“No, but I won’t be taken out that easily,” Abel said. He yawned and stretched out his arms, the picture of ease and confidence.

“What about your Beast, Barclay?” Ethel asked. “It’s all anyone can talk about now. They don’t even mind that you got second twice, now that they know you’re powerful.”

“It’s better that I don’t summon him,” Barclay grumbled.

“Better? Or easier?” Viola asked pointedly.

At this, Barclay’s Mark gave a sudden twitch. He didn’t even have to look at it to know what Root was doing—cocking his head, being snide and teasing like he normally was. But Barclay wasn’t playing a game. He couldn’t be a Lore Keeper. He needed to go home.

He barely slept at all that night, knowing only three more victories separated him from first place. And worse, it had only just occurred to him that those victories might be against his friends.

The next day, Abel got his wish. His match with Tadg was the first that morning. Even though it was raining, the final battles of the Exhibition had still managed to draw a large audience.

Abel barely waited for Erhart to begin the match. He quickly conjured a wall of mirrors and leaped inside.

Barclay cheered, expecting one of Abel’s usual quick victories. However, after Abel hurtled out to grasp at Tadg’s flag, he sprawled back in pain.

“What happened?” asked Viola.

“Did Tadg hit him?” asked Barclay.

“He electrocuted him!” Ethel said. “That’s what he does when he touches you. It zaps!”

While Abel clambered to his feet, Tadg crouched on the ground and placed both of his palms on the grass. Something bright shot across the field, so fast that Barclay couldn’t tell what it was. Abel dodged out of the way and fled back into the safety of the mirrors, but then there was a loud crash. And all the mirrors shattered.

The audience gasped.

Abel was gone.

Barclay jumped to his feet. “He’s not… He can’t be dead, can he?” The other students around him looked equally as shocked and whispered among themselves.

Soren called the match for Tadg, who strutted off the field into his cheering band of admirers. He grinned widely, and Barclay feared that whatever he’d done to Abel must’ve been truly horrible.

Ethel, however, didn’t look as concerned about her brother’s disappearance. “He’s just stuck as a reflection,” she said simply.

“He is?!” Barclay asked, aghast. “Can you save him?”

“He just needs to run off and find some other mirror, like in a nearby house or inn.”

“But you can conjure mirrors.”

She shrugged. “Yes, but he’ll be so grumpy that he lost to Tadg. Let’s leave him as a reflection for a bit.”

The next match was between one of the opponents Barclay didn’t know well and Emilie with the dragon. She did summon the dragon for this match, and it looked nothing like Mitzi. It was tall—nearly fully grown—with brown scales and eyes that glowed like firelight. When it roared, everyone in the crowd picked up their umbrellas and seats and moved back several paces.