“The fact is, it is the Weirstone, and nothing else, that determines the nature of an Heir. It doesn't matter what Jack Swift was to begin with. He is a warrior now, and so qualified to play in the tournament. He would be dead if not for me. In that sense, I created him, so I own him.” She reached out and slid her hand to the back of his neck, pulling his face in close to hers. His flesh burned under her touch. “And you'd better play well, my mongrel, or your two friends will pay the price,” she breathed, just loud enough for him to hear. Jack stared at her, horrified, then pushed her hand away. Her nails left long scratches on his skin.
And then he understood: Longbranch already knew what the outcome of the suit would be, was confident he would be back under her control in time for the Game. That was why his friends had been brought to the Ghyll. Longbranch had been given no opportunity to bring out the killer in him, as she'd promised back in London, so she planned to use Will and Fitch to force him to play. To “motivate” him, as she put it. He looked from Jessamine Longbranch to Claude D'Orsay, and knew the fix was in. Will and Fitch sat huddled together on the steps, as if for mutual protection. As if that would make any difference. Jack shivered.
“Jack Swift would be dead if not for me,” Leander Hastings announced.
Longbranch's head snapped up. “Leander Hastings has been a thorn in our sides for years. He has done everything in his power to sabotage the Game. Why would he try to field a player if he didn't have an ulterior motive?”
Hastings stood. "Dr. Longbranch has told you it was her intent to play Jack in the Game. How do we know what was intended, or agreed upon seventeen years ago? There was no contract. The stone was placed under false pretenses. The White Rose has had minimal contact with Jack ever since. Whatever training he has received, I have provided. Two weeks ago, Dr. Longbranch tried to murder him with a graffe, and almost succeeded. It is through my efforts that he is still alive. If only for that reason, I say the boy is mine.
“I brought Jack to the Game as his sponsor. I presented his genealogy and secured his approval as a player. Now your petitioner proposes to strip him from me. In matters of the Game, possession has always been the law. Who will bring a warrior to play in future knowing he might well be stolen? If Jack is deemed fit to play, he should play for me.” Hastings remained standing.
He must know he can't win this, Jack thought. He's nobody's fool.
D'Orsay conversed briefly with the other judges, then turned to face the court. “Here is my ruling,” he said. “On the first issue, whether Jack Swift is warrior or wizard, I rule against the petitioner. It is the stone that determines what he is, and nothing else.”
Jack released his breath and looked over at Aunt Linda. She had her eyes closed, chin resting on her clasped hands as if praying. The hope of a reprieve was over.
Hastings was still standing, and now he spoke quickly, before D'Orsay could continue. “If Jack remains under my sponsorship, I'm willing to sweeten the deal.”
D'Orsay and the other judges looked up with interest. Longbranch looked wary. Hastings stood calmly, one hand grasping the other forearm. “If Jack wins, I'll expect the usual award. I will be Holder of the Cup and Master of Council. If Jack loses, I will submit to whatever justice the council deems appropriate for past crimes. After the Game and outside of the rules.”
There was a shocked silence. Again, Jack tried to rise, but now Hastings's hand was on his shoulder, full of power, keeping him in his seat.
“What makes you think you can trust him?” Jessamine Longbranch demanded, her voice going shrill.
“What's trust got to do with it?” Hastings asked, smiling. “You can do as you like. I am here, outnumbered, in the Ghyll.You have plenty of witnesses to the agreement. If you would like me to sign something …” He shrugged.
D'Orsay regarded Hastings thoughtfully, his lower lip caught behind his upper teeth. Then he studied Jack, no doubt evaluating his chances against the player for the Red Rose. He turned to the other judges, and there was another brief conference. When he turned back to the petitioners, he was smiling.
“On this issue of sponsorship, we will leave matters as they are. It appears the Silver Dragon has more invested in this boy than the White Rose, despite their early involvement. And we accept Mr. Hastings's proposal. We will prepare the appropriate documents for his signature.” He rubbed his hands together, once, twice, like a man at table anticipating a feast. He nodded to the assembly. “You may go.”
Thus, the judges had managed to issue a ruling that made nobody happy. The crowd cleared quickly, except for Jack's small group of supporters. Longbranch and Leesha left Will and Fitch sitting alone on the steps, discarded.
As soon as Hastings released him, Jack turned on him angrily. “Why'd you have to do that? You don't think there's enough pressure on me already? Now if I lose, you put your head in a noose.”
