Nassar strode to her, a determined look on his face.

"What are you doing?"

Nassar kept coming. She realized he was going to cross the line.

"Liza isn't here to save you!"

"No." He gave her the familiar half smile. "Only you can save me now."

Nassar stepped over the line. The worm streaked to him. It skimmed the surface of his magic and clamped onto his shoulder. Nassar's magic shrunk. He staggered and ripped the worm off. Grace cried out.

The worm flipped in the air and slid over him. Nassar tried to knock it off, but it slipped past his hands and leeched onto his side. Nassar gasped. His face went bloodlessly white. He spun, tripping over his feet, pulling at the writhing body, and stumbled to her. The worm slithered from his fingers and swooped down on him. Nassar fell.

Grace lunged forward. She meant to thrust herself in front of it, but instead magic pulsed from her in a controlled, short burst. The worm hurtled back, swept aside.

She pushed harder and the worm convulsed, squeezed between the press of her power and the glowing lines. "Nassar?" She knelt by him. "Nassar, are you okay?"

Nassar's green eyes looked at her. His nose bled. He wiped away his blood with the back of his hand. "Protective instinct," he said. "You've done it."

It felt so right. As if the pressure straining at her from the inside suddenly found an outlet. So that's what she's been missing. All these years, she had suspected there was something more to the magic coursing through her and now she finally found it.

"I guess I did," she murmured.

"Were you scared for me?"

"Yes. How could you have done that? That was so reckless. What if I couldn't save you?"

"I hoped you could," he said.

The way he looked at her made her want to kiss him.

"Your family is free," he said.

"What?"

"I've let Clan Mailliard go," he said. "I've signed the order before lunch."

She sank to the floor. "Why?"

He sat up. "Because I decided that's not what I do. I don't force people to fight our battles. I don't want to be the man who blames children for their parents' mistakes. And I don't want you to be the last of the Mailliards. Whether you have children should be your choice alone. I don't want to take it away from you."

It slowly dawned on her. "So I'm free?"

"Yes."

She stared at him. "You don't even know me. I could just take off right now and leave you here to deal with the game on your own. Do you have any idea how scared I am? I don't want to die."

"Neither do I." He gave her another sad smile.

She hung her head, torn. She was deeply, deeply afraid. But walking away from the children wasn't in her. She wouldn't be able to look herself in the eye. It was as if they stood in the road with a semi hurtling at them at full speed. What kind of person wouldn't push them out of the harm's way?

"I should practice more," she said.

"We're going to need another worm then," Nassar said.

She glanced at the beast. It lay dead, sliced in a 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 Millighan 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 color-coded by their clan: grey and black for Dreoch, green for Roar, red for Madrid. Nassar explained the rest of the colors, but she couldn't recall any of it. The anxiety pulsated through her with every heart beat.

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 armor. 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.