It Ends in Fire

by Andrew Shvarts

  I almost laugh, not at her, but because kissing her has been so utterly exhilarating I could coast off it for months. “Yes. Of course,” I say. “We’ll go as slowly as you want.”

  She grins, beaming, more joyous than I’d ever thought possible, and she kisses me one more time, a peck that lingers long on my lips. “Now then,” she says. “As badly as I want to keep kissing you, we probably have some practical matters to figure out.”

  “Right,” I say, reality slowly bleeding back in around the edges, no matter how badly I want to keep it out. “You killed Tyms,” I say. “That’s probably going to be a problem.”

  She glances down at her hand. “He was going to hurt you.”

  “I know. Was he your first?”

  “Yes.” Her voice is cold, the kind of cold that means she’s holding the feelings in. “I can’t say I liked it.”

  “I’m sorry.” I take her hand in mine, kiss it. “They’re going to find the body soon.”

  “I know. That’s why I wrote on the wall next to it, remember?” she asks, and I suppose I do. I was so caught up in the shock of the moment, I hadn’t even processed it, but she had written something with his blood. “I wrote Frostwolves Reign.” She says that like it should mean something, then sees the look on my face. “They’re a Velkschen separatist group.”

  “What do they have to do with this?”

  “Nothing,” she replies. “But hopefully it’ll send Aberdeen down the wrong trail and keep him distracted.” Then she turns to me, an eyebrow cocked suspiciously, as if suddenly remembering how we got here. “What exactly were you doing in Aberdeen’s office? Why did you steal my key?”

  “I—uh—I was—” I stammer, because I realize all at once how bad it’s going to look. There’s no way around it, though, and besides, I’m done lying. So I tell her the truth, the truth about what happened to Fyl, what happened with Desmond, what Aberdeen threatened. I tell her what I was going to do.

  She glares at me, long and hard, in an endless silence. She’s angry, angrier than I’ve ever seen her, her mouth curled into a hard scowl, her brow furrowed deep. “So that’s it?” she demands. “You were just going to blow yourself up? Abandon your cause? Abandon me?”

  “I… it just… it was all I could do.…” I wince and look away. Other people have judged me here, but she’s the first one to judge me, the real me, and it feels terrible. “I just couldn’t think of another way. It seemed impossible.”

  “You’re an idiot,” she says with a weary sigh, and then she smiles just a little, and the relief I feel is like a cooling breeze on a scorching day. “Getting a spy into Blackwater was impossible, until you did it. Winning the First Challenge was impossible, until you did it. And turning this around? Winning the game, getting revenge on Marius and Aberdeen, taking all the Wizards down? It’s only impossible until you do it.”

  “Until we do it,” I say, and all at once I believe it. Marlena makes me feel changed, transformed, reborn. She makes me feel stronger than ever. “Will you join me?”

  Her gaze bores into mine. “On one condition. That you never lie to me again, that you never just go off on your own. If we’re in this, then we’re in together.”

  I squeeze her hand. “It’s a promise.”

  Then she smiles, radiant, and I find myself lost in the details. The way her hair falls over her shoulders. The way her skin glows softly in the light. The curve of her collarbone, the rising and falling of her breath, that thin scar on her cheek. “Let’s do this, then,” she says. “For the Revenants.”

  “No,” I reply, because this isn’t about them anymore. Whispers would’ve had me abandon Marlena to the fire. Whispers would’ve told me to kill her back in the basement. This is about something deeper. It’s about two girls united by destiny. It’s about two girls standing together against a system that would grind them down. It’s about two girls who found each other, against all odds.

  “We do this for us.”

  CHAPTER 41

  Now

  When I walk out of my room the next day, everything feels different. It’s like I’ve been put through a fire that scorched away all my fear, all my doubt, all my cynical defeat. The world changed overnight, and I changed with it. The girl who strolls confidently through the Order of Nethro doors into the bright light of the sun isn’t Alka Chelrazi, the angry Revenant, and she isn’t Alayne Dewinter, the scheming noble who flew too close to the sun. She’s someone else, someone new.

