I hurled another spell at him, an arc of light. He was ready for it, taking it in his palm, dissolving it into shadows. For all my disguise, he knew me well, and that was maddening. I struck him again, again, but he caught my spells effortlessly, as if he knew exactly what to expect from me. He turned my fire into smoke, my wind into dust, my light into shadows. He accepted everything I gave him and yet he didn’t retaliate. He refused to counter my moves, and I didn’t know if he was waiting for me to tire myself or if he simply didn’t want to risk hurting me.

This would never end. The two of us circling, me striking, him absorbing.

I turned away from him, frustrated that he wouldn’t spar with me, and he caught me around the waist. I tripped over my own vine, snaking across the floor, and down we went. We tangled, our limbs entwining and our hands catching and our breaths mingling.

I saw it in his eyes, at last. The shock of my deception was wearing thin, and the realization kicked in like a second heartbeat. I watched his eyes darken when he remembered my interview, how I had attacked him. When he remembered all the lies I had spouted to him. When I had told him to get on his knees and apologize. When he had tried to summon me and thought he had failed.

“I should have known it was you,” he whispered, his mouth dangerously close to mine.

His skin flushed with anger, indignation. I was satisfied to see it, to know my vengeance had run its course. That I had hurt him as he had once hurt me.

We rolled on the floor, caught up with each other, unable to separate ourselves as if a spell had bound us, and I finally emerged on top. I straddled his waist, held him beneath me, and before I knew it, I called his abandoned dagger. The weapon came willingly into my hand; I set its glittering edge to his throat and he went still, his gaze fixed on mine.

And I thought . . . Is this who I am becoming?

I didn’t recognize myself in this tenuous moment.

“Clem,” Phelan said. “Clem . . .” He dared to take a gentle hold of my wrist.

I recoiled from him. I tossed his dirk away; it landed with a plink in the rug. I slid off him and stood, trembling.

He sat forward and rose with fluid grace, putting a safe distance between us.

I felt him stare at me, a heated moment I was reluctant to acknowledge. But soon the draw to meet his eyes was irresistible. I glanced up and held his gaze, unrepentant.

I knew I had wounded him, deeply. He lowered his guard; he looked devastated.

“I hope you enjoyed every moment you played me a fool,” he said.