‘Clan…’ There was a pause. It seemed like the twenty-thousand-strong crowd were holding their breath. ‘… Adair,’ the Carnegie lordling finished.

I smiled broadly. ‘See?’ I said to him. ‘You said the word aloud and you didn’t spontaneously combust!’

He ignored me. ‘Who will stand for you?’

Silence rippled across the crowd like a Mexican wave.

The Bull reluctantly got to his feet. ‘Clan Scrymgeour.’

Several of the other Chieftains did double takes and there were a few nudges. The Bull shrugged. From where I was standing I heard him mutter a vague explanation: ‘She was my ward. What else am I supposed to do?’

I almost snorted. If I didn’t have his true name and hadn’t forced him to speak up, he’d have spat on me before supporting me. And his support didn’t even matter.

I turned to Aifric, waiting for him to throw in his hat. The voice which followed, however, wasn’t his.

‘Clan MacQuarrie.’

I took a half-step backwards. The MacQuarrie Chieftain twinkled down at me. ‘For Lily,’ he mouthed.

I was taken aback; I thought they’d blamed me for Lily’s death. After all, I did show up at their gates with her corpse in my arms. I was going to gain admission to the Games after all. A tiny smile tugged at the corner of my mouth. No. Way.

Aifric looked at me. He remained sitting, but there was no mistaking the overdone sorrow in his expression. My eyes narrowed. I knew he was a murdering bastard but he’d promised publicly to support me. It appeared, however, that I couldn’t count on honour from him. I drew in a shaky breath. To have come this close and have the opportunity snatched away at the last moment … talk about a rollercoaster.

‘Clan Polwarth.’

There was a flash of darkness from Aifric. I was dumbfounded – I wasn’t even sure who the Polwarth Chieftain was. I searched the stand, finally alighting on the rake-thin figure of the Sidhe who was standing up. Of everyone, he was dressed appropriately for the weather with an animal skin draped round his shoulders. I spotted the glint of an old carabineer at his belt and understood. Isla, my mate from mountain rescue: she wasn’t a Sidhe, but clearly her role in mountain rescue meant something. The man who’d given his support flashed me a smile and sat down again.

‘Clan Adair has the requisite three votes and is permitted to compete.’

I lifted my eyes and looked at Aifric. He was probably as surprised as I was. The sorrow on his face had been replaced by a beaming grin and he clapped loudly. I curtsied and wished him dead, before remembering that I was a pacifist and I shouldn’t ever wish for someone to die. Not with Bob clinging to my neck or this weird Gift knocking around in my blood.