  She’s the girl who’s going to win.

  I start going to class again, where I shine brighter than ever (thanks to Marlena’s help, of course). I talk to Tish and Zigmund, apologize for everything, mend those bridges. I promise I won’t let them down again. I think they believe me. I speak to all the other Nethros as well, give a rallying address in the common room, the kind full of statements like “They knocked us down. Now we rise up.” When I’m done, they all cheer, and even Calfex gives me a wry nod.

  I keep things distant with Talyn. We pass each other in the halls, share a quick nod across the quad, maybe even a short walk after a class. There’s a tension between us, not just the tension of what we had but the tension of our differences, of the chasm between who I am and who he sees.

  Even though it physically pains me, I talk to Aberdeen about a public reconciliation with Marius. Marlena convinces me to do it, because it’ll get my enemies off my back, if only for a little while, and give us time to prepare a strategy. I tell Aberdeen that I won’t make any claims about Fyl’s death and that I’m willing to publicly put an end to the feud with Marius, to join him in “friendship and solidarity,” to make sure we Wizards are united above all. It’s good enough for Aberdeen.

  So we meet on the stage in the quad, surrounded by a half interested crowd of students and faculty, facing each other while Aberdeen presides. The sun bears down hot as he gives a speech about the nature of unity so unconvincing even he seems bored, and Marius and I both agree to put our feud aside. He holds out his hand, and I shake it, and I somehow muster the restraint to not squeeze hard.

  When we’re done, Aberdeen claps his hands. “And it is in that spirit of camaraderie, of friendly competition, that I announce the Third Challenge!” Everyone perks up at that, me included. Aberdeen waves a hand behind him, and that banner unfurls, the one with all our scores on it.

  Vanguard—14

  Selura—12

  Javellos—11

  Nethro—11

  Zartan—7

  Looking now, those scores seem close, the gap closable. “In two weeks, we shall gather to witness the culmination of everything you’ve learned!” Aberdeen says. “In two weeks, the Orders shall meet on the field of battle, to compete in the Fivefold War! In two weeks, we shall know who stands the Order Triumphant!”

  There’s an odd murmur through the crowd, at once excited and alarmed. Marius in particular seems delighted, his white teeth flashing bright. “I’ll make you proud, Headmaster,” he says, and it’s amazing he can keep himself from physically licking Aberdeen’s boot.

  Later, I regroup with Marlena in the practice rooms, where we can be alone. We sit together on the floor with her in my lap, her back pressed to my chest as she gazes down at a book, my arms draped over her shoulders just right so I can gently kiss the back of her neck. It’s been two weeks since we killed Tyms, two weeks of nights curled up together, two weeks of stolen kisses and tenderly held hands. And every single time has felt just as thrilling as the first.

  “So what’s the Fivefold War?” I ask.

  “It’s trouble.” She exhales sharply. “The Fivefold War is one of the most celebrated challenges and also one of the most dangerous. It’s a mock battle in which everyone participates, Order on Order, in a battlefield at the basin of a crater. At the center of the field, there’s a tower, and at the top of the tower, through a maze of rooms and stairs, is a gem. The first student to make it to the top and claim the gem wins the challenge and receives five points. From then on, each team
receives a point for every five students they still have in the fight.”

  “Still in the fight?”

  “You know. Conscious. Able to move around. Free of any magical traps.” She glances away. “Alive.”

  “Gods,” I whisper. I still remember the sheer chaos of the Balitesta game, when it was just teams of five. Picturing that, but with every single student in the school… “It sounds like hell.”

  “It’s meant to simulate war,” she clarifies. “And it’s certainly as bloody. There’s a list of permitted Glyphs, as always, but even with it there are many injuries and usually several deaths.”

  “Is that why Aberdeen picked it? Because it’s an opportunity for Marius to kill me without scrutiny?”

  “Possibly,” she says. “But more than that, the loose structure affords him infinite ways to ensure Vanguard’s victory. He can have the judges look away when they perform illegal Glyphs. He can outfit them with all kinds of infused armaments and items. He could rig the tower with traps that only Marius knows to dodge. He could do all of that and more.”

