He bowed. The response from the crowd this time was less enthusiastic. As he strode off arrogantly, there was a whine from the microphone and the Carnegie lordling spoke up once more.

‘I am sure the symbolism is not lost on this esteemed crowd,’ he intoned. ‘With one breath, you can be riding high and winning. But these are the Games; one false step and your success will wither and die before your very eyes. As might you. We have done what we can to assure competitors that their safety is uppermost in our minds, but accidents do happen. There may be severe consequences for those who fail in the two more risky challenges.’

I didn’t think I was imagining the bloodthirsty glint in his eyes, or that he flicked a look at me. I straightened my shoulders. They could underestimate me all they wished; it would only serve to make my win sweeter.

‘The Artistry challenge will begin at dawn tomorrow. We don’t expect any life-threatening wounds in that one.’ He paused while the crowd dutifully chuckled. ‘Until then, we beg you to enjoy the refreshments we have arranged. These Games will go down in history as the best ever. The Carnegie Clan will see to that.’ He stepped down from the dais.

‘Yeah, right,’ Angus whispered in my ear. ‘Last time around, when Gale Adair ‒ your father ‒ won, the Jardine Clan were the organisers. They had twelve Gifted illusionists. Apparently the show they put on was so spectacular it will never be beaten. The Carnegies hate the Jardines but it doesn’t matter what they do, they can’t surpass that kind of spectacle.’

I raised my eyebrows. ‘Were you even born when the last Games took place?’

‘No, but I’ve heard a lot about them.’

I ignored the Sidhe around me who were getting up and preparing to leave the field. ‘My father?’ I asked. ‘What did you hear about him?’

Angus smiled. ‘He was a hero. According to Lily, anyway. He could have asked for anything but all he wanted was a black rose.’

I was fascinated – and very, very eager to know more. ‘Why?’ I asked. ‘Why a black rose?’

‘Lily told me that it was because he wanted to prove that it wasn’t about the prize. And the prophecy might have had something to do with it because…’

‘It’s time to go.’ Byron was standing in front of us. I thought he’d been glaring before; now he looked about ready to wring my neck.

‘In a minute.’

‘The MacQuarrie Chieftain wants to speak to his son.’

I was surprised, I hadn’t realised Angus was so high up the food chain. I was also very irritated at the interruption. What prophecy?

‘I’d better go.’ Angus stood up, his eyes crinkling with bonhomie. He took my hand and pressed it against his lips. ‘Until next time, Chieftain Adair.’