Every other head in the courtyard swiveled to me, waiting for the Arbiter to make the call. At least Gareth had the good grace to look abashed, clearly miserable at the idea of moving forward with Talia heaped on the cold stones with ghosts swimming in her eyes.

Unfortunately, I already knew from my own careful reading of the rules that Igraine was technically right; worse yet, the mantle appeared to agree with her, too. I could feel its approval emanating from within me, and the beckoning pull of the Grimoire from beyond the castle walls, where it had likely already cooked up the challenge that would break the tie.

“That’s correct,” I confirmed, the words curdling in my mouth even as I spoke them. “We do have to go on. Tonight.”

“But the Avramovs won’t have a champion!” Elena protested, one hand still on Talia’s forehead, fury seething in her eyes. “I just said the banishment will take all of us, and it needs to happen now—which means there’s no one left to take Natalia’s place as alternate! How are we meant to compete if—”

“Then the Avramovs must forfeit,” Igraine interrupted, as if such an injustice made all the sense in the world. A silky, malicious pleasure laced her tone, almost undetectable if you weren’t listening for it as closely as I was. For all her practiced decorum, the miserable old scally was beside herself with glee. You could almost hear how much effort it was costing her not to grin from ear to ear. “And allow Scions Blackmoore and Thorn to carry on alone. Is that not the case, Arbiter? Rule Twenty-Two covers this exigency, I believe: protocol in the absence of a champion.”

Except that there was a loophole here, I realized, with the sudden stirrings of excitement, the barest tickle of an idea burgeoning. The Gauntlet rules didn’t specify any requirements for an alternate champion, besides the fact that one couldn’t be drawn from the other competing families—which usually did mean they had to come from the same family.

But now . . .

“It does,” I agreed. “Or it would, in the absence of a viable alternate.”

Igraine’s face clouded with confusion, suspicion milky in her eyes. “But there isn’t one. Elder Avramov just told us as much.”

I let myself sink into the mantle’s elation as I rose to my feet, soaring to the Arbiter’s towering height. I was so tall now that I loomed high above the courtyard, cold wind whistling around my temples, so that even the swarming host of spectators beyond the ramparts could see me easily. A goddess sprouting like a sword from Castle Camelot’s campy-ass stone.

How do you like this version of Excalibur, you Blackmoore twats?

I had no real idea what the fuck I was doing, whether it would even work. But no matter what happened, I knew Talia wouldn’t want me to abandon everything she, Linden, and I had fought for since the start.

For Talia’s sake, I had to at least give it one good shot.