  I hunker down opposite her. “So how do we win?”

  She closes the book and looks up at me. “We need to win so decisively, so boldly, so unambiguously, that there’s no way he can cheat his way out of it.”

  “And how do we do that?”

  “Same way we always do,” she says, eyes sparkling with cunning. “We break the game.”

  CHAPTER 42

  Now

  We fight the Fivefold War on one of the first days of spring. The snow has thawed at this point, fresh shoots of grass poking up underfoot, and the sun bears down warm under a clear blue sky. We gather at the base of a sunken crater on the western shore of the island. It’s a massive field of battle, a rough circle probably twice the size of the Balitesta field, the ground lined with soft obsidian sand. I don’t know if the Wizards made this crater or if it’s geological, but it’s certainly perfect for a game like this: the faculty stand on the crater’s rocky rim, gazing down, while we take up positions along the inner circumference.

  The Tower of Victory stands at the center of the crater, a winding stone spire maybe the size of a guard tower. Surrounding it are all kinds of obstacles meant to simulate a field of battle: fallen trees, crumbling trenches, an overturned wagon cart here and a stone parapet there. The field is big enough that I can only see the hazy silhouettes of the other teams, positioned at equidistant spots under tall, billowing banners. I squint at the Vanguards, trying to see if I can make out which little dot is Marius.

  The rest of the Order of Nethro lines up behind me. We’re looking quite formidable, if I may so, strapped up in black leather and armor, a squad of kraken helms and iron pauldrons, of thick bracers and Loci gleaming in the light. They all stare at me, waiting for my signal, ready to charge at my command. My two lieutenants flank me on either side, Tish at my left and Zigmund at my right. I nod to one, to the other, and they nod back.

  “Listen,” I say quietly, so just they can hear. “Whatever happens today… I’m so grateful to both of you. For standing by me. For rallying the others. For everything.”

  “We’re your friends,” Tish says, as if it were the most self-evident thing in the world. “We’ve got this.”

  Zigmund slams his chestpiece with the side of his fist, surprisingly hard. “Let’s break some skulls!”

  A horn blows, a warbling so loud it shakes the ground, sending tiny grains of black sand scattering up around our feet. A flare shoots up from the tower, streaking into the sky before exploding into a multicolored burst. The game’s begun.

  I jab my Loci forward like a sword and let out a furious howl, a battle cry of vengeance. The others roar behind me and we rush forward onto the field, a wild streaking charge. I see the others moving, too, from the corners of my eyes, rushing out with cries of their own, squads of green and red and blue, thundering onto the field and streaking across the crater. The earth shudders under our feet, and the world shakes with our cries.

  I wonder at exactly what point the professors up on the crater’s edge realize something’s gone wrong. The Fivefold War is meant to be a mock battle and is usually fought with warfare tactics: flanking groups, slow advances, each Order trying to claim ground while risking as few of their number as they can. All five Orders battle one another for inches, an endless, fraught series of micro-battles that can last hours. But that’s not what’s happening now. Instead, four Orders are all charging forward together, every single student wild and reckless, totally indifferent to the goals of the game. And we’re not attacking one another. We come together on the plain, Nethros and Javellos and Seluras and Zartans, join like a hand closing into a fist. And then we run together, side by side, Loci by Loci, howling wild as we charge down the crater toward that billowing gold banner, as we descend on the Order of Vanguard like a crashing wave.

  CHAPTER 43

  Then

  I am seventeen when I create my army.

  I meet with the Order of Zartan first, because that’ll be the easiest conversation. Their captain is Terra, the girl who made the ice sphere with me in that first Glyphcraft class an eternity ago. She’s a Velkschen, a full head taller than me with biceps bigger than my skull, her white-blond hair in the traditional Velkschen style: one side of her head is shaved and the other hangs long and low in interwoven braids. Zigmund’s come with me, because the two of them are close and because she wouldn’t meet with me otherwise.

