“You wrote the book,” she hissed. “It wasn’t a Grieve. It was you. Why?” Reid’s expression turned furious. He grabbed her by the forearm and yanked her forward, his nails digging into her skin. Isobel considered screaming for help, but she sensed a shield spell descending over the room, locking the two of them inside behind the black velvet curtains. She had a terrible feeling only one of them would make it out. “Because when the tournament collapses and the rest of you die,” Reid growled, “the high magick your families have hoarded for so long will be visible to everyone. And I will be the
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