in the least, Kain leads the charge.

Spit flies from his mouth as he opens his jaws in a bloodcurdling roar.

Over and over again he clashes his great axe against the estate gates, joined soon after by the front lines.

Eventually the metal bends to the barrage and the gates crumple and fall. Shira’s small army rushes through.

“Remember your orders!” Shira bellows as adventurers, guardsmen, students, and more race past her. “Stay together, stay smart, and everything in his fucking castle is ours. ”

Jaylie, having never been in an actual godsdamned battle before, is grateful for Shira’s level of organization.

Keeping to the discussed strategy, she hangs back as the fighters spill into the gardens, weapons at the ready.

She trusts that Kain will command them wisely while Morgana leads a small strike team through the estate, keeping to the shadows as they track down the true Donati.

Meanwhile, Jaylie stays close to what Shira lovingly referred to as “the support group”: the healers, most of the bards, the youngest volunteers, and a very grumpy Alora.

“Shira didn’t want me to come at all,” Alora told Jaylie earlier that morning.

“But I’m not about to let you fight on my behalf without lending a hand.

” She’s frustrated that Shira forbade her from joining the front lines, but she loves her well enough that she agreed to stay near the back.

She understands, too, just how much of a target she is.