  We sit together in her room a week before the challenge, in tall wooden chairs resting on a wolf-pelt carpet. Her eyes dart back and forth as she reads Aberdeen’s letter, the one I stole from his desk when I broke into his room, and I see her expression darken with growing fury. Finally, she shoves the paper back to me as if it were covered in poison. “This real?” she growls.

  “It’s real,” I reply. “The game’s rigged against all of us.”

  She shakes her head, the metal beads in her braids jangling. “You could be lying. Nethros lie.”

  “She’s not lying,” Zigmund says, then he leans over, and when he speaks, his voice is different, softer, more melodic. He’s not speaking Marovian but Velx, the native language of his people in the north, and I’m a little surprised how much gentler he sounds. Terra nods as he speaks, and when he’s done, she turns back to me. “If this is true, then what do we do?”

  “We fight them in numbers so great they can’t cheat,” I reply. “All the other Orders standing together, attacking as one, making sure that at the end of the war, not one single, solitary Vanguard is left standing.” I lean forward, whispering low and conspiratorially. “We hand them the most humiliating defeat in the history of Blackwater.”

  Terra stares at me, eyes dancing wild in the flickering candlelight, then she lets out a booming laugh. “You’re a mad bitch,” she says.

  I extend my hand. “Let’s be mad bitches together.”

  The Order of Javellos is next, and this one I have to work myself up to. I have no doubt Talyn’s going to agree. That’s not the issue. It’s speaking to him one-on-one, asking him for help while sidestepping the awkwardness between us, talking while very much not talking. But I need him in this, so I force myself to march into his dorm, up his stairs, into the all-too-familiar room.

  I don’t say a word to him as he opens the door. I just hand him the letter and watch as his eyes skim it. Then he lets out a little snort and sets it down. “Well then,” he says. “That answers that.” His gaze flits to mine, and I look away. “I suppose you have a plan?”

  I tell him. When I’m done, he nods, the tiniest hint of a smile. “I’m in,” he says. “But I’m sure you already knew that.”

  “I did,” I reply. “Thank you. Seriously.”

  “Wait,” he says. “Has something changed? You seem… different.”

  I swallow hard. I don’t know how I’d even begin telling him about Marlena. “Different how?”

  “I don’t know,” he says, and takes a step closer. “More a
ssured, or at ease? Like you’re more… yourself.”

  “Something has changed,” I say, because there’s no point in lying. “And maybe someday, I’ll tell you about it.”

  He nods, turning away, with a sense of resignation. “But not today.”

  Vyctoria in the Order of Selura is the last captain I talk to and the most risky. Marlena and I spent nearly a week debating if it was worth it. After all, she’s the headmaster’s niece and Marius’s girlfriend. For all we know, she’s already complicit in their cheating. And even if she isn’t, there’s a tremendous risk that she’ll choose their side anyway, that she’ll betray my plan and it’ll all be for naught. Marlena insisted it wasn’t worth it.

  I saw her point. But I also saw how hard Vyctoria had trained for the Second Challenge, night after night, week after week, drilling in the library. I saw her look of hollow, stunned disappointment when Marius was declared the winner. I saw how much this mattered to her.

  So, after a great deal of pleading, we meet in her room and I hand her the letter. She reads it over, and I see her brow furrow into an angry knot, see her narrow lips curl. When she’s done, she crumples it involuntarily, crushing it in a tight fist. That answers one question. She definitely wasn’t complicit.

  “This could be a trick,” she says at last, her voice even colder and flatter than usual. “You could have forged that letter.”

  “You know I didn’t,” I tell her. “Come on, Vyctoria. You know this is real. Deep inside, you know Marius couldn’t have beaten you to the center of the maze.”

  “And how about you?” Her gray eyes blaze through me with so much anger I’m starting to worry Marlena was right. “How did you beat me to the center of the maze?”

  If the truth is my weapon, I’ll have to fall on its blade. “I cheated, too,” I say, and her nostrils flare, her knuckles white. “But I’m just some lowborn nobody from a rock halfway across the world. I’m not your boyfriend. I’m not your family. I cheated, but I didn’t betray you.”