“Get out of my way, Chatham, or I’ll really kill you this time,” Lena said with false bravado. She dropped into a fighting stance, drawing on her power in the way she’d been taught, feeling it rush through her body but holding it steady beneath her skin. Her heart was hammering. By her side, Emris raised his own palms: the air around them warped, gray streams of light emanating from his body, ghostly as starlight.

“Do you really presume to fight me?” Chatham laughed. The bright, humming electricity surrounding his hands spread up his arms, around his shoulders, and down his body, growing brighter.

Lena gasped and staggered against Emris, the breath snatched from her by the force of Chatham’s power. She had to squint to look at him—but when she did, she caught an unmistakable flash of rainbow-blackness. “Emris, his eyes!”

“Chaos-infected,” Emris said under his breath. “As I suspected.”

“Chaos is the most powerful, purest form of magic,” Chatham said, his voice weirdly distorted. “And I have mastered the art of bending it to my will. Shall I show you?”

But it was Emris who attacked first, sending a punch of sleek gray light directly into Chatham’s stomach. The magician doubled over, scowled, retaliated with a zap of bright-yellow electricity, but Emris cleverly twisted and deflected the attack with a corkscrew of air, hitting the guard behind Lena, who had been cautiously edging closer to the fight. He fell instantly, his face ashen—and the other guards hesitated. Chatham attacked a second time, and Emris ducked. In a curve of his hand, he twisted the air near Chatham’s feet, his magic glowing a moonlight-silver. Chatham stumbled, but he didn’t fall: it wasn’t enough. His next attack hit Emris square in the chest, and Emris staggered back, obviously dazed, barely keeping his balance. He fell onto one knee.

“Emris!” Lena shouted. The duel had passed in a matter of seconds and had drawn them farther down the street. She hurried toward him, summoning a punch of cloud that knocked Chatham on the side of his head; then she looped Emris’s arm around her shoulder. Supporting his weight, she started to climb back up the steps to the Holy Council, shouting “Help! Help!” at the top of her lungs.

But she was only halfway up when she felt Chatham’s burning magic close about her ankle, yanking her backward. Her leg hit hard stone, her shin screaming. Emris fell at her side. Chatham twisted his hand and turned her over, grabbing her and pressing her down. His fingers were tight and cold around her arms, and a step dug into the nape of her neck. The serpent flashed into her mind, the dark, icy chips of its eyes watching her die. Chatham’s handsome face had grown ugly, contorted in rage.