I turn their words over in my mind, speechless for a moment. I’d completely forgotten how the night started. The scavenger hunt, the trial, the tournament. Right.

Nick fills me in while I’m still recalibrating. “You, Vaughn, and Whitty found far and away the most objects on the list, followed by Sydney, Greer, and Blake. Carson only found two objects, and Spencer”—a line appears between his brows—“got pinned by one of Sel’s hounds. They’re both out.”

Down in the infirmary, William said that the Kingsmage hadn’t come home yet. I wonder if he’s off somewhere licking his wounds after the fight with Nick.

“It’s only the combat trial left now,” Whitty says, stifling a yawn. “I heard that’s Thursday, with everythin’ headin’ the way it is.”

“Thursday?” I croak. When Lord Davis announced the accelerated tournament schedule, six weeks had sounded like enough time to at least learn how to fight decently with one weapon. Maybe the cudgel. But today is Saturday. What could I learn in five days? “What happened to six weeks?”

Nick stiffens beside me. “That was before Tor was Called.”

“Sorry, Bree,” Greer mutters, shifting their weight from one foot to the next. Whitty winces, his expression sympathetic. They both know what I know, which is that there’s almost no chance I’ll do well in the final trial. Greer and Whitty say their goodbyes and head out the front door. I watch them go, my heart sinking.

“I may as well quit now.”

“Only if you want to,” Nick says with a sigh, looping our fingers together. I send him a questioning look, and he shrugs. “I made a few calls while you were downstairs. I requested that one of the Lieges who trained me—one of the good ones—lead the training sessions for the group. Gillian’s solid. I trust her.”

“Is she a miracle worker?”

The side of his mouth lifts. “Better. The former Scion of Kay. You don’t need to win every match on Thursday. You just need to lose well.”

I sigh and shake my head. “Losing well sounds a lot like regular losing.”

“They aren’t the same thing,” he murmurs, his thumb passing over my knuckles. “Believe me.”

We pause in the middle of the foyer and stare up at the windows as the sun creeps forth and early morning birds start their day. I glance at Nick beside me, his head tilted back and eyes closed, his blond hair turned gold in the light. His face appears illuminated from within. I try to imagine him as a king in a painting, noble and stern. I can almost see it. Especially after tonight. Maybe I should try to tell him. Explain what happened to me.

“Nick?”

“Hm?”