All of Us Villains (All of Us Villains, #1)

by Amanda Foody

“And leave our Landmark undefended?” Finley shook his head. “It was too much of a risk after what happened with Gavin Grieve.” “I don’t mind staying back,” Carbry piped up. He’d brought some of his family’s research notes to the table and was flipping through them. “The last Darrow to win the tournament did so by strategically retreating to their Landmark until the champions killed each other off—” “You mean he hid,” Elionor said. “You’re stronger than your ancestor was, okay? Your Ancient Arrows alone could take someone out in one hit. I still don’t understand why you didn’t use it on Gavin.” Carbry’s thumb ran over a large cursering on his hand, a distinctive oval-cut gem. “I wasn’t sure it would work,” he said quietly. “I was worried about blowback.” Elionor rolled her eyes. “Uncle Arthur has been bragging for years that you can cast Mnemonic Device spells, and those are class eight. You’re completely capable.” “You two are related?” Briony asked. “We’re cousins,” answered Carbry. “Her dad is my mom’s brother. He took the Payne name when he married.” Then Carbry leaned forward and whispered. “Elionor’s a natural blonde.” “I will curse you,” Elionor snapped, but she sounded more annoyed than angry. “And you should stop worrying about your casting abilities. Finley and I promised to protect you.”

“Are you happy now, you terrible excuse for a rival?” she choked, tears blurring her vision. “You better hope this kills me because otherwise, I will heal you and then torture you in ways even your twisted mind can’t imagine.”

“It was his curse.” Gavin opened his hand, and Briony realized he had the ring Carbry had been wearing. It sat in his palm, smeared with blood—just like Innes’s champion’s ring had been. Briony felt a rush of wooziness as he continued to speak. “This is … strong spellwork. It would’ve killed you if you hadn’t stopped it.” “No!” The word burst furiously from Briony’s throat. “I’m not supposed to kill everyone. I’m supposed to save them.” Gavin frowned. “Did you read different tournament rules than I did?”

Supposedly, the Blood Veil shields the tournament from outside influence, but I believe it simply allows us to avoid looking too closely at what’s going on inside. A Tradition of Tragedy

This tournament wasn’t a place for heroes. It never had been. All the grand deeds her family had celebrated had been bloodshed just like this. And they could call it what they wanted, but Briony knew what they really were. Villains. All of them.

At last, he spoke. “Do you know how the Blairs choose their champion?” Briony shook her head, unsure what that had to do with anything. “All of the eligible candidates train their entire lives, and growing up, we were told there was a test to choose the champion,” Finley explained. “And so my cousins and I waited, and waited. Until the tournament was days away, and the adults hadn’t said a word. “And that’s when I realized. Our champion isn’t selected—our champion volunteers. Whether or not they’re the strongest doesn’t matter. What matters is that they’re mentally prepared and willing, no matter the outcome. Our code is simple: honor, valor, integrity. A champion who chooses this is one prepared to uphold all three of our family’s values in life—and in the tournament.” “So you volunteered to protect your family,” she whispered. “Yes. And no. I volunteered because I wanted to do my family proud. But I wouldn’t have volunteered if the Thorburns had named you champion instead

“So you’ve done some fucked-up things to get here—I won’t pretend that my strategy was ever noble, either. But I’m realizing that nothing about the tournament is good, and my family’s code of honor will never make up for that. I think it’s time to write my own rules. To find my own way to make things right.” Then he held out a hand.

“It’s filthy in here,” Briony said. “It isn’t supposed to be, according to Blair lore,” Finley said. “But Landmarks tailor themselves to their champion’s taste.” Briony snorted. Lucky for Isobel that she wouldn’t have been able to see any of the magick while she stayed here, but she had to question Alistair’s judgment. Nothing like some decorative dead cockroaches to put someone in the mood.

