There, they came to a skidding halt, as a massive, clanking suit of armor stepped out to block their way. The Gauntlet token paused right behind it, glimmering above one of its shoulders like a taunt.

“Shoots from stone,” the suit of armor demanded in a metallic wheeze, spreading its arms expectantly.

The combatants exchanged looks with one another, clearly baffled by what it wanted from them. Gareth decided to play it tricky and feinted to one side, presumably to see if maybe that’s what the Grimoire had meant by wit. Juking sideways in a flash, the empty knight hauled off and whacked Gareth upside the head—hard enough for the clank of impact to ricochet all around the hall, apparently more for effect than to inflict any actual damage. Gareth took a stumbling step back, rubbing petulantly at his head, looking more annoyed than hurt.

“Shoots . . . from . . . stone,” the suit said again, more belabored this time, as if it was coaching not particularly bright children.

“Shoots from stone,” Rowan repeated to himself, face clearing, and I could see the glinting moment the penny dropped. “Shoots from stone, wait . . . The Verdant Awakening Charm! That’s it, right? That’s what you want?”

The suit tipped its head to the side encouragingly, then whistled the lilting notes of a melody, naggingly familiar. For some reason, it reminded me of the last line of the challenge. Consider them query and answer both . . .

“What the fuck?” Gareth muttered beside Rowan. “I still don’t get it.”

Rowan stood in confusion for a moment, then let out a whooping laugh, slapping his thighs. “Wow, really? Okay, I guess, why not. What is the Verdant Awakening Charm?”

“Grimoire Jeopardy!” Talia exclaimed, as she got it, too. “It’s playing magical Jeopardy! with us!”

But the answering question wasn’t enough by itself, I realized, as the suit of armor gestured at Rowan again; it wanted him to cast the actual spell. This challenge was about testing the combatants’ knowledge and recollection of the Grimoire, but also their proficiency at casting the spells themselves.

And of course it would have been Rowan who remembered this one first; it was a green spell, falling squarely in the Thorn domain. But the Thorns also made a habit of studying the Grimoire’s hundreds of spells more extensively than most Avramovs and Blackmoores ever bothered to do. The two stronger families could usually realize their magical intent by brute force, without bothering with specificity and finesse.

Unlike them, the Thorns tended to do their homework, and here that effort counted.

Grinning broadly, Rowan cast Verdant Awakening, drawing shoots of green from the cracks between the floor’s stone blocks, polished smooth as river rock by hordes of tourist feet. His ivy sprouted quickly and easily, climbing into the air as if searching for a trellis, and the suit of armor clasped its gauntlets together, then beckoned Rowan through.

When Gareth tried to race after him in pursuit, the empty knight bore down on him, reaching for the scabbarded sword slung around its waist.