Dark Heart of Magic (Black Blade #2)(76)

I turned to Mo. “Sorry I didn’t win. I hope I didn’t cost you too much money.”

He grinned and slung his arm around my shoulder. “Don’t worry about it, kid. Easy come, easy go.” His black eyes narrowed. “Besides, you did your best, right? That’s all anyone can ask of you.”

“My best. Right.”

Mo stared at me, and I realized that he knew I’d thrown the match as well. But apparently he decided not to call me on it in front of the others.

“Besides,” he continued. “I might have . . . hedged a few of my bets, so to speak, just in case things didn’t go the way I wanted them to. If you can’t win, you might as well break even, right?”

I frowned. Something about his words bothered me, although I couldn’t say exactly what it was. Something about hedging your bets and trying to stack the odds in your favor, although I supposed that everyone in the tournament had tried to do that as much as they could over the past few days—even if Devon had told me that there was no way to cheat in the one-on-one matches.

I frowned. Or was there a way to cheat? Maybe all you needed was—

“You did well, Lila,” Claudia said, interrupting my train of thought. “I’m proud of you, regardless of the outcome of the match, and so is everyone else.”

Sincerity flashed in her eyes, but her mouth was set in a hard line, telling me that she, too, realized I’d thrown the fight. I was sure she wanted to know why, although she was polite enough not to demand an answer in front of everyone.

But my friends’ suspicions were nothing compared to having to watch Deah bask in the winner’s glory.

She was still riding shoulders, still the center of everyone’s attention. Finally, though, the officials stepped forward again and broke up the crowd as best as they could. A few seconds later, a low, rolling drumbeat sounded.

“Now what?” I muttered.

Devon gave me a sympathetic look. “Now, the officials will present the winner’s trophy . . . and the one for the runner-up.”

I groaned. “Please don’t tell me that I have to go back out there.”

He winced. “Sorry, Lila.”

Sure enough, one of the officials came over, gesturing for me to go back out into the middle of the stadium, where a small stage had been erected inside the stone ring. By the time I reached the stage, Deah was already standing on it, and I had no choice but to go over, climb the steps, and stand right next to her.

The head official started talking about what an honor it was to oversee the tournament every year, how fiercely all the competitors had fought, and blah, blah, blah, blah. The only thing that mattered right now was the fact that I’d lost. But I plastered a tight smile on my face, raised my hand, and waved to the crowd when I was supposed to. Deah did the same thing, smiling just like I was, although she kept looking at me out of the corner of her eye.

“Why did you let me win?” she muttered during a particularly loud round of applause. “What possible reason could you have had for doing that?”

“What does it matter?” I muttered back. “You won. So shut up, and be happy about it.”

She shook her head. “I didn’t want to win like that. I wanted to earn it for myself. I don’t need your charity or especially your damn pity.”

I opened my mouth to snark back that with her ungrateful attitude, she didn’t have to worry because she wouldn’t be getting either one of those things ever again. But the official stepped forward and presented me with a small silver cup before I could get the words out.

I ground my teeth together, forced myself to smile again, and held the cup up over my head as though I were absolutely thrilled with second place. No bloody way.

After the polite applause had faded away, I lowered the cup and tap-tap-tapped my fingernail against the side of it. Solid sterling silver and worth a pretty penny. Well, at least I’d gotten something out of letting Deah win. Maybe I’d let Mo hock my trophy, such as it was, at the Razzle Dazzle. I certainly didn’t want to keep it and be reminded of how I’d lost.

“And now, I am pleased to present this year’s winner of the Tournament of Blades . . . Deah Draconi!” the official yelled.

Deah got a gold cup—real gold from the way it glimmered in the sun—and hoisted it up and over her head. The Draconi dragon crest had already been stamped into the cup, along with Deah’s name and the date she’d won the tournament. Wow. The engravers around here worked fast. The thought further soured my mood.

The crowd cheered again, the sound rising to a deafening roar, and Deah smiled and waved, although I was the only one who noticed how thin and brittle her expression really was.

Maybe that was because it matched mine perfectly.



Finally, the stupid ceremony wrapped up, and I could leave the stage. I stomped down the stairs and back over to the fence where Devon and Felix were waiting for me, along with Oscar.

“Don’t worry,” Oscar said, fluttering over and landing on my shoulder. “You’ll get her next year.”

“Right,” I muttered. “Next year.”

If one more person said that to me, I was going to scream.

“Come on,” Felix said. “Let’s get you cleaned up and out of those clothes so we can go get some food. I know you must be starving.”

“And how would you know that?”