“Most likely not a noose, Jack,” Hastings replied. “I'm sure they'll think of something more … creative.” At Jack's stricken expression, he sobered. “Look, did you want to play for the White Rose tomorrow? I had to give them a reason to rule my way. Claude D'Orsay would never have left you under my control otherwise. He has too many reasons not to. Don't ever expect fair play from wizards.”
And suddenly, Linda Downey stood in front of them, chin thrust forward. “Damn you, Leander.” She was pale, her blue eyes bright with heat.
Hastings looked at her, startled. “What did I do?” He seemed genuinely puzzled.
“You really don't care, do you? You're just as reckless as always.You are bound and determined to end up dead before this is over. Damn you,” she repeated with feeling.
Hastings glanced at Jack, then back at her. “And I suppose you weren't taking a chance, coming in here? He shook his head, smiled a little. ”Cheer up. Jack will think you have no confidence in him."
“I believe in Jack. It's you I wonder about, Leander.” She turned back to Jack. “We'll be here for you, Jack,” she said, nodding at the neighbors. “We'll think of something,” she promised.
Will and Fitch still sat on the steps, afraid to move, like parishioners in an unforgiving church. “Hey, Will. Hey, Fitch,” Jack said, crossing to where they sat. “I can't say I'm glad to see you. Are you all right?”
Will's eye socket was going purple from when his face had hit the stone floor, but otherwise he seemed none the worse for wear.
“Hey, Jack,” Fitch said morosely. “I'm sorry I didn't do better with answering those questions. But when she … It was like I couldn't help myself.”
“It was like I was drugged or something,” Will added.
“You did fine,” Jack said, raising his hands to stop the apologies. “If anyone's to blame, it's me. How'd you get here, anyway?”
“It was Leesha,” Will said, opening and closing his hands as if throttling her. “She set a trap for us in Carlisle and we walked right in.”
“God, I'm sorry,” Jack began.
Fitch twitched impatiently. “Right, let's all agree straight off we're all sorry to be here. Now what?”
Jack was at a loss for what to do with his friends now that they were here. This was not a safe place for Anaweir.
“Why don't you come back to the cottage with us until we decide what to do?” Hastings suggested. “I think it's best if we keep you out of traffic.”
As it turned out, someone was happy with the verdict. Word had leaked to the crowd outside, and a great cheer erupted when Jack appeared. Once again, there were long lines at the betting parlors. The spectators tossed tiny gold and silver balls that exploded into flowers and miniature fireworks that rained down on their heads. Jack had seen them for sale in several of the booths that lined the Ghyll.
Despite Hastings's efforts to keep them at bay, women crowded forward, trying to embrace Jack, thrusting favors into his hands. Will and Fitch were jostled and pushed this way and that by the mob trying to get to Jack. All in all, he was glad to reach the refuge of the cottage and shake the flower petals from his hair.
“They act like you're a rock star or something,” Fitch said in amazement.
“More like a gladiator, I guess.” Jack shrugged, still distracted by the events in the courtroom.
While Hastings went out in search of lunch, Jack brought his friends up to date on all that had happened. The one piece Will found hard to accept was Ellen Stephenson.
“It can't be true,” he said, shaking his head. “She wouldn't. She's our friend. Plus, you're all she ever talked about. Well, you and soccer,” he amended.
“That was before she knew who I am. Or what I am, rather.” Jack spread a chamois over the table and laid out his weapons, oil, and honing tools. All except Shadowslayer, who never lost her edge.
“Well, she had a hundred chances to kill you in Trinity,” Will persisted. “Why didn't she?”
Jack shook his head. “I have no idea.” Methodically, he tried the edges, used the polishing stone, applied a thin coating of oil.
“Is she any good?” Will asked, looking over his shoulder.
“How should I know? I've never even seen her play a video game.” He took a deep breath, released it. “I hear she's been training for years.”
“Maybe it's magic,” Fitch suggested. “Maybe it just looks like Ellen Stephenson. Maybe they figured it would be hard for you to …” He didn't finish the sentence.
Jack rather liked that idea. “I guess anything is possible,” he said slowly.
“I can't believe Mr. Hastings is making you do this,” Will said angrily. “Fight in this tournament, I mean.”
“Well,” said Jack, “We don't have much choice.” He thought of what Jessamine Longbranch had said about Will and Fitch. At least Hastings had saved them from their intended role as hostages. Small blessings. That was what he had to focus on. “They would've caught up to me sooner or later. At least this way, it's on our terms.”