My father rose. The chair nearly overturned in his haste, and my heart was pounding, my hands shaking as I also stood. Papa had not won the wardenship of Hereswith; it had been passed down to him when the previous magician had retired, nine years ago. He had never stood in the place of Lennox Vesper. He had never stolen territory from another magician.

“I heard you, Mr. Lennox,” said Papa, and his voice was hoarse, his distress making my glamour waver on him for a breath. “I accept your challenge. You have an hour to make it to the market green of Hereswith, where Clementine and I will meet you for the challenge of the new moon.”

Lennox bowed. He left his red handkerchief on the table as a mark of contract, and retrieved his cloak and weapon, Phelan following him. I held my breath as I watched them depart. Even Imonie seemed unable to breathe as she stood in the kitchen, staring at the table, the dinner half eaten on the plates.

The cottage was quiet again. A quiet that wanted to crush my heart.

I turned to look at Papa, my glamour melting away from him. It should have held for at least another hour, but my magic turned brittle in that moment.

“Here, Papa. Sit.”

He allowed me to ease him back into the chair, and he sat with a groan.

“Imonie?” I glanced at her. “Some warm wine with clove and honey for Papa?”

She began to move to the wine cupboard until my father spoke.

“No,” he said. We never drank before battle because it dulled the senses, and I knelt at Papa’s side, my thoughts whirling.

“You’re too ill to accept this challenge, Papa. Let me answer it for you.”

“I’ve no choice, Clem. And I won’t let you face them alone.” He looked at me, his eyes bloodshot. “I’ve no choice,” he repeated in a whisper, and rubbed his brow. We didn’t have much time, and I cracked my knuckles, anxious until Papa took my hand.

“We have the advantage,” he said, and Imonie rushed to make him a warm cup of tea since he would not take the wine. “We know the nightmares that might appear tonight. The magicians of Amarys don’t.”

“Yes, but . . .”

“We’ll treat this night no differently, daughter,” my father said. “Let me rest for half an hour and then we’ll go.” He leaned his head back against the chair and closed his eyes.

Imonie set the cup of steaming tea down on the table. She looked at my father before she pinned her gaze on me.

“This is your night, Clementine,” Imonie said. “Your father will accompany you, but you’ll have to be his strength. You’ll have to defeat this dream before that upstart does. Be patient. Be shrewd.”