“I should practise more,” she said.
“We’re going to need another worm then,” Nassar said.
She glanced at the beast. It lay dead, sliced in half.
“You killed it,” he told her. “Sometimes the Barrier magic can also become a blade.”
“But I don’t even know how I’ve done it.”
“We don’t need to worry about that now,” he said. “As long as you can defend me, we should be fine.”
Three days later Grace stood in the middle of the street in Milligan City, hugging herself as the sun set slowly. Nassar loomed next to her. Behind them unfamiliar people moved, their magic shifting with them, their clothes colour-coded by their clan: grey and black for Dreoch, green for Roar, red for Madrid. Nassar had explained the rest of the colours, but she couldn’t recall any of it. The anxiety pulsated through her with every heartbeat.
Ahead a seemingly empty stretch of a suburban street rolled into the sunset. The round, red sun hung low above the horizon, a glowing brand upon the clouds.
Familiar magic brushed her and a heavy hand touched her shoulder gently. Nassar. He wore grey pants tucked into military boots. A long-sleeved shirt hugged his arms and over it he wore a leather vest that wanted very much to be called armour. She wore the same outfit. The leather fitted her loosely enough not to be constricting, but tight enough not to get in the way.
“Don’t worry,” Nassar said.
Her gaze slid to the large axe strapped to his waist. She touched her own blade, a long, narrow combat knife. Gerald had taught her the basics of knife-fighting a long time ago but she’d never been in a real fight.
A male voice rose to the side. “Can he bring a servant into the game?”
It took a moment to sink in. Of course, her status would be public knowledge among them, but it still cut her like a knife. She turned. A group of people stood on the side. Five of them wore dark blue robes. The arbitrators, she remembered from Nassar’s explanations. An older female in the arbitrator robe regarded her with serious grey eyes.
“If you want to withdraw, you may do so now,” the woman said.
She could withdraw. She could simply refuse to go in. If she did, Nassar would be doomed. He had already committed to the game and she knew he couldn’t simply substitute someone else in his place. He wouldn’t.
Overnight, her fears had grown into near panic. Now she could walk away from them.
Grace looked at the gathering of the clansmen. Her family used to be a clan. Her people should have stood right here. Instead the clansmen viewed her as a servant. Pride spiked in her. She had as much right to be here as anybody else. The vague feeling of unease that had eaten at her ever since Nassar had transformed into a bird crystallized and she finally understood it: it was envy. Envy of the magic used freely. Envy of knowledge. Circumstances had jettisoned her out of this world, but she refused to stay locked out.
Grace drew herself to her full height. “Why in the world would I want to withdraw?”
A red-haired man in Clan Roar’s green shook his head. “She can’t refuse. She isn’t even properly trained. She’s a servant.”
“Not any more,” Nassar said softly behind her.
The gathering suddenly grew quiet.
The arbitrator surveyed them for a long moment. “Nassar, am I to understand that you’ve released Clan Mailliard from their service?”
“Yes,” he answered.
The arbitrator looked at her. “You’re here of your own free will?”
“Yes,” Grace said.
The arbitrator glanced at the Roar clansman. “There is your answer. Let the record reflect that Clan Mailliard chose to assist Clan Dreoch. You have our leave to proceed.”
They passed her. Grace let out her breath.
“Thank you,” Nassar murmured.
“You’re welcome.”
Two young men in Clan Roar’s green came to stand at the other end of the street. Both were lean, strong and hard, as if twisted from leather and twine. Both had long hair bound into horse tails: one red, one black.