CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE.
THE NIGHT BEFORE THE START OF THE DANCE OF THE DEAD.
“That’s what you'll be wearing for the party tonight,” Isadora says as she drops a flamboyant gold gown onto the bed. “From Lady Maggi.”
I raise a brow as I stand from the floor, having just finished cleaning my staff. “A party? What party am I invited to?”
“The one hosted for the participants of the Dance of the Dead tournament,” Isadora replies quietly. “It’s more of a feast, really. Some call it the Last Supper since only one of those attending will still be alive by the end of the tournament.”
It’s then that the full weight of what I’m about to participate in hits me again.
I can’t win. That much, I already know. But with the practice I’ve put in over the last two weeks, after discovering my innate strengt
