An impossibly long gold table stretches fifty yards down the center of the cavernous room. But that’s not what takes my breath away. Miniature stages line the walls, each one no more than three feet in diameter, painted gold and covered with elaborate designs—swirling vines, roiling clouds, and twisting branches. A single magician performs on each one.

Xander stands at my shoulder. “What do you think?” He doesn’t wait for my answer. “I see someone I need to talk to. Aristelle and the others should be at the table.” He starts to turn before twisting back. “And Ava, be careful. The games start early.”

Even that vaguely ominous warning can’t pull me out of what’s in front of me.

To my right, a woman painted gold from head to toe swallows a golden spear longer than her own leg. She doesn’t pull it back out. She turns to me and bows. I force myself to keep walking. She tracks my movements—at least I think she does.

I duck as an arrow flies just feet above my head. The man on the next stage laughs. I glare at him as he nocks another gold arrow with black feathers. He jerks his chin at me, and I follow his line of sight to the opposite stage, where a blindfolded woman dressed all in black stands waiting. The arrow sings above my head again, and before I can register it, the same arrow quivers between the woman’s bronzed lips. She smiles, revealing the sharp tip caught between her teeth.

I turn back to the man, and he bows and then winks, his eyelids flashing gold against his dark brown skin.

I smooth my hand over the billowing white shirt I’m wearing with my green pants. “She did the hard part,” I say.

He laughs, pulls out one of his arrows, and swallows it before I can blink, raising a brow at me.

“Not bad, but I just watched someone else swallow a spear.” I smile, and he does too.

The next stage is only an ice sculpture. A woman in a flowing gown with one upraised hand, finger pointed out at the audience. I can’t resist. I lift my finger to hers.

She cracks, splintering from her finger to her arm and up across her smooth cheek until all of her is veined. Then she shatters, leaving behind a real fair-skinned woman in a white dress. She turns silver eyes on me and smiles. As she pulls herself into another position, the chips of ice around her feet shift, climbing up her gown, molding into solid, unblemished ice as they go.