“If a Relic counts as an ingredient,” she began, “and the pillar counts as the point on a septogram—the very heart of the Landmark—then we need to get over to that island.” That, at least, she was sure of. “And then do what?” “I don’t know. But we can figure it out.” “All right.” He frowned at the lake. “If the Lowe champion was living here, he must’ve had a way to access this pillar. Hang on.” He walked to the wall, where one of Briony’s lights glinted off something embedded in the rock. Briony realized it was a spellstone the moment before Finley touched it. Crimson magick swirled from it, spiraling outward into a thin, rickety bridge leading straight to the island. “I knew it,” he said, grinning with relief. “Let’s go.” They moved across single file, the Sword slung across Finley’s back. Briony let him go first because he’d insisted, chivalrous fool that he was. The moment she set foot on the island, the bridge shimmered once, as if taunting them, then disappeared. Beside her, Finley stared at the pillar with an odd expression on his face. “Are you okay?” she asked. He shook his head, as if trying to clear away a fog. “I just … It’s strange to feel so close to my family’s story.” Briony understood the feeling. She’d felt it when she’d visited the Tower, even if it had merely been in ruins at the time. “Okay,” she said. “In your family’s story, the champion is on this island, right? And then … a hand emerges from the water and gives them the Sword?” “Yeah.” Finley pulled...

“Grins like goblins,” the voice murmured. “Pale as plague and silent as spirits.” Alistair stiffened. He knew that voice. A silhouette appeared in the shadows. “They’ll tear your throat

“What the fuck do you mean he’s dead?” Elionor asked. “Dead as in brutally murdered,” Gavin shot back. “As in not waking up. That kind of dead.”

“I’m here,” Hendry said softly. “It’s me.” “Do you remember…” Alistair swallowed. “Do you remember what happened?” Hendry lifted his hand to his neck, the light of red magick once against streaking behind him as he moved. “I remember all of it.” “I’m so sorry,” Alistair said, his words cracking. “Are you … are you okay?” It was a ridiculous question. Of course none of this was okay. After a childhood spent listening to tragic tales, none had scarred Alistair as deeply as this one. He stared at the mark on his brother’s throat, where their grandmother had torn it open and extracted his life magick. “I am now,” Hendry responded, and gradually, his face lit up into another smile. A curse, white as bone, flashed in his peripheral vision. Alistair reacted instantly, stepping protectively in front of Hendry and throwing up an Exoskeleton to deflect its path. His heart hammered with a fear so strong it threatened to consume him. He’d lost Hendry once—he couldn’t lose him again.

“I watched you bury the ring in the Castle last night,” Gavin said. “I buried it to release its magic,” Alistair snapped. “How could that reverse—” “I don’t think that’s what you did,” Briony said, trying to think all of this through. “If the high magick of the curse is falling apart, then maybe … maybe when the magick in the ring dispersed inside the Castle Landmark, it got sucked into the magick of the tournament. And when that magick unraveled a little more, it produced Hendry. Like a side effect.” Alistair rubbed one of his bloodshot eyes, then peered at the Champions Pillar. He looked utterly wretched. “When I buried the ring, there were two cracks. Both on its front, with the names. And now there’s four—three on its front, one on its back.” The Pillar had cracked when Briony had slid the ring off Innes’s finger. She hadn’t realized it had happened three times more. “The last one just happened now,” Alistair continued. “On the back. The side with the stars. That one’s from what you did, isn’t it?” “So it was already breaking?” Finley asked, furrowing his brow. “That … that can’t be right. We united the Sword with the Cave. What else could be breaking it?”

Isobel traced her hand over the side with the names of every champion, past and present. “I think this side represents the dangerous way of breaking the tournament. This is the way that’s been breaking since it started. This is what brought Hendry back.” “Fantastic,” Gavin said dryly. “That’s the side with three cracks.”

“Wait a moment,” Alistair murmured. His icy tone was nothing like the nervous boy who’d set her free only hours before. “You said Hendry is caught in the high magick that makes up the tournament. So if we break the tournament, what happens to him?” Hendry rested a hand on Alistair’s arm. Briony stared grimly at the trail of shimmering high magick that moved alongside him. If the tournament ended, Hendry would probably go with it. But before she could find the words to tell him that, her gaze trailed back to Elionor’s corpse. Alistair had never explained why he had killed her, but Briony could see the answer now. It was in the splatters of Elionor’s blood across his face. In his threatening stance as he braced himself in front of Hendry. Gavin was the one who answered, after a long, uncomfortable silence. “Hendry would go back to being dead, is what would happen.”

“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 one who controls it.”