All of Our Demise Sneak Peek by Amanda Foody

Author:Amanda Foody
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tom Doherty Associates

GAVIN GRIEVE

“Bleeding hearts across the world have claimed these champions kill only out of necessity. But if Alistair Lowe really did murder his family, it proves they’re all dangerous, inside or outside the tournament.”

on-site reporter, SpellBC News

Gavin stood at the edge of the Cottage’s clearing, staring at the misty crimson wards along the tree line. A champion was inside the rickety stone building, and if Gavin’s hunch was right, that champion was Alistair Lowe.

Gavin found it hard to believe that the same boy who’d boasted about his so-called lair would willingly camp out in this most humble of Landmarks—the traditional Grieve Landmark, in fact, if only because no one else wanted it. But the Cave was gone, the Tower surely claimed by Briony Thorburn, and the other Landmarks vacant. There was nowhere else Alistair could be.

Maybe Alistair was hiding because of what he’d done. Gavin thought of the slightly damp edition of the Ilvernath Eclipse he’d found trampled in the woods. He’d read the cover story twice, but the words had yet to sink in.

Alistair Lowe was the prime suspect in the slaughter of his own family—as though he hadn’t been monstrous enough before.

If not for the possibility of what Hendry’s life magick could provide, and Walsh’s guarantees that other spellmakers were willing to meet with him, Gavin would’ve abandoned all hopes of an alliance. As it was, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was about to write his own death sentence.

Gavin sent a Signal Beam at the wards, trying not to wince at the corresponding pain that coursed down his arm. He still had the life magick he’d stolen from Walsh, at least. And he had some new spellwork, again thanks to Walsh, who’d given him supplies after Gavin had set him free—far nicer than anything Gavin could afford or craft on his own. All it’d taken for him to get a spellmaker sponsorship like the other champions was kidnapping and extortion.

“Come out, asshole,” he muttered. Then the curtains drew open, and a small round face the color of milk peered out through a grimy window. Not Alistair—someone much younger. Gavin frowned, confused. Then he remembered; there had been one survivor of the massacre—a child.

The door swung open a moment later, and Alistair strode out.

Despite the fact that Gavin had summoned him, as Alistair approached, Gavin couldn’t help but feel like a rabbit spotted by a wolf.

Alistair’s dark, disheveled curls fell every which way across his forehead, the sharp line of his widow’s peak emphasizing features both handsome and cruel in equal measure. There was something feral about his red-rimmed eyes and stalking gait, and the crimson mist of the wards cast him in an ominous glow, as though he’d been spun from the very fabric of the tournament itself.

Oddly, Alistair wore a black glove on his left hand, which meant he was armed with half as many spellrings as usual. Gavin wondered if it was meant as an insult to him—that Alistair thought so little of his power.

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