With a victorious roar that rattled the walls, dislodging a rain of stone dust from the ceiling, the gryphon dropped its wings to allow Gareth to pass, before flaring them out again to block Rowan. Just as Gareth raced onward, Talia appeared around the corner, whipping down the hall with her black braid flying behind her like a pennant.

“It’s Angel’s Breath,” Rowan hollered over his shoulder at her, correctly assuming that the spell itself was fair game once the correct question had been spoken by one of the combatants. His face set with concentration as he opened his mouth to begin casting himself.

Leaving them to their task, I trailed after Gareth, who’d followed the Gauntlet token out into the castle courtyard, where the mandatory jousting and equestrian shows usually took place. An iridescently painted sculpture of a dragon sat coiled up in one corner, where it served as a photo op prop between jousts. It had moveable jaws, the kind you could lever up and down to make it look like it was eating your head.

But now, it came to roaring life, flapping leathery wings and exhaling controlled bouts of flame as it slouched its way toward Gareth. When it reached him, it unhinged its massive jaws—and the token flew right into its mouth, the dragon’s jagged maw snapping closed over it.

“From life to nothing,” it exhaled on a stream of smoke, bringing its nose close to Gareth’s face once the fire had died down. Its eyes glittered like faceted jewels, and the token shone, faintly and invitingly, through the gaps between its interlocking yellowed teeth.

Like the combatants had done with the hydra so many years before, Gareth would need to pry the token out of its mouth—but unlike then, this was a challenge of wit, not of strength. He wasn’t meant to be battling it.

By the time Talia and Rowan came barreling into the courtyard, Gareth had deduced what he had to do instead.

“What is the Disanimating Curse?” he called out triumphantly, a wide grin splitting his face as he lifted both hands to cast the spell that would turn the dragon back to inanimate—and allow Gareth to safely retrieve the token from its mouth.

Back in front of the castle, I clenched my fists with powerless fury; this was it, then. He was going to do it. Like always, like every damn time, the bastard was really going to win.

“Rowan,” Talia called out, lightning brewing in her eyes. “On my mark! Ready, set . . . NOW!”

Ectoplasm burst from her hands; a coil of writhing black, winding its way around Gareth like a shroud. Before he could react, a plume of Rowan’s raw magic, emerald green shading down to tender pink, twisted itself through the coil of ectoplasm, slipping into any negative space. For a moment, their life and death magics were intertwined in a floating ring, locked fist in fist like their alliance given shape.

This was it, I thought, with a rising spiral of wonder. They were really fucking doing it, just like we’d planned.