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She curses and lashes out with a blade of her own. I manage to jerk my head out of the way and wrench my hand up to try to force her surrender with my knife at her throat.
At the last second, she squirms partly out from under me. As I lunge after her, she swipes out with her knife again. Her boot slams into my gut when I dodge.
I reel backward, and a chorus of gasps rises up from the audience. When I glance around, most of the onlookers are staring at me rather than the trial.
My hand darts to my neck and finds nothing. The attacker must have snapped the chain holding my charm with one of those slashes I dodged.
She’s still invisible, but the hum of the magic wafts off her. There’s no time to worry about my exposure. I throw myself in the direction she’s scrambling.
I collide with her hard enough to knock a grunt from her lungs. We tumble over again, my elbow jarring against the platform floor.
A cry rings out behind me. I yank my head around just in time to see a blaze of magic hurtling straight toward me—and Sulla sprinting out across the stage.
She flings herself right in front of the searing projectile with a burst of her own magic. I don’t know why she didn’t try to deflect it from farther away—maybe she didn’t trust her focus when she’s never used her magic in combat or on this scale before.
The blaze rams into her. Her body crumples, spasming as it hits the floor.
A cry of my own lodges in my throat. But I can’t run over to help her, because the would-be assassin is flailing at me like a wild cat.
I’m too distracted, and my opponent’s dagger catches me across the jaw. A stinging line opens up in my flesh.
I shove her backward, driving her between two of the towers.
I have to get her away from Petra. Away from view. Stop this assault from becoming a total disaster.
The woman is clearly skilled in combat, but she didn’t get the training I did on the streets. I dodge her next kick and dive in low, knocking her off her feet again. Rolling to the side, I jab my elbow into her nose.
My magic writhes alongside my limbs, rattling against my hold. I just need to subdue her—the guards will want to question her—if she can reveal that she isn’t acting alone, we’ll have proof to call for Lothar’s arrest…
An urgent yell blares from the back of the platform. In the second I glance up, the woman seizes the opening. She stabs her blade straight at my neck.
My body reacts on instinct. I flinch, and my hand is already swinging.
Driving my own blade into her heart.
Her body sags, her knife only nicking my throat. Bitterness taints the relief that sweeps through me, but I don’t have time to think about that.
Because the next thing I hear is Stavros’s voice, taut and angry. “Ivy, we need you here.”
When I step away from the body, the woman I just killed fades before my eyes. Whatever magic she had on her, it must require some kind of trigger to remove it.
The only evidence of her existence right now is the blood slowly staining the floorboards as it seeps far enough away from her slumped form.
I look up and realize several guards and a few daimon have gathered nearby, all of them braced and ready to leap in.
“She had a dagger—she was heading for Petra,” I say quickly. “I stopped her.”
Stavros’s voice carries from farther back, in the shadows of the arching obstacle course. “Good. Now we need to deal with this traitor.”
As I push myself forward, Casimir’s soothing tones reach my ears from the front of the stage. He’s speaking to the audience. “Our guards are dealing with the security problem. We’ll ensure any threat to the candidates is subdued.”
I have no idea how my sudden appearance and the confusing fight the onlookers witnessed has affected the trial, but that can’t even be my second priority right now. As I hurry over, I’m already saying, “Sulla was hit by some kind of magic. She looked badly hurt. We’ll need a healer?—”
One of the guards interjects. “A couple of Elox dedicats have already gone over to see if there’s anything they can do for her.”
His tone doesn’t give me any clue as to whether she was still even alive. I swallow thickly and then stall in my tracks at the sight of the man at the other end of Stavros’s sword.
The former general has Lothar partly cornered against the underside of the arch. Three armed men form a semi-circle behind the leader of the Order, but they’re on our side, their own weapons braced to come to bear if he makes a sudden move. A few more of our soldiers flank Stavros.
