How many cuts am I going to have to endure? I wish Alice were here.

Greer nudges me with their elbow, and I open my eyes. “That’s messed up, what she said.”

I blink, startled to hear it from someone else this time. “Thanks.”

Someone shushes us from down the line. Greer leans in. “People say shit about me, too. But my parents are major donors. I come from six generations of Vassal service and three generations of Pages, and I’m white, so they get strategic about when and where. Some folks just don’t care to get better or learn more, and it shows.”

“Yeah.” I take a shaky breath. “Yeah.”

“Just remember, you don’t have to be the best. To be eligible for Selection, all we have to do is make it to the end of the tournament without losing or forfeiting. It’s good there are three open Squire spots instead of two. Better odds, you know?”

“Wouldn’t say that.” Whitty is on my right. “The higher-ranked the Line, the more folks’ll be gunning for its title.” Greer nods, their face solemn.

This is gonna be a long few months.

The air pressure changes, setting off a small pop! in my ears. In the next heartbeat, the dark trees in front of us smear and twist into a black-and-green knot, then unfurl with a snap into an identical scene that now includes a line of eight hooded, robed figures. While the Pages beside me gasp in surprise, I scent the air, on edge.

Where is that damn Merlin?

But the smell of Sel’s casting never comes, likely carried away by the warm wind flowing across our faces. The figures take a single, unified step forward, their robes dragging in the grass. Shadows deepen between the folds of the heavy material, and the cowls are so full that nothing of their faces remains visible. I’m certain they’re all Legendborn, but it’s impossible to tell who is who. Beside me, Greer sucks in a breath.

Together, the figures say, “One at a time,” and everything goes dark.

Complete, endless black. Before the cinnamon-smoke scent even reaches my nose, I know that Sel’s mesmer has taken our sight.

My heart lurches against my ribs. Someone yelps, the sound breaking against the trees.

“Quiet!” Vaughn snaps.

Movement, ahead of me. The soft whisper of one pair of feet moving over dry grass. Closer. Greer’s breath, coming in short pants. A sharp gasp far to my left. A pause. Louder steps, shuffling, the sound moving farther away. Two pairs of feet, maybe. Where are they taking us?

One at a time.

The same cycle again, this time to my right. I hear Whitty grunt before he and his escort walk forward. Greer goes next. Then one more. Legendborn sponsors taking their Pages?