The group erupts into whispers, some conversations even carrying across species. Hm. Well. Maybe I could have sold that little bit of information. But I mean, come on. That has to be a pretty early evolution of the Skill. Rare, at the latest.

  The bomb about the Bui’s nature seems to have unified them enough that they are, at least for these next few minutes, allies instead of enemies. It won’t last. The existence of the Bui is enough to degrade social ties, turn friend on friend, and make species doubt each other as much as any outside enemy. It doesn’t take a scholar to know that suspicion will run rampant, and everyone without high enough Identification will jump at the shadows of their own species.

  “Yes, uh, Identification. If you evolve it high enough, you get quite a bit of information about, well, almost everything. I’m not sure how high it takes before you can tell when someone’s been Buied, but I can tell you it’s probably saved my life a hundred times already.”

  “How high did you evolve it?” Ezyo asks after a moment.

  “High,” I answer evenly. They all stare at me, and part of me wants to defiantly flex my Mythic Skill, but I keep it in. “Higher than anyone here, probably.”

  “What does it say about me?” he asks, leaning back. His shoulder brushes Vesyla’s hip. She frowns down at him, annoyed at the familiarity. I realize the expression is mirrored on my face, so I force a smile. Macbeth style. The ‘here there be daggers in men’s smiles’ kind of smile. I let my eyes drift to Vesyla, and she raises an eyebrow.

  Don’t worry, baby girl. I’ll fuck him up if you ask me to.

  “Don’t reveal too much.”

  Yeah, I know.

  Identification: Ezyo, Drelni Twincutter

  Level: 46

  Strengths: Intelligence, Strength, Charisma

  Weaknesses: Will

  Skills: Perfect Cut, Splitsword, Shade Step

  The Drelni are the Competitor species of the Third. A race evolved to feed directly on soul energy, the Drelni live in a delicate, parasitic balance with the other species of their homeworld.

  Ezyo was a trainee of the lowest Echelon of the Eighteenth of Goas, barely above a recruit in the ranks of the Blademasters. He was close to expulsion for his marked lack of talent when he stumbled upon an Artifact containing the soul of an ancient Blade and, in an action breaking every sacred Drelni law, allowed the soul into his own body in a bid for power. His treachery had not been discovered prior to the commencement of the Tournament.

  “Uh…” I say, reading the second paragraph again. “You’re level 46, your Class is called Twincutter, and you… hm.”

  “What?” he says, grinning arrogantly. Several people flinch at his level, though I imagine that’s because they don’t realize how fucking strong some of the leaders are. “What do you hide?”

  “Are you entirely sure you want me to say?” I ask, eyes sliding again to Vesyla. Her eyes flick between Ezyo and I in confusion.

  “I’ve nothing to hide from scum such as this,” he says, leaning back until his long hair drapes over his chair. “Speak of my greatness, human.”

  “If you’re sure,” I say, shrugging. “You were a shitty swordsman on the edge of getting kicked out of your super special club, and then you let some ancient soul guy inhabit your body so you wouldn’t flunk out.” He snaps upright, and Vesyla’s eyes bore into the side of his face, something like recognition on her face. “Honestly, I’m not sure if we’re talking to you, the sword soul guy, or some combination of the two. Which is it?”

  “You dare spread lies—”

  “Listen, buddy, I gave you every opportunity. If Vesyla here wants to stick you with her sword, that’s her prerogative.”

  His face loses any semblance of composure, his lips trembling with rage. I decline, for the fifth time in as many minutes, a request for a duel. He stands stiffly without another word and stalks out, not once looking at Vesyla. I don’t know her well, but there’s a solemnity to her face that feels out of place. She’s always had a playful air, like the tournament and all its dangers are a game she’s enjoying rather than a desperate struggle. That’s gone, now. In its place is an aura of danger, like ice splintering beneath your feet. She glances at me and her lip shifts in the ghost of a lopsided smile.

  “Well, this has been exciting,” she says jokingly, glancing around at the silent table before settling on me. “Sam, thank you. For the warning, and for the… information. If what you said of Ezyo is true, it would answer… many questions.” She looks down, her lips pressing together tightly, long silver hair swaying across her face. “Some things are more important than survival.”

  With a last smile that punches through my chest, she leaves, hand firmly gripping the hilt of her sword. The group breaks up without much fanfare. The Ekinor, Laranya, and Urnza representatives leave without a backward glance. Except for Weri’s glare. And a sixth duel request. Vurin looks lost in thought as he drifts out, his wings beating gently behind him. Ellie gives me a smile and thumbs up on the way out, and the Gorinar shaman offers me a respectful nod.

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  Grent stands with a grunt, the buttons of his vest straining to hold in his belly. His scaled face seems locked in a perpetual scowl as he looks me up and down.

  “We’ve business to discuss, you and I,” he says slowly.

  “Oh?”

  “The Cobald who travels with you was one of my employees. He signed a binding contract to work for me.” His dark slitted eyes glitter. “I expect him back to work tomorrow.”

  “No problem with me,” I say openly. “Though we both know what you just said is bullshit.”

  “Excuse me?” he says, placing a clawed hand over his chest, golden chains rustling.

  “My Identification tells me all sorts of things. Like how, when I first met Burl, he was unemployed.” Grent is too smooth an operator to reveal anything in his face, but a ripple goes down his scales. “You might have once had a binding contract, but you fired him when he was hurt fighting a combat Challenge for you. I don’t know much about your people, but I’m pretty damn certain that you don’t have even a hint of magical or legal standing when it comes to Burl’s employment.”

  “Clever, for a softskin,” he says, his scowl smoothing. He flares his nostrils wide. “I assume you are now his employer?”

  “Oh, buddy, no. Not even close. We’re friends, not business partners.”

  “It is my turn to declare a statement you’ve made as the aforementioned ‘bullshit.’” His jewelry tinkles as he raises a clawed finger and stabs it towards my chest. “No Cobald would lift a finger for another without proper compensation. None.”

  I shrug and nod. Part of me wants to argue, but the reality is that he knows his people better than I do. More, my Identification told me that Burl is, literally, the only Cobald working for free in the entire tournament. So yeah. He’s basically right.

  “I meant what I said before, Grent. I don’t have a problem if he wants to go work for you again. Make him a fair offer, and you might convince him. He’s still a Cobald.” He turns to go with a grunt, his lackeys trailing behind him. “Oh, Mr. Grent?” He half-turns back to me, chains swaying. “He’s pretty strong now. Almost as strong as you without a Corp to back him. The price to hire him would be pretty astronomical.” My smile shows teeth. “But then again, who knows. Maybe you could work for him.”

  The thickset Cobald hisses.

  “I’ll enjoy watching my employees beat you to death,” he snarls, and stomps—jingles—out of the room.

  The Aethid leader moves to follow. Her ‘bodyguard’ steps close to whisper something to her at the door. The pompous woman gives me an imperious look before waving impatiently and disappearing across the threshold. The Bui imposter stares at me in the empty room. Well, nearly empty. The Otachai matron, Greenflower, moves with the quiet patience of the ancient as she slowly descends from her chair.

  “No duel request?” I say after a moment, feeling tired. “No declaration of lasting enmity and hatred?”

  “No,” Je, or Lurn, says, elven face contemplative.

  “Then what?”

  “We knew the secret of our nature wouldn’t endure. It lasted longer than we hoped, but shorter than we dreamed.” She tilts her head, short dark hair framing her face. “Why did you reveal our presence in this fashion? It will be devastating, and to more than just my people. All will suffer, ascending and quiescent alike. I would know your motives.”

  Ascending. Lurn ‘ascended’ eleven times before the tournament. Probably the process of successful absorption of another person’s body and soul. Revolting, terrifying, and… just who they were evolved to be.

  “My first interaction with your people was on the Havenless night, and—”

  “No, it wasn’t. But continue.”

  “Uh, right. I guess I don’t have any idea how many times I might have come across your people. So let’s just say the first I learned of your people was on the Havenless night. A Bui pretended to be a harmless pacifist in our apartments, and he took the opportunity of the fallen protections to murder dozens of trusting humans. People he feigned friendship with, people who trusted him with their lives. He stabbed them in the back. Literally.”

  “So it is revenge, then.” She sounds vaguely disappointed.

  “Not really,” I say, trying to find the words. “Listen, I get it. All’s fair in love and war or whatever. It was still a pretty fucked up thing for him to do. I revealed your people to every other species so that their innocents wouldn’t suffer the same fate as mine.”

  “There are no innocents in this place,” Lurn answers flatly. “To think otherwise is naive.”

  “So they keep telling me.” Greenflower seems to be struggling with the drop, so I walk over to lift the frail little woman and set her on the ground. She pats my knee gratefully. Lurn doesn’t move, watching me closely. “Would you rather I’d kept this reveal from you? I could have found an excuse to get you out of the room and told the other leaders without you knowing. We could have been working towards a silent purge of as many of you as we could find. But fair’s fair. I know I’m hurting your people, and I’m sorry for that, but I gave you what warning I could. If it was up to me, I wouldn’t want anyone to die. ”

  “That doesn’t… I can’t believe that you would actually think—”

  “You should.” We both jump in surprise at the new voice. Greenflower, leaning heavily on her staff, approaches us with quiet dignity. Silence stretches as she peers up at me, then at Lurn. Her enormous eyes seem to fill her face. “Believe, twinsoul. This sapling’s roots delve deep, her foliage bare but beautiful. I’ve heard tales from the greatest of my kin, the Otachai known as Threenut. I believe him when he says that she is one to depend upon in a storm.”

  Lurn doesn’t seem to know how to respond to the tiny woman’s declaration. Not that I do either. Threenut must be more important than I thought he was.

  And one hell of a hype man.

  I have about a thousand questions to ask the Bui, about the nature of their souls, the way their power works, what they really look like, what happens to the souls of the bodies they steal… but now isn’t the time. I’ve not exactly engendered trust.

  “Go, Lurn,” I say, waving towards the door. “Save as many as you can.”

  With one last, searching look, she does. Greenflower follows slowly, her staff clicking gently against the polished floor.

  “Thank you, mother,” I say softly.

  The vibrant autumn hues of her leaves rustle as she pauses. She doesn’t turn, but her voice is clear when she speaks.

  “Threenut is the hope of my people, sapling. He follows your path, and will follow it into darkness or light. By the Tree, lead him to light.”